Page 139 of The Wild Card

“Crew?” I turn. Emmie’s standing on the porch, hugging herself despite the warm temps today.

“Lunch is almost ready. But I, um—” She hesitates. “Can you help me move the dresser real quick? I dropped an earring behind it, and I can’t reach.”

“Sure.”

I set down the axe and follow her inside, hyperaware of every step, every breath. The bedroom is small—just enough space for the queen bed and a dresser—and when I move to the heavy oak piece, she doesn’t leave.

“Which side?”

“The right. It fell in the corner.”

I grip the edge of the dresser and pull it away from the wall, the legs scraping against the refinished floor. She squeezes into the gap, crouching down, searching.

“I see it—hang on—” A second later, she rises to her feet, the earring clutched in her fingers. “Got it,” she breathes.

But neither of us moves.

I’m caging her in.

Her back against the dresser, me in front of her. The smell of coconut and something sweet.

“Crew.” Her voice is unsteady.

“Emmie.”

“This is—we should—”

“I know.”

She takes a step forward, and now we’re face to face in the narrow space between the dresser and the wall. Inches apart.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I hear myself say.

“Do what?”

“This. Pretending. Acting like I don’t—” I exhale sharply. “Every time I see you, I want things I have no right to want. Every time you walk away, I have to stop myself from following. I ended us because I thought it was the right thing, but it’s killing me, Emmie. You’re killing me.”

It’s possibly the most words she’s ever heard me say. And somehow, I’m not done.

“Crew—”

“I know I’m not what you want. I know I can’t give you normal. And if you tell me to walk away right now, I will.” My hands are shaking. “Just say the word, and I’ll go, and we never have to talk about this again.”

Silence.

The longest silence of my life.

And then Emmie reaches up, cups my face in her hands, and pulls me down to her.

The kiss starts soft. Tentative. Like a question.

And when I don’t pull away, she answers—pressing closer, her hands sliding up my chest to rest over my heart. I wonder if she can feel how fast it’s beating. I wonder if she knows she’s the reason.

She kisses me again, and I forget every reason I had for staying away. My brain—usually so loud, so insistent—goes completely silent. There’s just her. The warmth of her mouth. The small sound she makes when I finally, finally kiss her back. It’s the quietest moment of my life and the loudest. Human Xanax.

“Don’t walk away,” she breathes between kisses. “Don’t you dare walk away.”

“Never.” I press my forehead to hers, both of us trembling. “Not again. I promise.”