I don’t answer—I don’t know what to say—so I just look up at her blankly, wondering what she’s doing here. Wondering how she knew to come.
She’s crouching down next to me know, her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears and worry as she lifts a hand to my cheek. I think that’s what finally snaps me out of it, seeing the tears in her eyes when I feel so numb. So broken.
“Don’t cry,” I whisper, and this time I’m the one reaching out. I wipe my thumb over her high cheekbones, brushing the tears away before turning back to stare at the wall in front of me. It’s an ugly puce color and I can’t help wondering why on earth anyone would paint a hospital waiting room that color.
I
also can’t help wondering why I’ve never noticed it before.
“Baby, what is it?” she asks, cupping a hand over my own to hold it to her cheek. “What’s happened?”
I shake my head, turn away.
“Hunter, please.”
I still don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m not ready to hear the words again. I’m sure as hell not ready to be the one to say them. To have them drop into this empty room, in my voice, like a bomb just begging to explode.
Emerson sighs, but she doesn’t push me. Instead, she settles herself on the ground next to me and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
And just like that I crack wide open.
“I need to go,” I tell her as I spring to my feet. I walked out here after the doctor pronounced Heather dead, intent on getting to Brent and Lucy. Intent on telling them about their mother. But I’d taken two steps into the waiting room and my legs had gone out from under me. I’d ended up on the floor and it’s only now, with Emerson looking at me like that, that I’m finally able to move.
“Hunter, wait,” she says, springing up right after me. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to pick up the kids? Or call Tanner? I could—”
“Nothing. I don’t want you to do anything.” I head toward the door to the stairs, in the back corner of the room. If I have to get on a tiny little elevator right now I’ll lose my shit completely.
Emerson follows me, scrambling to keep up as I take the stairs three at a time. There’s a part of me that can’t believe I’m doing this, can’t believe I’m being this rude to her when all she’s trying to do is take care of me.
But being taken care of is the last thing I want right now. Because if Emerson says it, if the words come out of her mouth, I know I’m not going to be able to fight them. I know I won’t be able to ignore them. And I’m not ready to hear them again. No matter how many times they’re bouncing around in my own head, I’m not ready to hear them said out loud. I’m sure as hell not ready to hear Emerson say them.
Once I hit the main floor, I all but run to the parking lot with Emerson hot on my heels. We must look ridiculous—I’m twice her size and weight, yet I’m running from her like she’s the Grim Reaper herself. Not that it’s possible to run from him. God knows, Heather tried.
“At least let me drive you,” Emerson says, voice breaking, when we get to my car.
“I can drive myself.”
“Hunter, your sister just—”
“Don’t!” I hold a hand up, all but yell in her face. “Don’t say it.”
“Okay.” She nods, then reaches a hand up to stroke my hair from my eyes. “I won’t say it.”
“I can drive.”
She bites her lip, looks like she wants to argue. But in the end she just nods. “Let me come with you.”
“No.”
“Just to wherever you’re going.”
“No.”
“Please, Hunter, I just want to make sure you’re okay. I just want—”