Unbroken (Page 42)

“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 f**king 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.

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 na**d 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.