Page 53 of The Scarab's Game

“What—”

“Jenn!” I tripped over something, falling hard onto the floor. No escape. Nowhere to go. He had to hear me. “It’s Jenn!”

“Jenn—” He leaped out of the bed, eyes still wild but recognition dawning. The gun clattered to the floor as he lunged forward, dropping to his knees beside me.

Why did he have a gun under his pillow?

“Jenn, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse. He reached out, hesitating before his hands found my arms. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, hiccupping in breaths. “I’m fine. Just startled.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time. His eyes roamed over my face, searching. He brushed back a strand of hair, fingertips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. My vision blurred as tears collected on my lids. I should have stayed in my room.

It was a gun.

Emmett took my face in his hands and brushed away the tears rolling down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you, I swear.”

I nodded rapidly, almost as rapidly as the shudders wracked my body. What else could I say? What could I do? My sweet, kind, amazing Emmett slept with a gun. And he had horrible nightmares.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“You were having a nightmare.” I sniffled, wishing I didn’t sound as pathetic as I must have. “I heard you from my room. You sounded… like you were in pain.”

“I’m fine.” Emmett’s voice held the barest tremble, a vulnerability so unlike him that my heart would have ached if it weren’t so busy trying to escape my body. He glanced at the discarded gun on the floor. “It was only a dream.”

I put my hands over his, trying to steady my breathing.

He picked me up and settled me on his lap. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “Don’t cry. You’re safe.”

Too late.

I buried my face against his neck and fell apart.

A gun.

Pointed straight at me.

All I could see was Emmett yelling at me, with the gun pointed at my chest.

Despite the tremor in Emmett’s voice, his embrace was solid and confident. He traced soothing circles on my back, the warmth of his body a comfort. The thin layer of sweat he had from the nightmare cooled my skin, and I was suddenly aware I was sitting on his lap, both of us practically naked. My tank top and boy shorts only hid a smidge more than his boxer briefs.

Heat—stupid, poorly timed heat—crawled its way up my chest.

“I’m sorry.” I tried pulling away, but he held fast.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered near my ear. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I could feel every contour of his muscles pressed against me, and it sent a confusing blend of comfort and embarrassment rushing through me. My thoughts jumbled into an incoherent mess, a swarm of butterflies filling my stomach. Such awful timing.

“Emmett,” I started, my voice catching.

His grip loosened, and he separated from me, but only enough we could see each other. His eyes were bloodshot, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. But the way his gaze caressed me, I could almost believe he didn’t want to let me go. As though maybe, just maybe, holding me was the one thing keeping him together.

The silence stretched between us as we sat in the dark, slowly transforming from a shared fear and regret into something darker. Something dangerous.

Something I’d wanted almost as long as I’d known him.