Part 23 (2/2)

Just like that, the calm he'd relied on his entire life turned to dust. Something dark and fundamental and without a name forced him into motion, propelling him to cross the floor to kneel down beside her so the two of them were eye to eye.

”Then do it. Deal with your symptoms instead of pretending they don't exist.”

Her shoulder blades. .h.i.t the back of her creaky old desk chair with a thump. ”Believe me, I deal with them every day.”

”No, you manage them,” Hunter said. ”Or at least, you do your best to. Either way, it's not the same. Tell me-what would've happened if you hadn't been there for my father when he collapsed last week?”

”What does that have to do with my fatigue or my leg pain?” Her auburn brows gathered over her stare, but he pressed, desperate to make his point.

”Humor me. What would've happened?”

”I . . . things could've been worse for him, I suppose.”

Hunter's grip tightened on the arm of her desk chair. ”Exactly. And what's going to happen if no one's there for you?”

Emerson's laugh was all disbelief. ”I'm fine. I'm certainly not going to collapse.”

”You don't know that.” Fear skidded through him at the thought alone. ”My father didn't think he'd collapse, and multiple sclerosis is far more serious than even heat exhaustion. Jesus, Em. You don't have to be so tough, and you sure as h.e.l.l don't have to hide. Not from me. I want to help you.”

Hunter broke off, but dammit-dammit-he couldn't sit back any more. He'd done that with his father, and look where it had gotten them.

He couldn't take the risk. Not again. Not with Emerson.

”Please,” he said, the word gruff with emotion. ”Let me help you.”

”I know you want to fix this,” she whispered, her lips pressing together in a pale, unyielding line. ”But there's nothing to fix. I just have to get used to how these new meds will affect my stomach, that's all. Plus, I'm fine.”

Hunter's gut sank. She might never forgive him for what he was about to say, but he wouldn't forgive himself if he kept quiet again.

”Okay,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng to his feet and gesturing widely to the expanse of floor tiles in front of him. ”Then go ahead and prove it.”

Every inch of Emerson's body begged for mercy. She'd been duking it out with her exhaustion for days, not the run-of-the-mill kind of tired she'd grown accustomed to over the last six months, but the sort of debilitating fatigue that made her question the integrity of her bones. Her nausea had morphed into full-blown vomiting over the weekend, a fact that had taken a minor miracle to keep hidden from Hunter. She'd never had a relapse so severe or so painful-G.o.d, the fire in her legs bordered on savage just sitting here-but she couldn't let the worst of her MS show.

These episodes in which her symptoms got the best of her body were just something she had to tough out and get used to. They weren't going to go away. She wasn't going to magically heal. And she sure as h.e.l.l wasn't going to show anyone this new level of broken. Not even Hunter.

If people saw the reality of her MS firsthand-if her friends saw, her boss, G.o.d, her parents-then they'd all know how damaged she really was.

No one would trust her. No one would think she was good enough to do her job. She'd lose everything.

She had to get out of this chair.

”You want me to prove that I'm fine?” Emerson asked, looking up at him in disbelief.

Unfortunately, budging wasn't on his agenda. ”Mmhmm. A quick back and forth over the floor here ought to do the trick, don't you think? If you're as fine as you say you are, it should be a piece of cake.”

In that moment, she was tempted to hate him. But she needed every ounce of her energy for other things, namely rising to the Mount Everestsized gauntlet he'd just thrown down, so she stowed her irritation with a smile she didn't feel.

”Suit yourself.” Flattening her palms over the desk in front of her, Emerson s.h.i.+fted her weight and pushed herself to standing. Her spine and legs joined forces to try to thwart her, but just as she had all morning, she forced them to do their job of supporting her despite the ripping pain. Hunter stood a few feet away, his hands jammed to his hips and his eyes missing nothing.

Make it good. Head up. Eyes forward.

Emerson focused on the far wall and started to walk. Hunter might be trying to prove a point, but she'd been proving herself for as long as she could remember.

She'd make it across the floor just fine. She had to.

She couldn't let anyone see how broken she was.

Although each step bordered on excruciating, she walked the eight-foot circuit, returning to her starting spot to look at Hunter. ”See?” she said, her joints squealing and sticking like old hinges but her determination firm. ”Totally fine.”

”And you're going to stand by that.” The lines around his eyes softened, but no. No, no. She couldn't give in.

”I know you don't understand, but . . .” Emerson paused. Dragged in a deep breath. ”Yes.”

”Then I guess I can't help you at all.”

Hunter turned toward the door. For a second, she was paralyzed by the shock of it, her brain and her heart and her body all frozen in a state of confusion. Then everything rebooted at once, urging her into motion.

”Hunter, wait, I-”

The rest of Emerson's words jammed to a halt as her right leg went numb and buckled beneath her. Her pulse went haywire, her arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to salvage her balance. But they landed on nothing but empty s.p.a.ce, and the floor rushed up to greet her with a rude thud.

”Emerson!” The sound of footsteps clattered across the linoleum, followed less than a second later by Hunter's voice next to her ear. ”Jesus, are you okay? Let me get Doc Sanders.”

”No.” She managed the word forcefully enough to make him pause, thank G.o.d, and she did a quick internal scan. No overt pain, which was good, although her hip throbbed like crazy at the point of impact and her leg had graduated from numbness to a pins-and-needles-type tingle. She s.h.i.+fted awkwardly against the dead weight, the coolness of the floor tiles pressing against her palms as she turned to sit on her bottom. ”I'm fine.”

Hunter's laugh lacked any trace of humor. ”You just went a.s.s over teakettle onto a surface that's probably subfloor over concrete.”

”Thanks for pointing that out.” Emerson's face flushed with the full heat of her words, and fantastic. Were there seriously tears forming in her eyes?

”I'm sorry,” he said, his genuine tone making her threat of crying that much more imminent. ”Here, first thing's first. Let's get you off the floor, okay?”

Before she could open her mouth to answer, he'd slipped one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapping firmly around her upper body as he scooped her up in one fluid movement.

”Hunter, stop. You still need to be careful with your shoulder,” she said, but the intensity glinting through his stare halted the rest of her protest in its tracks.

”I don't give a s.h.i.+t about my shoulder.”

By the time he made it the half-dozen steps to the portable ma.s.sage table and lowered her gently to the cus.h.i.+on, Emerson had wrestled her tears into submission. The high-powered slam of her heartbeat?

Not so much.

”Are you dizzy from not eating? Does anything hurt?” Hunter moved in front of her, his eyes traveling from her disheveled ponytail to her patent-leather ballet flats with growing scrutiny, and dammit, she needed to get a handle on this situation, stat.

”I told you, I'm completely fine.” She straightened the hem of her blouse, smoothing a palm over the cotton before sliding her shoulder blades in tight around her mutinous spine.

”I'm pretty sure we're past that, Em.”

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