Page 17 of Splintered Memories (Ember Hollow Romance #2)

Emersyn

T he next twenty-four hours went by in a blur of half dreams, dizzying fever, and an aching stomach. I slept for most of it, only waking to vomit into that bucket or when August woke me to force water down my throat.

It was the sickest I had ever been. But for once, I wasn’t alone.

Whenever I startled awake, my head swimming from fever and bone-deep exhaustion, he was there.

He held my hair back when I retched. He put cool cloths on my forehead and made sure I took medicine.

He rubbed my back, gently massaging the sore muscles.

And I let him. I didn’t have the energy to fight it. I didn’t want to.

When my eyes opened after what seemed like a very long time, I glanced blearily around the room.

Light filtered in my bedroom windows and a warm hand was wrapped around mine.

I shifted in my bed, turning my head. My heart clenched.

August knelt at my bedside, one hand over mine.

His head rested against the mattress, eyes closed and hair mussed from sleep .

I stared at him, my senses finally coming back to me. My face heated, but it had nothing to do with a fever that finally was gone. I wondered how long he had been in this room. Had he left at all? I glanced around for my phone but couldn’t find it.

What time was it?

I yanked my hand out of his, my heart thumping in my chest. August didn’t stir, he stayed in sleep, looking peaceful.

The hand he’d been holding tingled, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over me.

I stared at August, my brain foggy from sleep and illness, but fear raced beneath my skin. How had I let him so close to me?

I’d let him see me weak, and that fact scared me. I didn’t let people see me as weak. It let them know how to hurt you.

Careful not to wake him up, I shimmied as fast as I could toward the opposite side of my bed. I lowered my feet onto the floor. My body was weak and shaky, but I felt better. After a few steadying breaths, I stood, knees wobbling. A pang of hunger hit me, and I took that as a good sign.

I was about to start the search for my phone, when I heard the knocking. It wasn’t loud, just a low thump barely audible from upstairs, but it was frantic.

Someone was knocking on my front door.

I couldn’t check the cameras because I didn’t have my phone, but I hurried out of my bedroom and down the stairs, clutching onto the railing and going as fast as I could as the knocking became more and more incessant.

The knocks rumbled against my skin as I approached the door, my heart in my throat. I pressed my eyes against the peephole I’d installed. My breath caught at the familiar face looking back at me, near panic on his face .

I fumbled for the dead bolt as I unlocked it. I flung the door open, staring at my wide-eyed brother.

Jake’s breaths hitched as he took me in. That panic and his expression barely dissipated as his gaze flicked over my features and locked on the bandage on my forehead.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice breaking.

I crossed my arms over my chest, aware that I probably looked like death. “I’m fine,” I assured him, trying to sound stronger than I felt. “I caught a stomach bug.”

Jake ran both hands through his messy hair.

“I’ve been calling and texting you for over a day without any response.

” He pulled in a shaky breath, fingers curling and tugging onto the strands of his hair.

His eyes darkened as they zeroed in on my forehead.

“And I don’t think a stomach bug would cause that. ”

My arms tightened around myself. Anxiety radiated from him like noxious gas. It had been a long time since I’ve seen him like this.

I stepped back. “Come in, Jake.”

“What happened to you, Emy?”

My heart sank. I reached for him, wrapping a hand around his forearm and squeezed. “I’m fine.”

As he looked at me, it was clear he didn’t believe it. I let out a slow breath and pulled Jake inside, grateful that he didn’t resist. I led him toward the couch and sat him down onto the cushion.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked, my chest tight with worry.

Jake inspected the bandage on my forehead, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

I stared at my brother. I should have made sure to keep my phone near me when I was sick.

Jake had been checking up on me every day since the shooting.

I knew that he was worried for me, but this—the way he was shaking made a pit form in my stomach.

I wanted to create a small lie about the little gash on my forehead.

I didn’t want to tell him what happened in the alley.

I didn’t want to give him more to worry about or more weight to bear on his shoulders.

But Jake was my brother. He was the only family I had besides Uncle Amos. I wouldn’t lie to him.

So, I pulled in a steadying breath and I told him the truth, about what happened in the alley and everything, and apologized for missing his calls and texts. I also told him about the man who had attacked me.

Jake went ghostly pale as I finished telling the story.

“I promise,” I forced myself to sound confident, “I am going to be fine. August is here, and I swear not to run away from him again.” Even as I said those words, I wondered whether I could actually keep that promise.

I’d have to try, for Jake’s sake. I didn’t want to see this look on his face again.

Silence hung in the air between us for so long I didn’t know whether he would answer. Eventually, he shook his head.

“Someone is trying to kill you, Emy.” His hands clenched together in his lap, but I didn’t miss the slight tremor in them. “Someone is trying to take you away from me.” The brokenness in his voice had my heart twisting. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” I said firmly.

Jake looked at me, a fog of helplessness clouding his expression. “I hope that you’re right. But as long as there’s someone out there willing to take your life, you’re not safe here.”