American Made (Against the Tides #2) (21 page)

“I wanna know everything about the guy in the pictures, and everything about the YouTube video.”

It takes me a while but I finally get through everything he wants to know. Every dirty, gritty, heartbreaking detail that I would rather be keeping to myself is now out in the open for him to judge. From the day I got home, to the moment he knocked on my door. I know that if it were almost anyone else they would probably laugh at me for pretty much everything I’m upset about, but not Wyatt. As usual he makes me feel safer than I should and I let my guard down.

Somehow while I was talking he managed to pull me under his arm without me trying to get away. My mind begins to race and I know something bad is going to happen when he lifts my chin and wipes the stray tear off my cheek.

When the hell did I become such a fucking girl?

Wyatt’s thumb runs across my bottom lip but it doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t feel right and I hate that I know it’s because it isn’t Gentry touching me. He leans down, but just before he has a chance to kiss me, I turn away.

“I can’t do this, Wyatt,” I say. Emotion clogs my throat as I sit up and pull out of his arms.

He doesn’t let me get far before grabbing my arm and pulling me back against his side. “It’s OK, Emerson.”

The words float around us and as much as I want to believe him, I don’t. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know he’s always wanted to do that. Right now he’s only telling me what he thinks I want to hear.

Dropping his head down, he kisses my temple, staying there for a beat longer than I’m comfortable with. “You love him, don’t you?”

One… Two… Three… Four…

I continue to count, trying every single thing I can think of to keep myself from breaking down. It’s a question. A simple fucking question. Five words that only require one in response. But it’s that one word that makes this entire situation harder than it should be, and I can’t say it because the second that one word leaves my mouth it makes it true.

“I don’t want to,” I finally whisper.

He squeezes me tighter, never taking his chin off the top of my head. “Hey, Emerson?”

“Hmm?”

“This guy you’re refusing to admit you love… he’s about six foot three, brown hair, looks like he’s got a mean right hook, right?”

“Something like that, yeah,” I mumble, trying my hardest to push the image of him out of my mind again. “Why?”

“Because the pictures you have in the house don’t show the death glare he’s capable of.”

I look up at him and try to figure out what he means but he isn’t looking at me anymore. Slowly, I follow his gaze and want to crawl into a hole the second I see Gentry standing on the back porch. As usual the fight portion of my fight or flight tactic outweighs any thought to try and calmly work anything out.

“Don’t get excited, Gentry,” I yell without moving. “This isn’t the start of a threesome. If you want that you might wanna go find Envy and Rush.”

I should have expected that. I knew she wasn’t just going to sit back and let everything go. That isn’t who she is. I don’t honestly think I would have fallen in love with her if it was.

What I didn’t expect was to find her wrapped up in the arms of someone else like I did. I stood there for God knows how long watching them together. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but seeing him touch her the way he was rocked my world in a way I never thought could happen. I’ve never wanted to physically hurt someone for touching a woman I’ve been with, but this time I had to force myself to stay where I was. I couldn’t breathe when he leaned in to kiss her because part of me expected her to let it happen just to prove to herself that what we had meant nothing.

When Emerson pulled away at the last second it tells me everything I need to know. Even if she refuses to admit it, she loves me. I know I’m going to have to cross hell and high water to get her to confess it, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes. As soon as the fucker touching her notices I’m standing there, I make sure that I mask the hurt I’m feeling and show him how much I’d like to tear him apart instead.

His hands are on the woman I love. He’s touching her and it’s more than a quick pat on the back before moving back into his own space. He’s fucking goading me because he knows that she won’t let me near her right now. If I knew he wasn’t wanting more than her friendship I doubt I’d have a problem with what he’s doing, but I can tell he wants more. He didn’t try to kiss her just to kiss her, I can tell he wants her just by looking at him.

“I don’t even know how to respond to that, Emerson.” Stepping down off the porch, I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of her.

“I didn’t say anything that required a response,” she says. “You could’ve just kept your mouth shut and left. You’re usually so good at keepin’ things to yourself.”

The second she finally looks up at me the hurt in her eyes crushes me. I’ve never seen her look so vulnerable. I did that. I put that look in her eyes and managed to ruin everything we’ve worked on over the past few months. I’m the reason she’s hurting right now so I need to be the one to figure out a way to fix this.

“Can we talk?” I ask. I need to get her out of this guy’s arms before I lose my shit.

She shakes her head but doesn’t move. “I don’t have anything else to say to you, Gentry. What was said earlier was enough for me.”

“Well it wasn’t for me. There’s still a lot we need to discuss.”

“I swear you talk just to hear your own voice sometimes,” she mutters. Emerson drops her eyes to her lap for a second and when she looks back up at me she’s managed to mask whatever hurt she’s feeling. “If you wanna talk there’s a reflection in your mirror at home waiting to listen.”

“I searched that fuckin’ town for hours before I figured you must’ve found another way home. I rushed back and I’m not leavin’ until we work this out.”

She shrugs, finally standing up and away from the guy but he stands up right next to her, never standing more than a few inches away from her. I have to force myself to do some of the bullshit breathing techniques that Emerson taught me. Since I feel like I need to touch her more than I need to breathe they don’t work the way I need them to.

“There’s nothing to work out here, Gentry.”  Turning around, she tips her head to tell him to follow her.

“Emerson! Where are you goin’?” I growl as she starts to walk away from me. She turns back around and cocks her eyebrow. Every indication that she ever felt anything for me is gone and she’s back to being the girl who believed she didn’t have a heart. Even if she’s faking it, it still kills me.

She smiles but it doesn’t touch her glossy eyes. “If you won’t leave, Wyatt and I will.”

Wyatt? How the hell did I not see that? She’s shown me photos and told me stories about him, but the young kid from the photos is a far cry from the worn-down mess of a man in front of me. I feel like shit for not realizing who he was but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to cut the fucker’s tongue out for trying to kiss her.

When she turns back around to leave, she makes it about three steps before stumbling to a stop. There’s a second between her stopping and me realizing why, that I think she might be changing her mind. The throat clearing in front of her pulls my attention away from her and the tone in her voice is one I haven’t really heard before.

“What are you guys doin’ here?”

An older man in a decorated uniform steps closer, beside him is a woman that I would swear was Emerson if it weren’t for the graying hair and wrinkles. The man takes another step closer, making Emerson rock back like she wants to step away but she stops herself. He says something about seeing the video of what happened the other day and having her neighbor call them when she got home.

“Fuckin’ teenagers with cell phones,” Emerson bites out angrily. “I’m movin’ away from these damn neighbors. This isn’t fuckin’ Cheers. Not everyone needs to know my name.”

I snort, earning me a glare but at least she looked at me. That’s something. I need more, but that’s a start. I beg her to talk to me but she waves me off. 

“I can’t do this right now!” she yells before pointing to the couple that must be her parents. “You guys wanna talk about what happened, but I don’t. You made me live like Sam didn’t exist but now that it’s out there for everyone to see you suddenly wanna discuss it? Not tonight. Not right now. I’ll call you when I want to talk to you about it. And you—” she turns to point at me “—today you proved to me why I don’t do this. Talkin’ won’t change anything so stop tryin’.”

For the second time today, I watch her walk away from me. As much as it hurt this morning when she yelled at me, hearing her calmly tell me that she’s done hurts even more. Unlike her parents, I can’t just walk away because she told me to. I know if I walk away she won’t call me to work things out so I have to take a chance and stick around even though I know it could backfire on me worse than anything.

The next few hours feel like a lifetime as I sit on Emerson’s porch and think about everything I’ll lose if I lose her completely. I can’t handle the thought of no longer waking up with her next to me or hearing her laugh when I say something stupid. I need to be able to watch her achieve the things she wants and to have her cheer for me when I go after something.

It has been dark for a while before she finally pulls her truck back into the driveway. My eyes connect with hers through the windshield and she shakes her head slowly. As much as I want to stand up and put myself in the way of her getting out of the truck and shutting me out again, I don’t want to irritate her more.

“I thought I told you to leave,” she mumbles when she finally reaches the porch. Alone.

I shrug, leaning back against the side of her house. “I told you I wasn’t leavin’ ‘til we worked this out.”

Her eyes shoot to mine for a second but as soon as she realizes what she’s doing she looks away, putting her walls back up. Climbing the stairs, she steps over me and heads for the door. Her keys jingle in her hand but they must be a spare set since the ones she normally uses are in the suitcase next to the door. I’m not sure why she even bothered to lock the door when she left since the broken window defeats the purpose of a lock.

“You’re gonna be there for a while then.”

“What happened to the window, Emerson?” I ask, still not moving. Her body stiffens when I say her name, but she doesn’t turn around to address me.

“Lost my keys,” she states flatly. We both know her excuse is a bullshit lie. She knows exactly where she left them. “Lost a lot today but no worries. Everything is replaceable.”

Ouch…

“Where’s your friend?” I change subjects, doing anything I can think of to keep her talking to me. The movement of the keys in her hand stops and her shoulders sag. “Emerson?”

“I dropped him off at the VA.”

“Is he all right?” I ask, genuinely concerned.

Emerson takes a deep breath and turns around to face me. “No, he’s not. He has PTSD and I have no clue how to help him.”

Without bothering to wait for me to say anything, she pushes open the door and kicks the suitcase I left beside it through. With a resonating sound, the door closes behind her, effectively shutting me out again. 

I never realized that a night could take so long to get through. Every second felt like an hour and every hour felt like a lifetime. Every failed attempt at sleep reminded me that Gentry was still outside on the porch and just letting him crawl into bed with me would solve everything. Except it would only solve things while we slept. 

A temporary fix to a serious problem.

By the time the sun comes up I’ve counted my way through a herd of sheep and had a full conversation with Wyatt because he couldn’t sleep either. Once again he forced me to talk about things I would rather keep buried, but I knew he was trying to keep his mind busy. Everything going on with him scares the hell out of me so right now I’ll tell him anything he wants to know just to make sure he makes it through another night. I know taking him to the VA was the right thing to do even if he wasn’t thrilled about it. The people there can help him a hell of a lot better than I can.

Since I don’t see any relief happening from staying in bed, I slide out and jump into the shower. After pulling on a pair of shorts and sports bra, I grab my running shoes from the back of the closet and slip them on. From the moment I got home I’ve done everything I could to avoid having to look at my scars or let people see them but after talking with Wyatt I realize how lucky I am.

It takes me a minute to pull my eyes away from the reflection of my feet in the full length mirror but I finally do. I gaze at the scar on my thigh, hiking my shorts a bit higher so I can see it better. The marred skin there is nothing compared to my chest and arm. As sick as it makes me to look at it, it reminds me that I’m still breathing. I made it out and I can visibly see that I’m OK. I can run my fingers over the scar and feel my blood pumping underneath it. The external wound that sent me home was easier to heal than the internal wounds that Wyatt, and too many other people, come home with. It’s hard to keep trying to fix something when you can’t see the progress you’re making.