Unbroken (18 page)

I catch my breath at his words, feeling desire tug deep in me. I turn and catch his gaze, the hunger in his eyes burning right the way through me. He pauses at an intersection and reaches for me: tasting my lips, dipping his tongue into my mouth as I melt against him.

The kiss deepens, then Emerson pulls away. He turns back to the road and slams his hand against the steering wheel.

“Damn.” Emerson swears. “I said I wouldn’t do this.”

“Do what?” I ask, worried.

“Jump you, like some wild animal. I’m trying to be romantic here, remember?”

I let out a sigh of relief. It’s sweet, him trying to keep his hands off me when all I want to do is rip that shirt open and lick my way down his gloriously muscled body.

“OK, we make a pact then.” I agree. “No jumping until the end of the night.”

Emerson gives me a sideways look. “I could turn the truck around right now and take you home, and that would be the end of the night.”

I laugh. “OK then, midnight. We keep our hands off each other until then. Deal?”

Emerson lets out a tortured sigh. He turns to give me a liquid look, full of desire, then finally nods. “Deal. But it’s not because I don’t want you...” his eyes soften, sincere. “What you said earlier—“

“It’s nothing!” I protest quickly, feeling mortified.

“Don’t ever think I don’t want you.” Emerson pulls over to the side of the street. He reaches over and grabs my hand, holding it tight. My heart skips at the intensity of his gaze, burning into me, hot and fierce.

“I always want you, Jules. Even when I hated you, even when I wished I’d never see your face again, I still lost my mind thinking all the things I’d do to you, if you came back.” His voice breaks. When he speaks again, it’s with a rough, ragged tone, like he’s forcing the words out.

“I’ll always want you, Juliet. It’ll be the fucking death of me, but I won’t ever stop.”

Emerson yanks the truck back in gear, and keeps driving, but I sit, stunned into silence.

His words careen around my head, possessive and final.

I can tell, he doesn’t want to feel this way, like I’m a burden he has to carry, and although part of me has felt just the same, it fills me with sadness.

Is that what we are to each other now, the curse that can’t be broken?

Emerson pulls up by the harbor. I quickly push back my fears and paste a bright smile on my face. Whatever else is going on right now, he’s making an effort to be a gentleman: to take me out, and talk about this whole mess. I’m not going to ruin that now with all my over-thinking.

I climb down and look around. The marina is different to the last time I saw it, at the party. The boats bob quietly along the quays, and the evening ocean is silent and still.

“Come on.” Emerson holds out his hand, so I take it, and follow him down one of the docks to the boat moored at the end. It’s a sailboat, old but in great condition, with tiny lights strung up, and a blue sail tethered up, and a polished blonde wood deck.

My mouth drops open. “This is yours?” I exclaim in shock.

Emerson nods proudly . “I got her a couple of years ago. She was in pretty bad shape, so I’ve been rehabbing her bit by bit… I know she’s nothing fancy,” he adds, looking self-conscious, “But she sails true, and there’s plenty of space up there.”

“I think it’s great.” I smile. “Permission to come aboard?”

“You can count on it.” Emerson gives me another of those looks, the smoldering one that turns my insides to jelly.

I catch my breath and follow him up the gangplank onboard. Then I catch sight of the curling script on the side and lose my breath all over again.

Jaybird.

His pet name for me. The reason I got my tiny tattoo.

My heart races with disbelief. “I can’t believe you named a boat after me…”

Emerson coughs. “Well, I figured it suited her.” He gives me a devilish grin. “She was a stubborn bitch, but once I got my hands on her, she fell into line.”

“Hey!” I swat playfully at his arm. He laughs, ducking back out of reach.

“Let me show you around.”

Emerson shows me the engine, and rigging, and the tiny cabin below decks with a narrow bunk and slim galley kitchen.

“It’s amazing!” I exclaim, looking around the space. Everything’s tucked away, perfectly in place. “Although, I can’t believe you sleep on that tiny bunk.”

I turn, and suddenly find myself pressed up against Emerson, dangerously close.

“It’s big enough,” he murmurs, and I blush again, looking over at the bunk. I wonder how many other girls he’s brought aboard, then quickly push down the thought.

I’m here with him now, that’s what matters.

Up above deck again, Emerson unties us from the dock and starts up the engine, steering us slowly out of the harbor and into the bay. “I figured we’d find a beach to drop anchor,” he says from behind the wheel, looking over to check with me. “And then have a picnic dinner.”

“You made a picnic?” My eyes shoot wide. I know Emerson’s changed since I saw him last, but the man I knew back then could barely make a slice of toast.

“Don’t worry,” Emerson laughs at my shock. “I got Garrett to pack us up some fried chicken and potato salad from the kitchen.”

“Phew.” I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “You had me worried there.”

We head out from the shore, lights from town beginning to shine bright against the darkening sky. The breeze picks up, so I grab a sweater from my bag, and then go to sit by the back of the boat, watching Emerson behind the wheel. He’s relaxed and confident: adjusting our speed, checking the navigation and instruments. His body is sure and strong in the twilight, and there’s something incredibly hot about the total control he has over our ride.

He turns to find me watching him, and smiles. “You remember that schooner I took you out in?”

“That wreck?” I laugh, thinking of the tiny old boat he borrowed one afternoon, so we could go out sailing around the bay. I shake my head at the memory. “That thing had so many leaks, I’m surprised we didn’t go down in the middle of the bay.”

“Me too,” Emerson grinned. “I was trying to act so cool and together, but all I could keep thinking was I couldn’t drown before I got you naked again.”

I laugh, hugging my arms around me. Emerson notices, and fishes a jacket out from underneath one of the seats. “You always did get cold,” he murmurs, tucking it around my shoulders. I blink, inhaling the scent of him, mingled with the salty sea air.

Our eyes catch, and I know that both of us are thinking about that midnight deadline. Damn, but it’s going to be a long night.

Emerson gives me a rueful smile, then takes the wheel again. I scoot back in my seat and try to focus on the gorgeous scenery outside the boat—instead of the masterpiece I’ve got right here in front of me. As we skirt around the bay, twilight fades into a dusky pale sky, the shoreline turning to dark shadows against the dark water. I let the motion of the waves wash through me, marveling that after all these years, I’m right here with Emerson, all over again.

I smile to myself. Never mind all the emotion and uncertainty dancing away in the back of my mind. Tonight, I just get to be with him, out here on the ocean, away from dry land and all the complications waiting back on shore.

“What are you smiling at?” Emerson asks. I look up to find him watching me, a quizzical expression on his face.

“This.” I shrug, self-conscious. “You. Us.” I quickly realize my mistake, and try to cover it, “Not, you know,
us
, just being here, right now… It’s… nice, is all I’m saying.” I trail off, blushing. I hope Emerson doesn’t freak out, or think I’m getting ahead of myself. One date doesn’t make a relationship, I know.

“Good.” Something flickers across Emerson’s face, a shadow that makes me wonder if he’s thinking of bad memories, but then it’s gone, and he’s looking at me with a quiet intensity that takes my breath away.

He glances down to check his watch. “Three more hours.” He says, with a dark grin. “And then I promise you, ‘nice’ will be the last word on your mind.”

“Feeling pretty cocky, huh?” I tease.

“Damn right.” Emerson shoots back with a smirk. “You haven’t had any complaints so far.”

I laugh. Something in me registers that it’s crazy to be joking about this—about falling into bed with him again, when I know that it’ll rob me of my last shred of self-control and sense—but there’s something so easy about it, a natural banter like we’ve always been laughing and talking together. Like there’s never been any darkness between us.

My thoughts are interrupted by a rumble in my stomach, reminding me I haven’t eaten in hours. Was it really this morning I had breakfast, miserable and hung-over back in the city with Lacey?

Emerson must hear it too, because he laughs. “Nearly there.”

We sail for another five minutes or so, until we reach a secluded cove. It’s a beautiful spot: sheltered from the rest of the bay by an outcropping of rocks, with the beach visible in the distance. Emerson cuts the engine, so we’re drifting, bobbing gently on the evening tide.

He fetches up the hamper, and a blanket and pillows, setting them out on the deck like a real picnic. I settle down and get comfortable, and he hands me a beer.

“We should toast,” I say, holding up my bottle.

“What to?” Emerson asks.

Suddenly, my mind goes blank. Everything I could say seems loaded with meaning. Should I toast to new beginnings? To the past? To moving on? Nothing sounds right.

“How about, to unexpected reunions?” Emerson suggests, when I don’t answer.

I take a quick breath of relief. “To unexpected reunions,” I echo, clinking my bottle against his.

Emerson unpacks the hamper, and soon we’re digging into the delicious meal. We chat easily – simple, no-conflict topics like how we’ve spent the last few years: the trips we’ve taken, how school is going for me.

“If you’ve got finals coming up, shouldn’t you be back at school?” Emerson frowns when I tell him about my unofficial study leave.

“I don’t need to be there until the actual exams,” I say. “I brought all my books back with me, and I only need a few more credits to graduate.”

“Then what?” Emerson tilts his head to look at me.

I glance down, and give an awkward shrug. “I don’t know. I thought I had it all figured out,” I explain. “I was going to move up to DC, with Daniel.”

“Daniel.” Emerson repeats it slowly. “So that’s his name.”

I feel a stab of guilt. Two years I was with the guy, and already it’s like I’ve forgotten about him. But Emerson does that to me: he blots out everything else in the world, like we’re the only people who have ever existed for each other.

I shake my head, focusing back on the man in front of me. The one waiting patiently for answers. “Anyways, I guess that’s off now, so…” I trail off, realizing for the first time that it wasn’t just my relationship with Daniel I threw away when I broke things off, it was my whole entire life plan. The apartment, the job, the move… For months now, I’ve known exactly what’s waiting for me on the other side of graduation, but now?

Now, there’s just a blank slate. And it scares the crap out of me.

I gulp down the rest of my beer to mask my anxiety. “What about you?” I ask brightly. “You never thought about getting out of town?”

Emerson looks out, across the ocean. He gives a slow shrug. “I never really had the choice. I mean, Brit and Ray Jay needed someone around to look out for them.”

“But they’re grown up now,” I point out.

He snorts. “Debatable. Brit’s still leaving shit all over my apartment. She keeps saying she’s going to move out and get a new place, but… it doesn’t happen.”

I cringe, remembering her shocked look walking into the storage room. “And what about your mom?” I venture, awkward. “Is she…?” I trail off.

“Sober? Clean? The fuck if I know.” Emerson’s face takes on a new harshness, and something in my heart aches with pain for him. “She shows up, every couple of years,” he adds, with a bitter twist in his voice. “Saying how sorry she is, how she wants to come back and get her act together this time.”

“Maybe she means it this time?” I ask quietly. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Oh yeah?” Emerson’s eyes catch mine, and suddenly we’re not talking about his mom anymore. He holds my gaze, dark and intent, and I see that shadowed, haunted look flit across his face again, like the past is creeping back around us no matter how hard we try to keep it at bay.

I swallow hard, then nod. “Sometimes people make mistakes.” I say softly, gathering all my courage. “But if they’re sorry, and they want to make things right, maybe they deserve that shot. To explain why, and make things right.”

“You really think excuses can make a difference?” Emerson’s expression is pained, but vulnerable for a moment, and my heart leaps that there’s a crack in his hard façade.

“Everybody has their reasons,” My heart skitters with nerves. “How do you know, if you don’t try?”

Emerson drains his beer, then tosses the bottle aside. He opens his mouth, and for a moment our eyes meet, and something hovers in the air between us, fragments of emotion and the truth we’ve never spoken. My heart leaps.