He blocks my path. “Where you going?” He reaches out to touch my cheek. I flinch back. “We’re just getting’ to know each other.”
“Please…” My voice comes out a whisper, heart pounding. “I have to go.”
“Or what?” his smile is tense. “You got someone waiting on you?” he snorts, “Poor f**ker, living with a frigid bitch like you.”
What comes next happens so fast I barely have time to register it. One minute, Kenny is leaning in towards me, the next, he’s flying through the air. He lands with a crash into the nearest table, glasses smashing to the floor. His assailant doesn’t pause a second, he goes after him, grabbing his shirt by the collar to pull him up from the ground, while the other fist smashes into his face in several quick jabs. Blood pours down Kenny’s face, as he splutters, flailing helplessly against the attack.
The other guy just keeps punching.
I gasp. “Stop it!” I cry, rushing forwards. I grab the other guy by the shoulders, trying to pull him away, but he’s too big: six foot of solid muscle, the sinews in his back rippling with every new blow he rains down on Kenny, now bloody and whimpering on the floor.
“Please,” I beg, desperate, “You’ll kill him!”
The guy finally pauses, just for a second. I grab a fist-full his T-shirt and haul him away.
He turns, breathing heavily, violence still alight in those deep blue constellations I know by heart.
Emerson.
I freeze, staring at him in total shock. Of all the ways I’d imagine meeting him again, all the millions of scenarios I used to invent, none of them involved a guy beaten and bloody on the floor, and a whole bar of people staring at us.
I hear blood rushing in my ears, and suddenly, I’m dizzy. I can’t breathe. But this isn’t a panic attack, this is something else altogether. Here he is in front of me, like all those nights I tried not to think about him, but wound up replaying every moment and every kiss all the same.
Emerson. In front of me. At last.
My eyes drink him in, greedy. He’s older now, of course he is. I’ve been remembering the young man he used to be, but the boyish glint in his eye is gone now: he’s all grown up. All man. His features are etched deeper, dark stubble shading across his jaw. His dark hair is cropped short, showing the strong curve of his skull, and that body that was always slim and taut is stronger now—arm muscles pressing at the fabric on his black T-shirt, his whole torso radiating power and animal rage.
“Jules.” He says it hoarsely, still breathing heavily from the fight. Not that it was a fight, not really, it was annihilation.
My eyes meet his again. We’re standing three feet apart, but the connection between us is like a surge of electricity, surging from his dark gaze to mine.
“I…I… ” I stutter, gasping for air, but no words come. Seeing him is more than I ever imagined: his presence fills my world, overwhelming, like there’s nothing else in the room. Like the room doesn’t even exist—it’s only him, and me, and the storm of emotions crashing through me I thought I’d never feel again.It’s too much. God, it’s all too much.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, and turn on my heel and flee. I push past the other people crowding round, and out of the doors. My footsteps echo in the dark parking lot as I sprint for my car.
Tears sting in the back of my throat. I don’t know what happened back there, how I could just fall apart with one look from him, but suddenly, it’s like I’m eighteen all over again, feeling everything so fresh and fierce, as if for the first time.
How could I be so stupid to think I’d ever be over him?
“Jules! Juliet, wait!”
He’s coming after me.
I don’t slow, fumbling in my bag for my keys. I have to get away, before he can see me, see what a wreck I’m reduced to with just one glance.
“What, I don’t even get a thank you?”
Emerson’s voice echoes, sarcastic, in the empty lot.
I stop. Suddenly I’m mad as hell—furious at myself for falling apart so easily after all this time, but more than that, I’m angry at him. Hot, spitting, fists-clenched furious.
I whirl around. “Thank you?” I spit back at him, my voice high and fevered. “What the hell was that in there? You could have killed him!”
Emerson folds his arms, lips set in a thin, determined line. He’s standing in the shadows, his body coiled, dark and forbidding. “He deserved it.”
I feel the anger boil up in me. Now I remember it: the dark side to Emerson’s passion. The jealous streak, the possessive arm around my shoulder. I used to feel safe in it, treasured, like I was the most important girl in the world, but this is different. He has no right to act like I belong to him, not anymore.
“I can take care of myself!” I insist angrily.
“Didn’t look like it to me.” Emerson’s voice is a low drawl.
I bridle at the ownership in his tone. “I had it all under control. You just don’t know me anymore!”
Something flickers across his face even in the dark, and I feel a stab of regret slice through me. Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that. Then his harsh look fades away, and for a moment, Emerson’s eyes meet mine: na**d and vulnerable.
“You came back,” he says softly. He takes a half-step towards me, and despite all my anger, I find my body frozen in place, yearning for him to touch me—sweep me in his arms, like before.