Page 97 of Emerson

“You love her.”

He scrunches his nose but doesn’t deny it.

Obviously, he loves her. He tore his house apart, was crying on the curb in the middle of the night. I lean my arms on the top of the counter, bending so we’re eye level.

“Say it.”

He rolls his eyes and rips a piece of the grilled cheese off, popping it between his lips. I can’t help watching the movement. The tiny peek of tongue when he parts his mouth.

“Come on, Emerson. Say it. You’ll find the words won’t kill you to admit.”

“I…like her. Am fond, if you will. Not completely appalled by her mere existence.”

I chuckle, and this time, it’s his eyes on my mouth. We both pause, suspended in the moment.

“I’ve missed you, Emery.”

His breath hitches, and he searches my face. I don’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but I hope he finds it. I don’t have a damn thing to hide from him.

“I’ve… Your absence has been felt.”

This time when I laugh, it’s louder. More real, and the minuscule tilt of his lips is everything.

His last bite of food is chewed in slow motion. His eyelids are heavy, body slumped.

“Come on, Em. Let's get you in bed.” He doesn't argue, but he does walk over to his apartment door, and my heart hurts when he opens it a sliver, just enough to peek into the hall. I know she's not there when he closes it again with a dull click and presses his head against the surface.

I follow him there, locking the door and kissing the back of his head. “We'll start again tomorrow, okay?”

He nods, allowing me to pull him away from the door. I don't know if it's exhaustion or worry that has him moving with leaden feet. Maybe it's both.

He yawns when I close his bedroom door, leaving it cracked just in case Eleanor shows up and scratches to be let in.

He keeps his head down when I unzip his hoodie and moves just enough to help me peel him out of the rest of his clothes. I rub the side of his arm before stepping over more scattered clothes and shoes on the floor to find a clean set of pajamas.

I find a set of silky blue bottoms and a matching top folded on the shelf in his closet and take them back over to where he still stands.

“I'm too tired to have sex,” he says faintly.

I pause, then crouch down in front of him with the silk bottoms in hand. “I'm not here to have sex with you, Emerson.”

“Then why are you here?” He doesn't just ask. He's pleading with me. I kiss each of his thighs, I kiss his hips. I pull the pajama pants up his legs, then look up at his beautiful, sleepy face.

“I told you. I want to be here.”

He looks at me as I stand and help him into his shirt. Then I walk around to his back and finger comb his hair, using an elastic I found in the mess he made on the floor to secure it.

“God, that was hot,” he says in a rough, low voice. “Maybe a little sex.”

I blow out a laugh, walking him with my hands on his sides to his bed. “No little sex. How about a little sleep instead?"

He moans, crawling up onto the mattress and falling onto his side. He only opens his top eye to look at me after a second.

“I'll be out in the living room if you need me, okay?”

I step back, but Emery immediately tenses, pushing himself up on a bent arm. “Don't go.” He pats the bed next to him and doesn't lay back down until I nod.

I sit on the edge of the bed, typing out a quick text to a few of the guys to let them know I won’t be able to make it to work. Then I shuck off my jeans before sliding into the sheets next to him. As soon as my head hits the pillow, Emery is moving. Pressing closer, resting his head against my chest.