7. Emma

CHAPTER 7

EMMA

I wake with a start, the bed beside me empty, the covers cool where Brock's warmth once was.

Was everything that happened last night just a dream?

No—I'm not in my own bed, I'm in Brock's. And my body is still singing from everything we did last night. Plus, I'm sore in the best possible way. It was real.

Squee !

I rise, pulling on a fluffy robe that's lying at the foot of the bed. The bedroom feels too quiet and still without him in it.

"Brock?" I call out, stepping into the quiet living room. The soft glow of the early morning sun peeps through the windows, but he's not here, either.

Then I push open the bathroom door and see his silhouette hunched over the sink. I can tell right away that something is deeply wrong. His shoulders tremble, and he's clutching the edge of the vanity, as if holding onto it is the only way he'll keep standing.

"Brock? Are you okay?" I ask, stepping toward him tentatively. At the sound of my voice he whirls around, his eyes filled with something akin to panic.

"Go away, Emma," he snaps, his voice raw and edged with pain.

My heart sinks, seeing this strong man reduced to this. "No. I won't. Not until you tell me what's going on." I take a step closer, reaching out to touch him, but he reflexively bats my hand away.

"This was a mistake, Emma. I shouldn't have let this happen." He shakes his head, anguish all over his face. "When I work, I always follow routines. I never deviate, not even for a second. That's how I stay in control."

"Brock, we can get you help. You don't have to shut me out," I plead, desperately wanting to ease his suffering.

"You don't understand!" His voice rises and he turns away, clenching the sink again. "I can't handle all of this. Being on this ship, away from my usual routine, doing things I don't normally do. Having these feelings for you. Acting on them. It's messing with my head. The nightmares, the flashbacks... I can't escape them."

I bite my lip, torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to give him space. "Let me help you. Talk to me."

He shakes his head violently. "I can't, Emma... I just can't go there." He takes a deep breath. "I need to stick to what I know. Get back on track. I'm going to the gym today and then I'm going to find somewhere to work, see if the business center can hook me up with a laptop. That's what I need."

Despair washes over me, knowing how much he's struggling. "Brock, you can't just run from this. From me. You need professional help. You have PTSD! It's okay to seek therapy." My voice trembles.

"No!" he yells. I flinch at the raw emotion in his voice. "I won't go digging up the past, Emma. I've worked too hard to bury it. I won't live through that hell again."

I step forward defiantly, my love for him spurring me on. "Then you're choosing to suffer alone? To let your past control your future? That's not the Brock Donovan I know. You don't let anything stop you in business—why do you want to let this stop you ?" I reach out, grasping his arm. "You have to be ruthless with this, Brock. Fight for your life, like you fight for everything else."

His steely eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions raging within. "I just can't, Emma. I'm sorry. This is how it has to be." He pulls out of my grasp.

I stare him down. "I love you, Brock. But I can't be with a man who's given up on himself and the life he deserves," I declare, my voice steady even as my heart threatens to break. "I won't stand by and watch you retreat further into the shadows to live with your demons."

With that, I turn and walk away. I seek refuge in my room and allow the tears I've been holding back to stream freely down my cheeks as I grieve the man I love and the life we could have had together.

I stand at the railing of the top deck, gazing out at the vast, endless ocean. The salty breeze whips my hair around my face, offering small comfort as I struggle to gather my thoughts.

How can I possibly face Brock again after this morning? I told him I loved him. Had sex with him. The best sex. The raw emotion of our conversation still lingers, open wounds that throb with every heartbeat.

It's clear he's in pain, suffering from injuries and traumas I can't see, and it breaks my heart. Plus the idea of working with him now, of maintaining a professional relationship, seems impossible. Can we ever go back to how things were before?

Probably not.

I sigh. I'll need to start looking for another job—one where I'm not constantly reminded of what could have been. Deepwood Mountain feels too small now: every corner would be a reminder of Brock and the life I'd hoped for with him. Maybe it's time for a clean break, a fresh start somewhere new—and yet the idea of leaving Deepwood and my family and friends hurts my very soul.

"Emma." His voice, rough and hoarse, tears me from my thoughts. I turn to see Brock standing a few feet away, his eyes bloodshot, his hair pulled in different directions. He looks as if he's aged ten years in just a few short hours and my heart aches for him.

"I know I've been a mess, Emma," he says, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have lashed out at you."

I look down at my shoes. "It's okay. I understand."

"It's not okay." He gestures to the spot beside me at the railing. "May I?"

"Of course," I say, and he comes up to stand next to me. Already his heady musk and crisp linen scent invade my senses.

"You were right. I needed to talk to someone."

Intrigued, I lift an eyebrow. "You... you already did?"

He nods briefly, his jaw tight. "The ship has a counselor in the medical unit." He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "It wasn't easy, but I told them everything I've been dealing with. They were very helpful. Found a few therapists and support groups I can check out in Deepwood Mountain for me."

Relief floods me, and I smile up at him. "That's wonderful, Brock. I'm so proud of you for taking that first step."

He exhales heavily. "Well. It's a start, I suppose. I—I want to get better. For you, Emma. I don't want my issues to get in the way of us."

Us? He's thinking of us in all of this?

I shake my head, taking his hand in mine. "You need to get better for yourself, Brock. Not for me."

His fingers tighten around mine. "I know, but I have to start somewhere, and I'd like to start with you. You're the one who made me see what I was missing, and what I could have if I would just let myself heal."

He leans in, his eyes searching mine. "So… Would that be okay?"

I pull his face to mine. "Yes. Yes, it would." Our lips meet in a passionate kiss filled with longing and hope. When we pull apart, he cups my face, his thumbs brushing away my sudden tears. "I love you, Emma. I want to make this right. With you."

I smile, my heart soaring. "And I love you too, Brock Donovan. I'll always fight for us if you're on board with the idea too."

Brock grins, a flicker of his old self returning. "Speaking of on board… What do you say we extend our cruise? I promise to talk to the counselor every day. Give me a week to show you I'm serious about getting better. Serious about not letting work consume my life, too."

My heart soars so high I'm afraid it's going to touch the sun. "It's a deal, Mr. Donovan. I'll put it in your calendar."

And, smiling, he pulls me into a tight embrace.

"Um, and since you're in a good mood," I say, tilting my head up and batting my eyelashes at him. "We should talk about the whereabouts of your luggage." I bite my lip sheepishly.

Brock shakes his head and chuckles. "Here we go…"