It was the first time we ever embraced, so it was the first time I’d smelled his cologne on his clothing, felt his t-shirt while he was actually wearing it instead of when I was removing it from the hamper in his closet. It was the first time I felt his hard chest, the one I’d seen in the flesh once before, and now it felt like my tits were pressed against a solid steel door. He was warm, but my nipples hardened like he was cold. Feeling him hug me in return made me feel like nothing bad had ever happened to me, like nothing bad would ever happen while I was in those strong arms. It gave me a sense of peace, like swallowing a Valium.
I’d done this for him, to give him the comfort of a friend, but it gave me just as much satisfaction.
It broke my heart to see him that way. It was like I felt the pain myself, all the guilt that would never go away. I could feel his heartbeat as well as listen to it, notice the way it slowed down as his body and mind recalibrated into a state of serenity.
It made me feel good knowing I’d helped him achieve that.
But it made me feel good…for other reasons.
I loved novels so much because fictitious characters gave us something to strive for, to show us how to be better people, because in the real world, they were so shitty. But Derek didn’t feel real. He felt like a character in a book because he was so different…so special.
I felt lucky to have him in my life…as my friend.
After he took a deep breath, he slowly pulled his arms away and stepped back.
I let him go…even though I didn’t want to.
He directed his gaze elsewhere as he stood there, as if direct eye contact was too intimate right now. But then his gaze flicked back to mine, his brown eyes guarded but also soft, vulnerable. “I’m sorry I got carried away…”
“Don’t apologize, Derek. I should have been more understanding.”
He rubbed the back of his neck then cleared his throat. “I’ll think about what you said.”
“Okay…”
He left the office and walked out, getting back to work like nothing happened.
Three
Derek
“So, anything going on between you two?” Pierre stepped to the table and leaned over it as he looked at the schematic I was examining.
“Who’s us two?”
Pierre nodded into the office, where Emerson was in view.
I ignored his look. “No.”
“That was quite a hug you had yesterday…”
I lifted my gaze and looked at him.
“What?” Pierre straightened. “You did it right in front of the window. We weren’t spying.”
Jerome stood at the other table, working on the laptop. “Thanks for bringing me down with you, man.”
I wished they hadn’t seen that, not that I had anything to hide. But I didn’t want to share what had prompted the embrace. “It was a hug. Nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Every time you hug someone, it means something?” I countered.
“Uh, when I hug like that, yes. And when I hug a woman who looks like that…” He looked through the window again to see her walk to the desk. “Yeah, it definitely means something.”
“Don’t look at her like that.” I knew how men were, dogs in a locker room. It didn’t bother me outside the office because I was the biggest dog there was, but in a professional setting, it was wrong. And she was someone who deserved more respect than that, regardless.
He straightened. “Derek, you aren’t helping your case, man…”
“I was having a hard time, and she comforted me. That’s it.”
“Right…” Pierre continued to stare at me.
“Can we get back to work now?”
“Sure. But…can I say something?”
I sighed and put down my paper, since this wasn’t going to stop until Pierre finished his point.
“She’s really something, man. And I’m not talking about the way she looks. She’s not stuck-up even though she’s gorgeous. It’s like she has no idea or something, like she doesn’t own a mirror. And she’s smart, considerate, thoughtful… She seems like the real deal to me.”
“She’s not my type.” Pierre and Jerome knew exactly what my type was.
“Yeah, she’s not your type for a one-night stand and a weekend fuck-a-thon. But she’s definitely your type for something more.”
All I could do was stare at him.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Just a suggestion…”
I was working on my laptop when Emerson walked inside.
“The chef made lasagna. Looks pretty damn good.” She carried the containers to the kitchen and reheated it before placing it on the table. “How are you? Whenever I don’t see you, it feels like an eternity.”
A weekend had come and gone, and we hadn’t communicated at all. “Good. How are you?”
“Great.” She helped herself to a glass of wine and sat beside me, having a serving from the chef because she’d requested it.
That hug was still fresh in my mind because my memory was much stronger than the average person’s. Things that happened years ago felt like they’d just happened yesterday. So that hug felt like it happened five minutes ago even though it’d been several days.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hugged someone I wasn’t related to.
With the girls I brought back to the penthouse, there was kissing and touching—but no hugging. When I walked them out, I gave them a kiss goodbye, but that was it. The only people I hugged were family.
And now, Emerson.
With her, it felt a lot more intimate, more intimate than sex in a lot of ways. The combination of our fully clothed bodies was pure, with no other intention. But sharing that level of closeness with someone you weren’t sleeping with…felt different. She soothed me through my pain because she could feel my distress, and she tried to put it out like it was a fire. She was the blanket that smothered the flames. She comforted me and carried the pain with me, creating a connection that turned into a bond.
Whenever my mind wasn’t thinking about something else, the embrace popped into my consciousness.
“You alright?”
I turned at her question, forgetting she was there for a second. “Yeah…just thinking.”
She chuckled. “You’re always thinking.”
I speared my fork into my food and started to eat.
She worked on her computer and ate at the same time.
“What did you do this weekend?”
“Spent time with my family. You?”
I stayed home and just worked the entire time. I didn’t even go out. “Nothing, really.”
“You didn’t go back to the cabin?”
I shook my head.
“Do your siblings have kids? Do they take them there?”
“No…no kids.”
“You know what would be cute? Since you loved that cabin growing up, if you take your kids there and teach them out how to fish. You know, full circle.” She sliced her fork into the layers of noodles and sauce then placed it in her mouth.
“I don’t want kids.” I didn’t want to get married, so I definitely didn’t want kids. I barely had enough time to do anything except work, so raising a human being wouldn’t be feasible. I didn’t have the patience or the desire.
“You might change your mind later.”
“No.” I didn’t change my mind.
She finished her bite then looked at me. “I’m surprised you would say that.”
“Why?”
“Because someone of your intelligence should reproduce, right? You need to leave a legacy after you’re gone.”
“My siblings will have offspring, so I’m covered.”
“But it’s not the same as your offspring…”
“Then I’ll donate my sperm or something. I hate kids.”
She stilled at my statement, her fork in her container but steady. Her eyes were on me, like she couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. It was the on
ly time she’d given such a strong reaction, like I’d said something truly terrible.
“I don’t literally hate kids.” Maybe I should have chosen my words better. That was an aggressive statement. “But I definitely don’t want to raise a kid, devote any time to a kid, have to deal with all the bullshit that comes with having a kid…” There was nothing wrong with saying that. Some people wanted to have kids; others didn’t.
“I wouldn’t describe it as bullshit…” She dropped her gaze and looked into her plate to slice through another piece. “I hope you’re more affectionate with your nieces and nephews.”
“That’s different.”
“And what if your siblings ask you to watch them?”
“They wouldn’t ask me that,” I said quickly, knowing they would be putting me in a position I didn’t want to be in. “They know I’m not a kid person.”
She turned her gaze back and stared at me. It was the first time she’d looked at me like that, like she was genuinely disappointed in my responses, when she’d never been that way before, regardless of what I said.
I didn’t understand why the energy in the room was so different. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She slid her fork into her food and took another bite.
“You’ve never judged me for my lifestyle, so why are you judging me now?”
“I’m not judging you, Derek. I’m sorry if I made you think that.”
“Because not all people want kids. That’s not weird, especially for someone like me.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she said. “Not weird at all.”
“Then explain your reaction.” Now I was so comfortable with her that I could just ask her what I wanted; the words flew out of my mouth.
She sighed before she put down her fork. “You just caught me by surprise when you said you hated them because you would be a great father.” She still wouldn’t look at me. “Let’s just move on, Derek. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
After a few days passed, the bad energy from that conversation disappeared.
It was like it never happened.
She worked on my corporate office, came with me to my lectures, and made sure the guys and I were fed at lunchtime. At the end of the day, we pulled up to my building. I usually got out, and Ronnie took her home afterward.
But this time, she got out with me.
Did we have a writing session I’d forgotten about? I didn’t ask her about it, and we rode the elevator to my floor then entered my penthouse. Sometimes it surprised me how clean the place was, the smell catching me off guard because my nose still remembered the way it used to smell.
I set my satchel on the dining table before I grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“Derek?”
I came back out and set down my beer. When she didn’t take a seat or put her purse down, I knew something was different. She wasn’t here to help me write. She was here for a different reason.
I stilled at the serious look on her face, my heart beating a little harder, a little faster. Dread was in my veins, and I was actually afraid of what she might say. My intuition told me bad news was about to be delivered.
I could read the unease in her gaze, which worried me because she was always so confident. “Tell me you’re okay…” My thoughts immediately jumped to something serious, like she was sick or something was wrong. A while ago, she’d been weird around me, and she’d said she had personal issues in her life. That anxiety made me realize how much I really cared about her, not because her absence would make my life difficult…but her pain was my pain.
Her eyes softened. “It’s nothing like that, Derek. I didn’t mean to make you think that.” She came closer to me and pulled out her wallet. She pulled a card out of one of the sleeves. “I didn’t want to discuss this at work since we’re always around other people, so I thought now would be a better time.” She shouldered her purse again and extended the card.
I took it, seeing the details on the front. I lifted my gaze and looked at her.
“Please don’t get upset.”
I swallowed all the emotions that exploded inside me, kept them locked behind the steel door I erected in my mind. My initial reaction was to panic, to get furious, but I remembered this woman had only ever tried to help me.
“I’ve done a lot of research into the right person who can help you. He’s one of the best. He deals with people who suffer from PTSD, which is what I think you’re experiencing. It’s too traumatic for you to address because you’re suffocated by it—”
“I’ve already tried this.” My voice was clipped and fiery, doing my best to keep my cold retorts behind my tongue. “It doesn’t work—”
“Maybe that wasn’t the right person for you.”
I closed my eyes and crumpled the card in my closed fist, doing my best to keep my anger sheathed.
She was quiet.
I took a few seconds before I could meet her look again. “No.” I opened my hand again and let the card fall to the floor.
She had no reaction.
“You didn’t tell Cleo about this, right?”
“No. I would never share such intimate details with anyone.”
I felt the sigh of relief escape, not wanting my mother to know about the demons that still haunted me. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. Don’t bring this up again.” I started to turn away.
“Derek—”
“Don’t push me.” I turned back to her. “I’m this fucking close to snapping, alright?” I held my fingers together, only a millimeter in between the tips. “I know you’re only trying to help, so I’m doing my best not to turn into a full-blown asshole and say shit that will bite me in the ass later, but you’re really making me regret ever telling you about this. You’re my personal assistant, Emerson. Doesn’t mean you need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
She accepted my words without giving a reaction, as if my outburst had no effect on her, as if she still saw the good parts of me when only the bad parts were on display. She continued to wear that hard gaze, pragmatic like a saint. “If you won’t talk to someone, will you talk to me?”
My eyes narrowed.
“I just want to help you, Derek. Please let me help you.”
“I don’t need help—”
“Is there something wrong with needing help?” she whispered. “No. Because there’s not. If you don’t like your situation, but you make no attempt to change it, your situation will never improve. This is a fact.”
My hands moved to my hips.
“I understand if you don’t feel comfortable talking to someone you don’t know, especially since you already tried this once and it failed. But you seem to trust me…at least more than most people.”
I gave a loud sigh.
“In case this isn’t obvious, I care about you…a lot. It’s impossible for me to do this job without getting emotionally invested in you as a person. I want to protect you. I want to help you. I want to make you happy.”
I believed her—all the way down to my soul.
“You have a lot of guilt to resolve, and if we can do that, I think you’ll feel much better. We have to at least try. You deserve to be happy, Derek. And I can tell that you aren’t…”
I winced slightly at her observation because she was right on the money.
“Or maybe we can go to this therapist together. What about that?”
I inhaled another deep breath. “Okay…I’ll try.”
Four
Emerson
I walked into the apartment to a mess in the kitchen.
Mom was sitting in the recliner watching TV with her eyes closed, while Lizzie lay on the couch, her hair hanging over the edge, her legs propped up over the back of the couch, her thumb scrolling through her newsfeed.
I looked at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and the leftover food on the counter. “Lizzie.” I didn’t raise my voice, but I used a very specific tone that told her hell would freeze over if she didn’t
get off her ass and clean this up.
Lizzie must have been so focused on her social media that she didn’t hear me walk in because she rolled off the couch and landed on the floor. “You’re never home this early.” She landed on her knees then got to feet, wearing little pajama shorts and a tank top.
“And that makes it okay to be a pig?” I couldn’t even put my purse down because the counter was covered.
“I was going to clean it up, I swear.” She got to her feet and walked into the kitchen.
“Doesn’t matter because you’re going to clean it up now.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “So happy you’re home, Mom.”
“I’m just as happy about it as you are.” I walked into the living room and stared at my mom, who had fallen asleep in the recliner in front of the TV. “Ma.” I grabbed the back of the recliner and started to shake it so she would wake up.
She snapped out of it and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Not bedtime. Ma, the kitchen is a mess. Why aren’t you disciplining her?”
She shrugged. “I’m her grandmother, not her mother. That’s your problem.”
I sighed and turned away.
She snapped her fingers. “Better give me a kiss, missy.”
I rolled my eyes playfully then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
“That’s better.”
Lizzie worked in the kitchen, cleaning up all the stains on the counter.
“What the hell did you make?”
“Smoothies.” Her brown hair was in a tight ponytail and out of her face. With blue eyes like mine, it was obvious she was my relative, but when we went out, people assumed we were sisters instead of mother and daughter.
“Why couldn’t you just make a sandwich?”
“Because I wanted a smoothie. I found this recipe online.” She carried the wad of paper towels to the garbage can and tossed them inside. Then she went to the dishes and started to clean. But she only did the ones she’d added to the pile.
“Ahem.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
The Boy Who Has No Hope (Soulless Book 6) Page 3
