Emory’s voice cracks slightly, and it’s clear that Jenna’s act of choosing to go upstairs rather than out the front door to safety sealed her fate.
“By the time she made it to Chelsea’s room, the fire was already up the stairs. She went to the window, got it open, and yelled for help. Neighbors called 9-1-1 but the house was nothing but old dried wood and it was only a matter of a minute before the second floor was burning. A man managed to get a ladder up close to the second-story window and Jenna was able to pass Chelsea out to safety. By then, the fire was in the room and on her. She had her upper body hanging out the window as the man climbed back up for her, but she’d lost consciousness. She was just too heavy for him to get her out in a way to carry her down. He just did the best he could, and pulled her all the way out, dropping her down to the ground.”
“Jesus fuck,” I mutter, so engrossed in the story, I almost feel like I can smell acrid smoke.
Emory gives a tiny cough to clear her throat and manages a bright smile. “That man saved both Chelsea and Jenna’s lives. Chelsea just had some smoke inhalation but she was fine.”
“And Jenna?” I ask, because I have a feeling it’s more than just some scarring on her jaw and neck.
“She was in the burn unit of the hospital for almost two months, one of which she was in a medically induced coma. She had some broken bones in the fall, but those were the least of her worries.”
My throat is dry, so I take a sip of my beer. “How so?”
“She had burns over thirty-five percent of her body,” Emory says softly. “You can see the ones on her jaw and neck, and they end just past her shoulder. But the backs of her legs, all the way up to her lower spine, were burned badly. She’s had dozens of skin graft operations.”
“This happened when you lived in Los Angeles?” I ask.
Emory nods. “It was a non-stop rotation at the hospital between me, my dad, and my stepmom. Rehab after her surgeries. Then she went home to live with our parents while she continued her recovery.”
“She stayed there until she moved here with you?” I guess.
“Yeah,” she replies with a fond smile. “Our parents are great, but she would have stayed in their home, hiding from life forever if I hadn’t insisted she come here. My parents are pretty overprotective of her.”
“More than you?” I tease and she laughs.
She holds up her bottle, pointing her index finger at me. “I’m forcing her to get out at least. Start living a regular life again.”
I nod in understanding. It’s no doubt the best thing for Jenna. But there’s something that doesn’t quite make sense. “I watched your sister tonight. She was nervous at first, but she quickly warmed up and was fine around other people. Seems like she’s doing well.”
Emory bobs her head left, then right, in an indication that she’s sort of fine and sort of not. “She doesn’t trust easily these days. She’d rather hide than open herself up to see how people will treat her. Once she realized the people in our group tonight were nice and accepting, she was okay. But it took a lot for her to do that.”
“And why is that?” I ask, because I know it’s not just her physical appearance that causes her fear. Jenna is a beautiful woman despite the marks on her jaw and neck, which aren’t overly noticeable given how she wears her hair. I’ve also learned she’s a confident woman outside of those scars, once you get to know her.
With a grimace, Emory picks at the label on her bottle. “Apparently saving his daughter from the fire wasn’t enough to keep her boyfriend around and loyal.”
“He broke up with her?” I ask stunned.
Emory snorts with distaste. “You have to actually be around to break up with someone. He just never came around after those first few weeks she was in a coma. He went on with his life and never looked back at her.”
“What a dick,” I growl.
“It wasn’t just him,” Emory laments sadly. “Her friends eventually disappeared. I mean, they hung on longer than her boyfriend. They came to visit after she woke up but eventually, they all moved on with their lives too. Not a single one stuck it out through her lengthy recovery.”
My eyes drop to my bottle, shaking my head. “What the fuck is wrong with people these days?” My gaze lifts to meet hers. “I feel like our world is going crazy sometimes. So many selfish people. So many only caring about themselves and their narrow little worlds.”
“Agreed,” she murmurs, and then smiles at me. “My life is complicated. I’m a single mom caring for a little girl, trying to help Jenna acclimate back into a cruel world and have a new job I’m trying to excel at. All very good reasons I shouldn’t have been moved to kiss you when you defended Jenna, and yet, I don’t regret it at all. In fact, I feel a bit invested.”
Reaching out, I take the bottle of beer from her, setting it down with mine on the coffee table. With my hands free, I tug her onto my lap so she’s straddling me.
It’s not sexual.
It’s so we can be close—face-to-face. My hands at her hips, I squeeze. “Guess what? I’m invested in you too.”
Emory’s hands go to my shoulders. She looks scared and I squeeze her hips again.
“Breathe,” I tell her playfully. “I swear I won’t complicate your life further.”
She doesn’t smile back, but frowns before her eyes cut away. I reach up, take her by the jaw and force her attention back to me. “What is it?”
“I um…”
Her words fall flat, and she looks away again.
“Emory,” I call softly to get her to look at me again. She does so, but it’s reluctantly. “Talk to me.”
She sighs, a painful exhale of breath. “I’m really not worried about you complicating my life. I know you won’t.”
“But…” I press.
“But,” she says upon an intake of air, “My last relationship—with Felicity’s dad—it was bad. It took me a long time to get out of it. And now that I’m free from him… from all of the misery he caused us… I’m just a little gun shy.”
“Hard for you to trust?” I guess. Like her sister, I’m betting. They’re just alike.
She nods guiltily. “It’s nothing against you. You’re great and I was moved to kiss you and I’m invested already. There’s no going back on that. But…”
“But you’re scared,” I surmise.
“I am,” she admits without hesitation.
I ponder that a moment, holding her gaze. It would be so easy for me to just let her go. Make it for her greater good and uncomplicate both of our lives. She doesn’t need this, and do I, really?
Instead, I find myself giving reassurances because I don’t want to let her go. “I know what we do.”
Emory tilts her head, that beautiful face awash with curiosity. “What’s that?”
“We go on like we were. We keep it easy. We take it day by day. We don’t have expectations other than having a good time together, being monogamous and we let this go where it goes. It may go nowhere. It may go the distance. It might settle somewhere in between. But I’m not ready to give up yet. Are you?”