Page 234 of There's No Us Without You
I scream and cry and howl, my hands fisted as I punch them into the floor over and over and over with everything I have.
I’ve never been enough.
My mother didn’t want me, and my father even less so.
But now . . .
Now I have two people who want me.
Or I did.
I fucked that up too.
I can’t do this . . .
I claw at my blood-stained shirt, suffocating as another scream rips from my chest.
Jenny comes rushing in and falls onto the floor beside me. She wraps warm arms around me. “Oh, Will. What happened, sweetheart?”
“Tyler . . . he . . . he’s dead.” I shake my head, and choke on the words.
Jenny squeezes me tighter. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry.” She rocks me like a mother would to console her child, and for a moment I let myself believe that I have a mother, one who actually gives a shit about me.
Not only did I lose my brother tonight, but I lost the only woman I’ve ever loved. And potentially my best friend. Myfeelings for Emerson are complicated, and I’m not sure where we stand now that everything has blown up.
“I’ve really fucked up,” I say, swiping at my tears.
Jenny pats my thigh, saying nothing while allowing me to sit in the silence of what my life has become.
By the time I’ve stopped crying, my entire body is drained, my limbs heavy.
Everything hurts. My chest. My fucking heart.
I’ve calmed down enough to know it’s not Eden’s fault my brother will no longer send me an annoying text. Or sit next to me while we watch Emerson on TV. Nor will he crack a joke at the most inappropriate of times.
But worst of all, I’ll never get to tell him how truly sorry I am that he won’t do any of those things—plus more—ever again.
Instead of blaming the person who pulled the trigger, I turned on Eden. She would never hurt Tyler, not intentionally. She’d never hurt me, but I fucking hurt her.
If I leave now, maybe I have time to salvage what I fucked up.
Jenny offers to drive me home, but I refuse, reassuring her I’ll be fine. At least physically.
When I arrive home,Emerson is on the couch, a beer between his hands, his head lowered.
Fuck. Where’s Eden?
I know I told her to leave, but I didn’t mean it.
She didn’t . . . leave, right?
When Emerson senses me, he slams the beer on the coffee table and grabs one of the crutches resting against the couch to haul himself to his feet.
I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t even see straight, my vision blurry. All I want to do is run straight into his arms, but my feet stay planted.
Emerson must sense my hesitation because he hobbles over and yanks me into his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he says, kissing my forehead over and over. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Tears—his—soak my forehead and cheeks as I grip onto him, my emotions threatening to take us both to the floor. But he stands strong, holding us both steady while I listen to his strong heartbeat.
