Page 221 of There's No Us Without You
As we drive through town, we pass the police station like every other time since going back and forth to the hospital. Only this time, I have a reason to sit up and take notice because Tyler is walking down the front steps towards his car parked on the road.
Shit. I glance at Will, but he’s too focused on his conversation with Emerson to notice anything other than the road in front of him.
What the hell has Tyler gotten himself into now? Maybe that’s why Will has been in a mood the last couple of days. Tyler is in the shit again.
I pull out my phone and text my friend.
Me: Hey Ty. Emerson is coming home today. Keen for a visit?
I wait and watch as the message goes from delivered to read to... ignored.
What the hell?
I rub my forehead and shove my phone back into my bag. A sick, nauseating sensation builds in my stomach, and I swallow down the lump in my throat.
Emerson is grinning at Will, something I haven’t seen on his face in a while.
God, I hope Tyler being at the police station has nothing to do with Em because I can’t lose him again.
When we pullup outside the house, I’ve managed to contain all my wayward thoughts that someone I care about is potentially in trouble—be that Tyler or Emerson.
Or both.
I grab Emerson’s crutches from the back seat when I climb out, then help him from the front passenger seat. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and hops on his good leg until I hand him the crutches.
“Thanks, Pop-Tart,” he says, giving my forehead a kiss. “What would I do without you?”
“Probably starve,” I say, poking him in the ribs.
“Now, now. Don’t want me to hurt my other leg, do you?” He raises an eyebrow, half a smirk lifting his lips.
“I supposed not.” I nod to the front door where Will is holding it open. “Move that fine arse, de Silva.”
Laughing, Emerson slowly makes his way to the door. “You’ve been hanging around Will too long. His bossiness is rubbing off on you.”
I snort as I shuffle along behind him. “That may be a little true.”
When we reach the door, Emerson leans in and plants a quick peck to Will’s lips, then continues on his way through the open doorway.
My heart flutters around in my chest. How am I going to survive being so close to these two without doing anything sexual? I know our relationship isn’t all about the sex, but let’s face it, I’m making up for the last three years of my life.
The last thing I want, though, is to pressure Emerson into something he’s not ready for. He did just have surgery after all.
Emerson hobbles over to the closest couch and takes hold of the arm while resting his crutches against it. I race over and grab him around the waist, helping him to turn around so he can lower himself down into a sitting position.
“Here,” I say, fetching a small cushion and placing it on the coffee table. “Put your leg up.”
Grunting, he lifts his leg and sets it on the cushion before sinking back into the couch, his breathing a little laboured. “This sucks,” he says, sighing. “I’m useless.”
Will pats him on the shoulder. “And whose fault is that?” He gives me a wink. “Hungry?”
“Thanks, arsehole.” Emerson shakes his head. “I don’t need reminding I fucked up. And yes, I’m fucking starving. I haven’t eaten in two days.”
Will heads into the kitchen, makes us up some ham and salad sandwiches, and we sit on the couch together eating while Emerson tells us about the conversation he had with his parents.
I love seeing him happy again. Even with his injury, he’s the man I met back in the bar—before the pain got worse; before the drugs.
The man I fell in love with.
