Page 66 of As the Years Pass
“If she fights me on anything, she’ll win. She’s the mother, and courts always go in their favor.”
“I don’t think that’s true anymore, Adam,” he says sympathetically.
“It’s not worth the risk.”
“So are you just going to let her drag you around by a leash for the rest of your life?”
I frown at him, not liking the way that comment makes me feel. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Sorry,” he says, gesturing toward the bartender and holding up two fingers.
More shots. Just what we need.
Emmet stumbles into the elevator, and I go in after him. He turns just in time to catch me from slamming into him. He throws his head back and laughs, the sound like music to my ears. He has such a rich, hearty laugh—when he truly means it.
His hands are on my hips, fingers searing my skin through my shirt. My gaze goes to his lips, and I lick mine before saying, “You should laugh like that more often.”
“Like what?” he says, his hands falling from me as he stumbles toward the buttons. “What floor are we going to?”
I huff out a laugh and walk over to press the six. “Like you just did.”
“I don’t know how I laughed. I just laughed.”
“Like you meant it.”
Emmet leans against the wall, grinning at me with half-lidded eyes and rosy cheeks.
He’s so beautiful right now.
So dangerously beautiful.
With the alcohol in my veins, my brain is quiet. There is nothing in my head telling menotto think of Emmet likethat. After all, we were together for a long time. Doesn’t that give me the right to think about it? To think about us when we were together? They’re my memories too, and I have a right to them. I can think about them whenever I want, without a single person knowing. But right now… I want him to know.
I’m suddenly remembering all the nights we were together, the way we kissed and hugged and touched and loved.
There was so much passion, so much emotion, so much feeling.
So much, so much, so much.
So many things I haven’t felt in years.
How is it so easy for him to bring this out in me?
When I’m with Emmet, I feel good. Happy. Free. I don’t feel dull and boring, even if I still am.
The way he looks at me, smiles at me, it makes me feel important. Seen. I’m not invisible when I’m with him, and he made that very clear from the first day I met him. On the worst day of my life. It all happened so fast that it felt like I hadwhiplash. I barely remember the day, but I certainly remember him.
“You’re going to live with me now, but we’re not brothers, okay?”
“Okay.”
I didn’t live with him for long, but we stayed friends for years.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, his voice raspy, jaw set.
I blink and he comes back into view, the smile on his face gone.
“Huh?” I shift my feet because I’m leaning to one side, and I’ve had so much to drink that I may fall over.
