Underneath the Sycamore Tree(42)

Mouse.

Slowly, my gaze lifts up to meet his face. He isn’t looking at me though. He’s facing forward with a locked jaw that’s popping in anger. If he looks down, I bet his eyes will be dark, hard—full of judgment.

“W-wanted…L-Lo.”

He scoffs, walking the path in front of him like he’s done it thousands of times. When my shaking becomes too much, he swears again and holds me closer, his breath warming the tip of my nose as he picks up the pace.

“You would have been with her for good if you stayed out here any longer,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

I want to laugh. If he’d known what I’d been thinking of before I fell asleep, he would see the dry humor in that too. Or maybe he would tell me I’m an idiot.

Burying my face in the crook of his neck, I feel him tense. I want to ask him if he believes in the afterlife or heaven or hell. Does he think he’s going to one or the other? Does he not believe at all?

I bet Cam took him to church.

Instead of asking him anything, I absorb the heat his body offers me. We’re silent, though I’m sure he has lots to say to me. I’m grateful he doesn’t say any of the things he’s probably dying to toss at me—to yell, to call me out on.

When he makes it to the front door, a loud gasp sounds. Grandma. She ushers him in and tells him to put me in my room. He stumbles and stops and glances around until Grandma points him in the right direction. Momentarily, I wonder if the hair is still on the pillow. I didn’t move it. I couldn’t.

Before he rests me on the mattress, I notice there’s nothing on the case. Releasing a silent breath of relief, I flutter my chilly eyelids until I’m watching his grim features.

He isn’t looking around the room.

He isn’t snooping through my stuff.

He’s staring at me. Watching.

He’s…worried.

“W-What are y-you doing here?”

Grandma comes in before he can answer, ushering him out. “I need to get her out of these cold clothes. I’ll let you back in when she’s changed.”

She closes the door on him just as he steps over the threshold into the hall. Grandma scolds me under her breath as she peels off my coat and shoes, then carefully helps me slide out of my jeans and socks, and slipping off my shirt. Beside her on the nightstand is a wet washcloth, and my body eases into the warmth of it when she starts carefully pressing it against my skin.

“Don’t ever do that again, Emmy.” Her voice cracks and for the first time, I realize just how much she’s gone through.

I’ve always worried about Mama.

But so has she.

Only she’s had the burden to worry about me too, and that was never fair to her. She shouldn’t have to concern herself over two generations of broken women.

I swallow. “I miss Logan.”

She pauses what she’s doing, setting the washcloth down and blotting me with a dry cotton towel. “I know. We all do.”

“I miss Mama, too.”

She grabs my pajama pants and helps me put them on. The fuzzy material feels perfect against my skin. The long sleeve top she chose matches the floral bottoms, and she makes quick to put the blanket over me once I’m fully dressed, tucking the edges under my body.

“I think your mother misses herself too.”





Chapter Twenty





I wake up in a haze. Something feels off. Blinking my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, I attempt to move only to find something holding me down.

Pressing my lips together, I slowly gaze downward at the toned arm draped around my midsection. Eyes widening, I try remembering what happened before I fell asleep. Grandma had brought me grilled cheese and tomato soup, Kaiden told me tomato soup was gross, and—

Kaiden.

Just as I’m about to wiggle my way out of his grip, he tightens it. “It’s too fucking early,” he mumbles, voice muffled by sleepiness.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to get out of bed.

He won’t let me. “I’m trying to sleep, but you’re being annoying.”

Scoffing, I try prying his arm off me again. “I can’t believe you’re in my bed. You do know there’s one right over there if you wanted to sleep!”

He grumbles and pulls me against his body. Being pressed against him is like having my own personal heater, which I normally wouldn’t complain about. My back is against his solid front, and I wonder how much time he puts into working out. When his lips brush my ear, I freeze in his hold. “Do you really want me on that bed, Mouse?”

I’m about to tell him off when I realize he probably doesn’t mean it in the way I think. His voice isn’t cocky or slimy, it’s knowing. Closing my mouth, I glance at Lo’s made bed. It isn’t even the same one she slept on. The one she passed away in was taken away a few days after the funeral. I’m surprised they even put a new mattress in the room. It’s not like anyone would need it.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, letting out a tiny breath that tickles my cheek. “You were shivering, so I thought this might help warm you up. Now stop talking.”

He makes himself comfortable, his nose nuzzling in the crook of my neck and causing my arms to pimple with goosebumps. I wish I were uncomfortable, but there’s not even a lick of pain I could use to get him away. As if he knows that, his arm hugs me to him, molding my body to his.