Page 115 of There's No Us Without You
I stumble forward, hands now sliding across the bar to reach for him. “Please let me explain.”
He steps back, his eyes even colder than Emerson’s were. “Get the fuck out.” Pointing to the door, he slams his other hand on the bar. “Now!”
Tyler jumps up and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll take her home.”
“You do that,” Will says, while lifting the bar flap. “I have to go clean up Eden’s mess.” He stalks off, disappearing out the exit.
My tears fall unchecked, and I bury my face in my hands. “I’ve messed everything up, haven’t I?”
Tyler rubs my upper arm. “I don’t know,” he says. “But let’s get you home.”
THIRTY-TWO
Will
My heart is thumping loudlyin my ears. Emerson isn’t answering my calls or texts, so I have no idea where the fuck he is.
Eden royally screwed him over.
Screwed me over.
She blinded us both, it seems.
It’s unforgivable.
And it’s all my fault. I brought her into our lives. My inability to see past the way she made me feel blinded me to the fact she was using us—using Emerson.
I trusted her. Let her sleep next to me. All the while, she was plotting to get my best friend into bed with her for money.
I shove a hand through my hair as I storm into our house, praying like hell Emerson came home.
Otherwise, I’m shit out of luck.
His car was still in the carpark at the bar when I left, so I know he couldn’t have ventured too far.
The sound of glass smashing out the back forces me to race towards it. When I reach the laundry, I slide the door open and step out onto the patio.
Emerson is crouched down, head hanging between his shoulders, a smashed beer bottle to his left. Blue light from the moon casts a shadow over his face, making his eyes appear hollow.
And creepy as fuck.
“How did you get home?” I say, coming towards him, steps slow.
He sniffs and glances up, eyes bloodshot and so full of emotion. “Cab.” Standing, he pushes his hair from his forehead. “Is she here?”
With a shake of my head, I sigh. “I left her with Tyler.”
He nods and kicks at some loose rocks on the concrete. “Right.”
Fuck. How do I do this?
Talk to him, I mean.
We’ve been friends for ten years, yet I have no clue how to comfort him right now.
I’m not good with this sort of shit.
Rubbing my forehead, I step forward. “Do you want to talk about it?”
