Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Emerson let out a harsh breath. Fuck, this was all so much to take in. He couldn’t imagine what Rhys must’ve been feeling. It had only made him more resolute about putting aside everything that happened between them. His recovery was what mattered now.
Afterward, Emerson stayed on the line to speak to Mrs. Lancaster about the weeks following discharge. Rhys would be moving to a regular room, beginning occupational therapy, and if he continued to improve, could be discharged sometime next week.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford to take many more days off work and would need to head back to Florida. Her fiancé would be flying back tomorrow without her.
Emerson insisted Rhys should stay with them instead of trying to manage the stairs in their home himself, and she’d seemed relieved, thanking him profusely.
But he needed Audrey and Sam to be on board with the plan. “We have a bedroom with an attached bath on the first floor, and that would really help Rhys recover.”
Audrey gasped. “Mom and Dad’s room?”
“Don’t you think it’s time?” Emerson asked, and Sam nodded, even though his countenance looked pained.
“Audrey?” Emerson bit his lips as he waited.
Her eyes darted toward the hallway where their parents’ room was located—almost like the dark corridor of a museum. When her glassy gaze met his, she agreed in a breathy whisper. “Yeah.”
He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Will you help me choose a paint color and bedding?”
He finally saw a bit of light in her eyes. “Could be fun.”
He blew out a breath. “Thanks.”
Leaving their bedroom door open might just be tolerable with a fresh coat of paint. And having Rhys recovering there would breathe new life into the space. Whether or not Emerson could bear it was a different question. He would try, though, not only for his family, but for his friend.
5
Rhys
The next time Rhys opened his eyes, warmth spread through his limbs as he took in the first person in his line of sight. The piercing blue eyes, the signature ginger hair, the hesitant grin.
“Emerson.” The Rose family had always represented comfort and security. He had a deep appreciation for his best friend that he felt to his bones. They had been through a lot together, and though the past few weeks seemed ambiguous in his brain—which scared the hell out of him—he felt calmer for the first time since he’d woken up. Not that his mother’s presence didn’t bring him comfort, but he could so easily read the worry in her eyes. Emerson was like a rock that he could lean on to weather any storm.
“I’m here,” he replied in a thick voice as he stepped closer. “I heard you caused all kinds of trouble at Acadia. Rearranging rocks and getting the EMTs involved. Such a troublemaker.”
Rhys chuckled, then gasped and screwed his eyes shut in pain. Fuck, his ribs hurt. “Don’t make me laugh.”
Emerson sobered, obviously remembering his injuries. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“S’kay,” he mumbled. “Think it’s gonna take me a bit.”
“Definitely.” Emerson’s voice sounded unsteady, and as Rhys looked him over, he noticed the stubble on his jaw and the shadows beneath his eyes that told him he’d also had a rough few days, most likely because of him, and that made his stomach constrict.
“How are you feeling otherwise?” Emerson asked. If Rhys asked him the same, Emerson would shake it off, so he held his tongue.
“I’m better,” Rhys murmured as a wave of exhaustion hit. “Better now.”
Emerson reached out and took his hand, which made his skin prickle. They didn’t normally show each other affection so readily except under certain circumstances, so he knew it was Emerson’s way of offering support.
Rhys applied pressure to his hand. “Thanks for being here.”
“Of course. Where else would I be?” Emerson looked away as red dotted his cheeks, and it struck Rhys that something felt different about him, but he couldn’t exactly place his finger on what.
Was there something he was missing, something important he couldn’t recall? He felt a surge of frustration that he needed to tamp down. Trying to remember stuff exhausted his body as well as his brain, and the doctor had warned that he needed to take it easy. He certainly didn’t want to regress in his recovery.
He motioned to the side table and croaked out, “Can I get some water?”
His mother immediately stepped forward. “Sure, honey.”
“I can do it,” Emerson said, and he watched as he reached for the pitcher and filled the cup with water. He wished his mom and Carl would give them some privacy so he could speak to Emerson plainly, without worrying his mother.
“Here you go,” Emerson said, holding out the straw. When he tried to take the cup, he winced. It hurt just to lift his arms. Not only because of his ribs, but because his forearms were bruised; same with his knees. He couldn’t imagine what his accident had looked like from the ground. Or up close. Guilt swarmed him that he didn’t remember the girl that had come with Martin. Was her name Jill? She apparently was with him. Frustration arose again, but he swallowed it down.