Page 22

Chapter twenty-two

Emmett Foster

I’m in over my head. I thought I was wading into a pool only now to realize I stepped off into the Mariana Trench. When I arrived, my first thought was that Hazel looked like she needed a hug. I’m not a touchy-feely person, but I know she is, and when I saw her, my instincts said that was the best way I could help her. So I did. That hug ruined me. If I thought her scent on my hotel pillow was distracting, having that sugary clementine smell on my clothes is going to be the death of me.

Her wide, green eyes staring up at me as tears streamed down her face uncovered a part of me that hasn’t seen the light of day in years. All I could think about was doing everything in my power to make sure she never cried for any reason other than happiness. That feeling made me go too far. I held her too close, touched her too intimately. I implied that she was mine .

Because she is , some deep, primal part within me rears up. The same part that wanted me to capture her plush pink lips in a kiss when she tilted her head back earlier to look into my eyes. I push the thought down now just as I did then. Hazel doesn’t need me to kiss her, she needs me to be here for her. I look up from my barely-eaten sandwich to glance at the woman occupying my every thought.

She stands out in this sad room of neutral colors. Her yellow t-shirt has tiny flowers on it that remind me of the wildflowers on my property. They always pop up in the most unexpected places. June tends to collect them throughout the spring and summer months, putting them in mason jars on window sills and gifting them to friends and family. It occurs to me that Hazel herself is like those flowers. Resilient and able to make people smile easily. Something I doubt anyone would say about me. Would she come to resent that the way Shelby did? I watch as she sips her matcha, a fragile smile on her lips. It’s like she’s afraid to be happy. I know the feeling.

“I think I’m ready to go,” she says as she sets her drink on a nearby table. Beside it is a half-eaten croissant sandwich. I eye it, earning a light laugh from her. “I’ll finish the rest, I promise. I think I should take it slow with how nervous I am.”

I nod. “Okay, I’ll allow it,” I say with a smirk so she knows I’m teasing.

She rolls her eyes in response and begins packing away the food. Once she’s done, she brushes crumbs off her shirt and cuffed jeans, then walks to the door. Where she abruptly stops. I stop behind her, giving her space.

“Everything okay?” I ask tentatively.

“This is where I got to every time I tried to leave this room. I never made it past this point.” Her voice is low and timid, unlike the bubbly woman I’ve come to know.

I step beside her and intertwine our fingers. “You didn’t have anyone with you before, but now you do.”

She smiles up at me, and this time, her eyes crinkle at the edges. The urge to kiss each corner of her eyes overcomes me. I try not to let the absurd desire show. Now is not the time to be thinking of such things.

Her hand squeezes mine. “You’re right. Thank you.” She places a hand on the doorknob, but doesn’t turn it. “Is it too late to say I’d rather go back to hugging instead?” she asks.

I chuckle. “Come on, Wildflower, you can do this.” I place my free hand over hers on the knob, and together, we twist it.

Her face is close to mine– too close –when she whispers, “I thought you didn’t like nicknames.”

I gaze into her green eyes. Our breaths are intermingled. Her sweet citrus scent is caressing my senses. The feeling of her skin on mine has my heart pounding. Her eyes flick down to my lips for the briefest of moments. I’d have missed it if I weren’t studying her. I force myself not to look at her lips in return. If we kiss, I don’t want it to be in a hospital waiting room while Hazel is sleep-deprived and stressed. I don’t want any reason for her to regret it. Not to mention, I still haven’t sorted my feelings out.

“I don’t,” I murmur.

“But you just gave me one.”

“I find myself doing a lot of things I don’t normally do with you.” Like opening up my heart. Allowing myself to care. Too much.

“Why Wildflower?” Vulnerability shines in her eyes amid curiosity. I can tell this answer matters to her.

I run my thumb over her knuckles, smiling a little when she shivers at my touch.

“Because you’re resilient and aren’t easily deterred. No matter what life throws at you, you bloom. And…” I hesitate, but I know I can’t leave this part out. “You’re beautiful. In a wild, colorful way.”

She blushes. “Thank you, Emmett. That’s very kind of you to say.”

I simply dip my chin. Beneath my hand, hers twists the knob the remainder of the way and I remove mine so she can open the door. I keep hold of her other hand though. She grips it like she might fall off the face of the earth without it. I find that I don’t mind. Being needed like this makes me feel helpful when I spent the last twenty-four hours feeling useless.

“I’ll have to come up with a nickname for you,” she says with a grin.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She laughs and the dreary hospital goes from grayscale to color at the sound. A few nurses smile in our direction.

“Okay, I won’t subject you to that. It seems all your friends have a nickname for you, so maybe my thing can be no nicknames.” She swings our hands as we walk down the hall.

“I’d like that. Anything is better than being compared to an alien or movie theater candy.”

Her laughter echoes through the hallway. Each time she laughs, I get the same feeling as when I throw a strike, maybe better. Pure satisfaction and accomplishment flood my veins. The sound and the feeling fade as we slow to a stop in front of a room labeled 637.

“This is her,” she whispers.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” I offer again, for her sake but also mine. The need to protect Hazel is growing within me at a fierce rate.

“I don’t want her to have a way to distract from what’s happened. She’s very good at dodging questions and changing the subject.”

I nod in understanding. “Then I’ll be out here if you need me.”

She squeezes my hand. “Thanks, Emmett.”

Her grip loosens, but before she moves away, I pull her in for another hug. She sniffs and I’m worried that I made the wrong call and she’s going to cry again.

Instead, she mumbles, “You smell unreasonably good.”

I laugh into her hair. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much with anyone except maybe June.

“Thank you.”

She steps back, her face red. “I need to sleep. I’ve said way too much today. The tomorrow version of me is going to be very upset.”

I shake my head. “You do need sleep, but I don’t mind what you’ve said.”

She bites her lip and I’m tempted to forget about our surroundings and kiss her right here and now. I’ve always been in control, but Hazel has me feeling reckless.

She stands straighter and lets out a breath. “I’m going to go in before I change my mind or further embarrass myself.”

“I’ll be here,” I repeat my earlier sentiment.

She gives me a small smile before opening the door and disappearing inside, closing it behind her. I lean against the wall beside the door. I can’t hear anything, which I think is for the best. This is a private moment. If Hazel wants me to know what’s said, she’ll tell me.

A downside of waiting is that I’m alone with my thoughts. Since I got to the hospital, things with Hazel have felt natural. Easy. But now that there’s a door between us, uncertainty snatches away my peace.

Hazel is not Shelby, that much I’m certain of. She’s sweet, kind, and doesn’t seem to have a desire to climb any social ladders. June loves her, and I’d bet my baseball career that Hazel loves her back. Hazel puts me at ease, something I didn’t feel much with Shelby. I used to feel like I had to constantly stretch my limits. If I wanted to stay home one night, I had to go out the next or Shelby would feel slighted. I did my best, but between games and practices, it was difficult.

Hazel is great with people. Everyone she’s met loves her. She’s not as outgoing as Shelby, but she’s certainly not as introverted as I am. Would that come between us if I dared to confess my feelings for her?

I rake my hands through my hair. This is all operating under the assumption that she shares my feelings–feelings I’ve yet to put a name to. They feel too big for like , but to call them love seems hasty.

The door opens beside me. I push off the wall. Hazel slips out of the room, closing the door with one hand while swiping tears away with the other.

“Are you okay?” I study her expression. She seems shaken, but not as distraught as when I first arrived.

“I’m okay,” she rasps. “A bit tired of crying, but okay.” She laughs a little, but it sounds broken.

“Did she say something to upset you?” I glance at the door, piecing together what I would say to a woman I’ve never met.

“Not on purpose, no. She spent most of the conversation lamenting over what a terrible mother she’s been to us. It was hard not to reassure her, but I stayed strong.”

I pull her to me. She snuggles in with a familiarity that doesn’t match this only being our third hug ever.

“You did good, Wildflower. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I’d really like to go home now.”

“Of course. I can drive you back to your apartment or follow you home to make sure you get there okay.”

Her head lifts from my chest. She always jokes about June’s eyes getting her what she wants, but she underestimates her own. I’d give her anything with her looking at me like this. As though I matter to her.

“My apartment,” she says slowly. “Yes, we should go there. Can you drive? I’m not sure if it would be safe for me to right now.”

I tuck a strand of silky hair behind her ear. “Did you mean to say my house? I can take you there. We can pick up Raven, too.”

Her red-rimmed eyes start to water. “I think I’m going to get dehydrated from crying too much,” she says with a wet laugh. “I’d really like that. I…” She exhales a shuddery breath. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Some people might point out that she wouldn’t be alone with her sister there, but I know better. Having Raven next to her would be the same as having June next to me. She has to support them, rather than be supported. When you’re constantly giving, it’s easy to feel alone.

“You’re not alone anymore,” I tell her while staring into her eyes. “You have me.”

Even if it terrifies me.