Stepbrother Billionaire(18)

“It’s one of her favorite hobbies,” Emerson shrugs.

“You could have at least taken me with you,” I shoot back. “After everything...”

“I know,” he says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m not used to looking out for anyone besides myself, Abby. I gave up on my mom years ago, and I guess when shit gets real I just look out for me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK,” I whisper, reaching for his hand. To my relief, he lets me take it. “You’re back now. That’s what matters.”

He looks my way, his blue eyes gleaming even in the darkness. I can see a million thoughts swirling behind those eyes, afloat in a churning sea of turmoil and rage. I wish there was anything I could do to ease that pain. And maybe, just maybe, there is.

“Come on,” I say, tugging his hand, “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” he asks, standing stock still. “I’m exhausted, Abby.”

“Just follow me, Sawyer,” I reply, pretending impatience. “Unless you’re too chicken shit, that is.”

He rolls his eyes with just enough playfulness to give me hope. Without another word, I tow him away from the car. Silently, we make our way around the perimeter of the house, the expansive back yard, the black water of the in-ground pool. I lead Emerson along the edge of the woods that surround our property, peeling off down a well-worn dirt path. I expect his body to tense up as I drag him into the foliage, but he follows gamely. I suppose he doesn’t scare so easy, Emerson Sawyer.

“Here it is,” I say, after a few minutes of trudging along through the underbrush. We’ve come to a stop before a thick, sturdy trunk, inlaid with wooden planks that serve as footholds. It’s a place I’ve come to love and depend on as a safe haven. During the worst of mom and dad’s fights, and later the worst of his drunken rages, this is where I’d come.

“What is ‘it’?” Emerson asks, raising an eyebrow at the makeshift ladder.

“I’ll show you,” I tell him, grasping a plank and pulling myself up a foot. “Just don’t check out my ass the whole time I’m climbing, now.”

“That...is not a fair request,” he smiles, as I scurry up the trunk before him. I can feel his eyes raking along my body the whole while. And despite my instructions, I can’t pretend that I mind too much.

As we hit the point where the tree’s branches begin to fan out, I pull myself onto a wide wooden platform, scooting over to make room for Emerson beside me. This weathered deck was built to last, but it helps that I’ve maintained it over the years. It’s not quite a treehouse, but it does the trick as far as secret hideaways go.

“Well, this is rustic,” Emerson laughs, swinging himself up onto the platform to join me. “Did your dad make this?”

“My grandpa did, actually,” I tell him, “Back when my dad was still a kid. This was his and my grandma’s house, before they passed it along to my mom and dad.”

“Did they...pass away? Your grandparents?” Emerson asks gently.

“Nah,” I chuckle, “They just decided that Florida was more their scene is all. Didn’t want to go through the hassle of selling this place. They’re, uh, pretty well off, my grandparents. Good people, but loaded as hell.”

“Not a very typical combination, is it?” Emerson replies gruffly. He looks over as me as I avert my eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean you. I just—”

“Didn’t you?” I ask softly.

“Of course not,” Emerson says, reaching for my hand. “I told you not four hours ago how I feel about you, Abby. You’re not just some rich girl to me. Christ, I would never hold you accountable for your family. That would mean you could hold me accountable for mine.”

“Good point. And I wouldn’t dream of it, for the record,” I laugh shortly. “Though apparently, we’re about to have our shitty families joined in holy matrimony. So...congratulations to us?”

“Or something,” Emerson grumbles, shaking his head. “It’s a terrible f*cking idea. They don’t even know each other. They’re going to make each other miserable.”

“I know,” I reply, heaving a sigh, “This is why marriage gets such a bad rap. Because *s like our parents f*ck it up for everyone.”

“Seriously,” Emerson says, pulling out a cigarette. I don’t even have to ask for one this time, he just passes it my way. He holds the lighter for me as I run the tip of my cigarette through the flame. We inhale deeply in unison, peering up at the stars through the canopy of leaves above. Our fingers are still entwined, natural as can be. That might be what hurts the most—the potential of a relationship that feels as easy as breathing, scattered by our parents’ carelessness.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper, my eyes prickling with tears.

“No. It’s not,” Emerson replies, pulling me tightly against his side.

“I mean Jesus Christ, their timing,” I laugh, though nothing about this is funny.

“No kidding,” He replies, “If they hadn’t shown up when they did...Abby, I don’t know what would have happened back there. I mean. I know what I wanted to happen.”

“And...what’s that?” I ask softly, unable to look him in the eye.