Page 72 of Townshipped
“Screaming my name.”
“I screamed your name?”
“Like someone was killing you.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Em. I just want you to be safe.”
Aiden places his hand on my bicep again, like he needs to touch me to ground himself, or to assure himself I’m alright. It’s not an advance on his part, only him tethering himself to something—to me.
I feel him from my scalp to my toes even though his touch isn’t the prelude to anything more right now. He has that effect on me—even more so now that I know I don’t have anyone else waiting for me when this ordeal is over.
Aiden lets out a long breath of air. He’s relaxing. I release an echoing breath.
Images come now. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of a waterfall. Then I’m standing at a reception desk. The hotel employee is asking me if I still want all the amenities even though I’m traveling alone. People staring at me. Me waving to other guests. The elevator to my room. Reading in a chair. The huge tub. Massage. Strawberries. Sleeping in that bed.
What I’d give for that bed right now.
I allow the memories to settle over me and I know.
I took my honeymoon alone.
Aiden’s studying me, not having taken his hand away since he reached out. He’s gently caressing my arm as if he’s comforting me, when in reality he’s soothing himself. I’ll provide his solace any way I can.
Normally, I’d share any new memory with Aiden, but in order to tell him about this one, I’d have to disclose about Buck and this isn’t the time or place. Aiden’s less than six hours away from taking custody of his cousin’s children and attending her funeral.
“I’m okay,” I say, releasing a shuddering breath.
“You’re not,” Aiden insists.
“I am,” I counter.
“You are not.”
I give him a side-eye, my lips firm, my brows raised, a challenge written across my face.
“That scream. Em. I couldn’t get to you fast enough hearing my name like that. I didn’t know if you were safe and I …”
His voice escalates and he stands again. I’m sent tumbling over lumps toward the center of the bed. Aiden’s pacing again.
“Aiden, talk to me,” I say in the kind of voice you use to coax a feral cat out from its hiding place, but with a touch more bossiness.
He looks at me, distraught. He blows out a forced exhale and walks toward the window with his back toward me. Pulling the curtain open a crack, he stares out into the night. The lights from the Spart Inn sign blink on his face in a neon rhythm.
“I’m adopting two children, and not just any children. They’ve been through a personal hell. My aunt and uncle have shielded them as much as they could, but they’ve got baggage. And I don’t even know what caring for them will entail until they’re with me.
“I’ve got one goat bordering on toxemia, a dog who might hate me, a woman who needs me, a job with tasks mounting daily.
“I’m single-handedly running a small farm. And to top all that off, in a few weeks I’m going to have to start making the cheese!”
I bite the inside of my cheek. As if goat cheese is even a part of his problems.
The biggest piece of his tirade doesn’t escape me. I’m on his short list of burdens. I’ve known it. He’s bogged down with no end in sight and I’m another brick in the sack he’s carrying. And he carries it all alone.
“What can I do?”
He looks at me like I spoke an obscure ancient language.
