Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 469

"Let go!" Theodore's tone was now unyieldingly firm as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Can't you just go away?" Emma refused to turn her face toward him.

Theodore seemed to understand. "Are you serious? Why are you so worried about how you look in front of me? So you threw up, who cares? After all these years, what is there about you I haven't seen? Is there anyone in this world who knows you better than I do?"

"Theodore!" Emma had to admit it: no matter how much she insisted they were strangers now, he always knew exactly how to make her see red. She glared at him. "The person who knows me best in this world? How dare you say that?"

Because he knew her best, he knew all her weaknesses. That was how he had managed to hurt her so easily, so completely.

His expression faltered. He pulled her into his arms. "You're right, I was wrong. But just for tonight, trust me one more time. I promise I won't hurt you."

"Let go of me. I can walk on my own." She knew she couldn't just cling to the railing in the heaving wind. Prying one hand free, she pushed Theodore away, then braced herself against the bulkhead and began to inch her way unsteadily toward the other end of the deck.

She was thankful her foot had recovered more than eighty percent of its function. She couldn't imagine how many times she would have fallen if it were still in its previous state.

Theodore didn't force the issue. He watched as she stumbled along, swaying with the rhythm of the ship, until she finally reached the other side.

The crew was sitting right on the deck, a small camp stove heating a pot in their midst. The aroma of food drifted through the air, cutting through the salty, fishy smell of the sea breeze.

"Sit here," Theodore said, finding an empty spot and patting the space beside him.

This time, Emma didn't argue. It was better than trying to squeeze in between the crewmen.

"Come on, girl, have some food. It'll calm your nerves," a middle-aged sailor invited, handing her a disposable bowl and fork.

"Thank you." With more people around, Emma's terror of the deep, dark sea began to subside. But she was still cold, especially since a large wave had splashed over the railing and soaked her clothes.

The crew started talking about the incident, shaking their heads in disbelief. "How could something like this happen? First time for us!"

To be honest, Emma still had no idea who had kidnapped her or why. There was a police officer on board, but he wasn't about to share details of an open investigation.

"Alright, thanks." Emma took it and sipped. A fiery heat shot from her tongue through her entire body.

"How's that?" the sailor asked.

She had to admit, when you were shivering from the cold, that rush of warmth seeping into every pore felt incredibly good.

The sailor laughed heartily. "Let me give you a little more. Just a little, though. Your boyfriend's looking at me like he wants to kill me."

Everyone chuckled.

Emma glanced at Theodore, then quickly corrected him. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Oh? He's not?" the sailor said, quickly apologizing. "Sorry, my mistake. He was so worried about you earlier, I just assumed."

"We were just classmates," Emma clarified, then, ignoring the sailor's caution to "take it easy," she drank the newly refilled cup in one go.