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)
But the tension was killing him, and it was all his fault. He just couldn’t shake the idea that Rhys might wake up one day to regret how they’d crossed the line from friends to lovers—especially once he got back to his life without the Rose family constantly in his face—and then Emerson would be even more crushed.
He was too fucking scared to admit he wanted Rhys so badly, he’d go to the ends of the earth to take care of him, yet he still kept him at arm’s length to protect his own heart, and he didn’t know how to stop, how to break down his own walls and finally reach out to him. There were so many times he wanted to go to him at night and wrap himself in his arms and soak in his warmth. Especially that night when he’d called out for him, and Emerson had found him sweaty and miserable from one of those posttraumatic headaches the doctor had warned might happen the year after a head injury.
He hadn’t suffered one since then, but Emerson watched him closely just in case. If there was one thing that night had reminded him, it was how close he’d come to losing him, and any hint of Rhys suffering again didn’t sit well with him.
For Rhys’s part, he was keeping himself busy with work and evening walks, which the doctor had also recommended, and the easy relationship he’d developed with Audrey filled Emerson with contentment. He knew he’d regret the day Rhys vacated that bedroom—regret it to his very bones. If he didn’t do something about it, he might never forgive himself. But he just couldn’t seem to bridge that gap. Not yet. Fear would probably rule him for another day.
“Rhys!” Sam yelled from the sunroom and came running, his arms flailing. “It’s time!”
“What in the world?” Emerson asked as Rhys rounded the corner from his room.
But Rhys understood immediately, which only made Emerson appreciate him more. “The butterflies?”
“Yes!”
That week during dinner they’d discussed how close the caterpillars were to their transformation and what they’d do once the metamorphosis was complete. The decision was Rhys’s, just like the ladybugs had been Sam’s.
Emerson wasn’t surprised that Rhys wanted to return to Hawkeye Hill and release them into the wild. It was the perfect metaphor for Rhys, and possibly another opportunity for him to get some closure. He was so brave in ways Emerson could never be.
“Can we go? Please?” Sam pointed toward the sunroom. “They’re all fluttering around waiting to be set free!”
Rhys threw Emerson a questioning look—one of the only times Rhys had trapped him in his gaze since he’d watched over him that night. His eyes said, No sweat if you don’t want to go. But fuck if Emerson was going to miss out. It felt important.
“Someone eat this stack of pancakes so we can get on the road.”
Rhys’s eyes softened briefly before he turned away.
Once they stuffed themselves on breakfast, they packed in the car with Emerson at the wheel and Sam holding the habitat in the back seat.
“You’re gonna be amazed that there’s a whole world out there,” Sam told the butterflies, and Emerson swallowed down the lump in his throat. Sam’s words seemed to encapsulate almost too well Emerson’s feelings about Rhys leaving the Rose family nest, so to speak.
It was a pretty drive to the national park with the changing leaves, and because others seemed to have the same idea, the park entrance was crowded. So it was a relief to head away from the popular spots, toward the more secluded Hawkeye Hill, which was impressive in its own right. The majestic cliff against the backdrop of gold and orange leaves was breathtaking. They parked, then walked toward the path leading to their destination, Sam still cooing at the butterflies, who were no doubt anxious to spread their wings. They were pretty, and Emerson would almost be sad to see them go, but he’d feel guilty to keep them trapped.
Fuck his stupid metaphors.
Rhys coolly watched a couple of climbers gearing up at the base of the rock formation, almost as if from a safe distance, not only from the ground, but in his mind as well. Emerson noted that he seemed calmer this trip, almost resigned to the reality that his memories might never return. He also didn’t seem quite so panicked as he glanced up at the summit and back down, possibly making peace with himself. This time Emerson didn’t dare ask if he recollected anything. That would only make him a hypocrite.
Once they found a more secluded spot, Rhys helped Audrey and Sam climb onto a larger boulder, and then from the lower rock, Emerson handed Sam the netting enclosing the butterflies.
“You ready?” Sam asked in a solemn tone, in stark contrast to how he’d sounded that morning. Maybe he wanted to wonder at their beauty for a little while longer as well.