Emery

Death is on its own clock and I could have sworn I heard the ticking stop when the bullet struck me. I will not forget the feeling of leaving everything and everyone I love. Scared shitless, I remember frantically pulling at the hem of Grayson's shirt as I continued to bleed out, begging for him to save me. The look he gave me still shatters me to my very core, the look that reminds me of how my near-death experience nearly broke the man that I love.

Though, if given the chance to save his life, I would do it all over again.

When my sister rushes to the hospital, a strong sense of guilt hits me like a tidal wave when she smacks my arm after smothering me in hugs and tears. "You sissy swore we would always be there for one another. How the fuck did you expect to stand by that promise by jumping in front of a bullet? Never. Never do that to me again, Emery Rose Fairess," she demands.

Bridgette is eerily quiet as I am finally leaving the hospital. After the doctor informs me how to change my bullet wound's dressing and how to properly clean it -both of which are totally unnecessary since my sister is a nurse- a strange feeling creeps up my body, and I catch myself breathing heavily as I sign the forms.

Even now, all cramped up in my sister's tiny Prius with an ample amount of dried roses surrounding me, I feel the air being sucked from my lungs. The morning Arizona sunbeams hit my arm resting near the window, causing it to heat up fast. Just as quickly as the heat scorches my skin, guilt trickles through my veins with her silence as we near our apartment complex.

"Bridge, everything okay?"

Her hands grip the wheel tighter and her jaw clenches as she grits her teeth. Again, she only moves in silence.

I can tell she is holding back tears when she says, "Yeah. Just happy you're coming home. I-I didn't know if you were and that was probably the worst feeling I've ever felt. I don't think I have ever felt so scared in my life as the day I saw your body on the ground." She swallows and runs a hand over her high ponytail.

The gravel makes a crunching noise as we pull into the parking lot and she turns the engine off. Slowly, Bridgette releases her death grip on the wheel and turns towards me, unbuckling her seat belt with trembling fingers. "You aren't Wonder Woman, Sissy. If you get shot again, next time you might not get to come home. And I-" she gulps loudly and a single tear escapes, cascading down to her heart-shaped lips. "And I can't bury another family member."

Placing my hand over hers and giving it a light squeeze, I give her a sympathetic smile. "You won't. I am still here, I am not going anywhere."

Shaking her head, she says, "You can't be sure of that. Dad used to say he would be fine and assured us each morning he would be safe, but that didn't stop the bullet from entering his body and making us fatherless. A traffic stop was all it took to kill someone we thought growing up was Superman. Nearly going to breakfast almost got you. If Grayson and I had it our way, we would wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you in the apartment forever."

Twisting my lips, I joke, "But then I would suffocate in said bubble wrap." Her face twists into annoyance and I laugh lightly. "Joking. But, I get it, Sissy. I worry about you, too, all the time. You don't have to work in law enforcement for me to have to worry. Someone can die just walking across the street. But, I promise you, I will try to be as safe as I can."

Her brow arches and she sniffles. "That means not intentionally jumping in front of bullets either."

I nod, thankful she didn't make me sissy swear on it, because I know for a fact that if a gun is pointed at her or Grayson, then I wouldn't hesitate for a second to try and save them.

"Let's get inside. Grayson and Miles should be here shortly from picking up groceries. He said he is cooking tonight."

We pull each other in for a tight hug over the center console before getting out of the car, grabbing a couple of vases of flowers each before heading upstairs. I laugh, rearranging the flowers so that I can see where I am walking. "You know, I think you might have gone a little overboard with all the flowers."

Bridgette, managing to carry five vases of the dried roses, laughs under her breath. "It was sort of like therapy. I'd talk with Mom and Dad for a bit, who also got a lot of flowers, and then Cindy was giving me discounts on all of them. Each time I bought another vase, I kept imagining myself walking into your room and you would be sitting there just waiting to make fun of me for getting more."

Her eyes roam over all the flowers in both our arms. "I guess it's a good thing these are already dead. We can pretty much hang them anywhere and they don't need water."

Walking towards the stairs, I stop midstep not far behind Bridgette and wince as my eyes take in the very spot where I was shot a mere week and a half ago. My eyes roam over the dried blood that still covers a small portion of the gravel. My breath hitches the same moment one of the vases slips from my arms, crashing onto the gravel.

"Emery, are you okay?" Bridgette panics, taking long strides to get to my side.

"That's... my blood," I mutter, my gaze frozen on the blood-stained gravel.

Worry morphs into anger on my sister's face when she follows my gaze. "Fuck," she hisses. "They had said they cleaned everything up."

She walks over the area and kicks some of the gravel over the blood to cover it. "Sissy, can you make it upstairs? I can get all of the flowers."

Once the blood is covered up fully, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding and shook my head. "No, I am fine. I can get it." I lean down and pick up the vase and flowers I dropped, surprised that the vase was still intact. "I think I just need to shower and freshen up before the guys get here."

Bridgette looks at me hesitantly before nodding. "Of course, let's go and get you cleaned up."

As we begin walking towards the apartment, I catch myself turning my head back and looking at the gravel again. Though covered up now, seeing the blood shook me, making me feel cold all over again like that day.

I almost died right in that very spot.

Stepping into our apartment, I am relieved at the immediate comfortability that surrounds me, unlike the parking lot. Setting the flowers down on Dad's wooden round table, I glide my finger over the small familiar scratch that Dad made.

"Go take a shower, Sissy. I will grab the rest of the flowers," Bridgette offers. I give her a smile and nod, heading down the hallway towards my room.

My eyes ogle over the gray-painted, too-thin-for-any-real-privacy walls that are littered with pictures of our parents and I feel my heart swell with warmth and happiness. After showering in our connected bathroom and changing into a comfortable pair of blue sweat pants and a black tank, I meet Bridgette in the living room where she is hoisted upon our white couch. When I sit next to her, a delicious aroma wafts through my nose and I look at Bridgette with a look that says, 'What is that delicious smell and where is it coming from?'

As the aroma permeates through the air, she smiles as if she hears my thoughts, and that is when I hear the sound of pots and pans clinking against one another.

"Bridgette, do you guys have a lid for this pot?"

Though only being apart for maybe fourteen hours, I missed him tremendously. Hearing his all too familiar beautifully soft, deep, and harmonizing voice shoots an electric current up my spine and gooseflesh peeks over my entire body.

"Grayson," I say under my breath.

I get off the couch and walk into the kitchen, wrapping my arms around my guy's waist. I breathe in his bergamot scent, relishing in the way his scent alone calms me. He turns around and wraps his arms around me and plants a soft kiss on the top of my head. Wrapped in his warmth, I didn't want to step foot out of his embrace, but the smell of boiling sauce hit my nose and I stepped away from him.

"Whatever you are cooking in here smells amazing, but I would hate to be the reason for whatever you are about to burn."

He takes a second to register my words when his eyes widen. "Shit, the sauce!"

I giggle when he turns around and quickly grabs a wooden spoon to stir the bubbling red sauce. Turning the stovetop off, he looks over his shoulder at me as he slips on oven mitts before wrapping them around the oven door handle. "How is my Peanut feeling?"

He opens the oven door and I am hit with another wave of delicious spices and goodness, making my mouth salivate. I didn't realize how hungry I am until the moment he pulls the glass pan out and sets it on top of the stove. Since waking up in the hospital four days ago and being out for seven, I have only eaten maybe three times.

Hospital food is quite disgusting.

"I am fine. Mmm, that smells freaking amazing. What is it?"

He pulls the mitts off with a smile before wrapping his arms around me once again, pressing his forehead to mine. "Your favorite, eggplant parmesan. But..." He raises his index finger between us, pulling his head away just slightly. "In order to have a plate, it will cost you one kiss."

His adorable grin makes me giddy as my stomach flips, causing a dull ache where my bullet wound is. I wince just slightly at the pain, so fast that Grayson doesn't catch it before I plaster a smile on my face.

"Just a kiss?" I rise on my tippy toes and give him a tender kiss. "I would've thought it would cost more, and I would have happily obliged my debt," I whisper in a seductive tone.

Grayson squeezes his eyes shut and groans, "You have no idea how badly I want that, trust me, but you need time, Emery. You are not all the way healed and I wouldn't want to hurt you."

Before I say anything, Bridgette enters the kitchen. "Yo, Loverboy, food ready? I am Starvin' Marvin and I don't know how much longer I can sit on the couch while my mouth keeps watering with all these yummy smells coming from in here."

Grayson and I both laugh when a knock at the door interrupts us. "Dinner is done, Bridgette. Let's make yours and Miles' plates because that is probably him."

"I will get the door," I announce as they start grabbing plates out of the cupboards.

I swing the door open, fully expecting a happy thirty-two-year-old man to be standing on the other side, plastering a smile to see that I am well and excited to see my sister, his girlfriend.

Miles is truly perfect for Bridgette. He and my Dad were best friends and still to this day, as weird as it may sound, I look forward to his hugs because he smells like Dad did. They did, after all, buy each other identical aftershave and cologne every Christmas. I am pretty sure Miles has kept that tradition by buying it for himself the last three years since Dad's death.

But, my smile disappears with the air inside my lungs as I take in the death-like appearance of the man in front of me who is definitely not Miles. His gunmetal blue eyes are filled with weighted emotions like remorse and grief, a strong odor of tobacco coats his entire self as he stands in my doorway, and his tear-stained face makes my bones feel brittle.

"Marshall," I croak.

"Emery... I..." His voice is almost disembodied, dead.

As I stand frozen, I can feel waves of anger wash past me. "What in the actual fuck do you think you are doing here!?" My sister scowls as she steps by my side.