Page 108 of Fever Dream
I want them to hear me coming.
“Emmett?” I shout as though I’m looking for him. I make a show of poking my head into the indoor arena even though I know he’s not in there. “Emmett? We need you on set!”
My heart pounds in my ears. Because I don’t know the extent of this man’s abusive tendencies, and I’ve just waltzed right into his rage fit. I turn and head for the office.
Emmett hasn’t moved. He’s frozen in place. Jaw clenched, body tense like he’s made of stone. His dad has stepped away from him, but I can tell he’s still seething.
I brush past the discomfort, dedicated to pretending I’m oblivious to what I’ve just walked in on. “Oh, good.” I smile briefly. “There you are.”
Neither man says anything, so I keep it going by pulling out my phone and swiping open my email. I click on one that tells me IKEA is having a summer sale and pretend it’s an important work memo.
“Okay, so we need to go over a few things in this email before we film today. Do you have a few minutes? Really got to get these points covered fast or Richard will kill me.” I point down at a daybed frame calledFyresdalas though it’s a vital note from my boss.
His dad snorts and shoots him a mocking glare before turning and breezing past me without another word.
I lift my gaze to Emmett, but he won’t meet my eyes. It appears as though he’s found something exceptionally interesting on the floor in the corner.
So, I give him space. I follow Carl’s path quietly and check the barn alleyway before closing the door. My fingers flip the small lock on the door handle, the click echoing in the silent office. If someone needs to get in here, they can fucking wait.
I make my way back over to Emmett.
Emmett who looks like a beaten dog and is breaking my fucking heart.
“Hey,” I venture, wanting to comfort him but also recognizing that he looks like an elastic band pulled too tight right now. Tense and ready to snap.
“Just tell me what Richard’s email says.”
A ragged inhale lifts my shoulders, then I let out a rough breath. “I lied. There’s no email.”
He finally tilts his head in a way that allows his eyes to meet mine. Crystal blue and full of so much pain. He’s trying to look exasperated, but all I see is a broken boy, covering for years and years of hurt feelings.
It draws me closer. My hands visibly shake as I reach for him and cup each of his elbows. I get no response. But he doesn’t tell me to stop, so I move closer, my feet bracketing his as my hands slip up and around his neck.
Then, I hug him.
I hug him hard and with intention. I don’t know what to say to him, but I’m hoping my touch says everything I wish I could.
Several seconds pass, and he still doesn’t move. It freaks me out. He feels completely unresponsive. Or maybe he just doesn’t want me to touch him—after all, this is pretty sappy for the two of us.
So I fall back on something that has historically worked for us.
Humor.
I turn my head, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear as I whisper in a deadly tone, “Do you want me to kill him?”
A rough chuckle lurches from his lips, and—finally—he hugs me back. Strong arms encircle my rib cage as he crushes me to him with a level of desperation I didn’t expect.
It feels less like he wants me, and more like he needs me.
We’ve touched each other before, but not like this. My entire body sighs in relief at the sensation of his arms wrapping around me. I exhale and give in to instinct, pressing a firm kiss to his neck before hugging him tighter.
I don’t know how long we stand here, holding each other. Breathing each other in. He smells of cedar and laundry soap. To me, it’s heaven. And I revel in him holding me.
“Jules?” he finally whispers after several quiet minutes.
“Yeah?”
“We’re supposed to be staying away from each other. What are we doing here?”
