The Crush (51)

Greer: How soon can you come home?

Me: I have to set up for Isabel’s party at the beach house on Thursday, but I could do the drive Saturday or Sunday.

Greer: As long as you’re here by Monday, that’s good.

Me: What happened?

Greer: Tim’s doctor called. He wants them to come in on Monday morning.

I fought a cold wave of panic. We’d gone down this road enough as a family. Getting called in for test results was the thing you dreaded. Tears pricked hot behind my eyes, and I tried to breathe through them.

In all the moments that we’d seen Tim, he was never scared. He was never sad. He was our family’s rock—quiet and steady and unwavering.

Greer: Mom didn’t ask, but I think we should all be at home when they’re done. Cameron cleared his schedule. Erik’s going to try to cancel his appointments, so maybe you could come down with him.

Me: What about Parker and Poppy?

Greer: He’s going to talk to his coach. But I think he’s going to be able to be home too.

Greer: Poppy has class. I don’t know if they’ve told her about the appointment yet.

I swiped a hand over my mouth and let out a deep breath. We all babied her even though she was almost twenty-two. The rest of us, we’d all lost something. It was the reason our ragtag little family had come together in the first place.

Erik and Greer and I lost our dad. To selfishness. He didn’t want the responsibility that slotted him somewhere behind a wife and kids.

Ian and Cameron and Parker lost their mom but to cancer. Before any of them had double-digit birthdays, they knew what it was like to bury a parent.

I didn’t want our family to lose anything else.

I swiped at my cheek and waved a hand in front of my face. There was never a good time for something like Greer’s text. But when I heard the door to the office swing open, my eyes closed in a tight pinch, I knew that it was a timely reminder of why I’d stayed strong for four months.

“Good morning,” he said.

I blinked all the remaining moisture from my eyes and turned with a smile. “Morning.”

His smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

Every instinct told me to lie, say it was nothing, but when I opened my mouth, the words didn’t come. It wasn’t nothing. Every part of my life revolved around the fact that I was able to roll with the punches. My business. My role in my family, with my friends. But I didn’t want to roll with this particular punch, and I certainly didn’t want to slap on a brave face with Emmett. Not with him.

Sighing, I sank back against my desk, unsure of how I was going to answer that. My hip pushed my phone where it sat next to me, and when I bent to pick it up off the floor, something snapped tight in my neck. I groaned, slapping a hand where the muscle screamed. I gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m falling apart.”

He gave me a tiny smile, lifting his chin toward my chair. “Sit.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

Emmett set the bright pink box of donuts and large travel cup of coffee down on my desk, his chest brushing against my shoulder.

“So you can eat your horribly unhealthy breakfast, and I can look at your neck.”

Something about that offer should’ve worried me. The man was bringing me sugar and offering to stick his hands on my body when I was emotionally vulnerable.

Somewhere very, very deep in my mind, I heard a voice whispering that this might not be the best idea.

Naturally, I hit the mute button on that bitch and sat my emotionally vulnerable ass in the chair.

If I couldn’t snuggle on his lap or let him do naughty things to me, then this was going to be the thing I allowed myself.

Donuts and a neck exam. How very depressing.

When I opened the box of donuts, I sighed happily. “Oh my.”

Emmett approached from behind, the warmth of his big hands stealing through my shirt when he settled them on the back of my chair. “I wasn’t sure what you might like or if your employees would want some.”

I smiled. “In this office, anyone who brings donuts has our eternal love and admiration.”

It was said lightly enough, and I didn’t really mean anything by it, but nonetheless, Emmett and I lapsed into loaded silence.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

My heart, I thought. In so many different ways.

With a deep breath, I touched the spot just underneath the base of my skull. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a little brain teaser.”

It was very telling that I didn’t even attempt to grab a donut. I was a little hungover, a lot worried about my family, and in the presence of a man who had the uncanny ability to spin my head completely around.

He pressed his thumb in a gentle line down the edge of my neck, and my breath came out in a soft whoosh. “Oh, right there.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Emmett said. His voice was low and rumbly, and I pressed my legs together.

Emmett’s hands were magic. The perfect heat, the slight scrape of his callouses, and as his fingers dug into the aggravated muscle, everything in my body melted.

Months of holding myself in check seeped out of my frame, a tension I hadn’t even been aware that I’d been carrying around.

For the first time in four months, I could breathe.

My chin fell to my chest, my eyelids fluttering shut. He brushed my hair aside carefully, digging into another area, pushing the tension further out. The tips of his fingers slid over the nape of my neck, and my toes curled when he hit a particular knot of muscles.