Or to keep the roof access private and for him only.

Having to move in with his dad had been . . . difficult. Simon had needed somewhere to escape to, a place that was all his, where he could just be. He’d found it on the roof, specifically the widow’s walk above the back half of the attic, hidden from the front of the house.

His own personal hideaway.

As far as he knew, no one else ever came up here, so he’d claimed it as his own, a hidden pocket of space away from his dad, away from everything and everyone.

In a world gone crazy, it was his safe haven, his quiet place. And the view of the sparkling ocean didn’t hurt. The days were long in June and today was still making a decision between light and dark. The entire world was cast in glorious blues and purples as the day slowly gave way to night.

He’d grown up in this building, which originally had belonged to his grandparents. They’d renovated the house into four apartments, and his dad had skipped college to manage the building, slowly collecting more and more properties, expanding to property management. His dad loved people, loved connections, and had made it work for him in a big way.

Until two years ago, of course.

Now Simon was in charge, waiting for his dad to recover and heal and express even an ounce of interest in his old life. He hadn’t. The doctor had told Simon to give it time.

At the top of the stairs, the door to the hidden widow’s walk was open and he stilled, immediately knowing he wasn’t alone.

Chapter 5

Step 5: Don’t give in to the fear.

Simon stepped onto the roof, not knowing what to expect. It couldn’t be his dad. No way could he manage the stairs, and Alison was unlikely to let him try. Plus, thanks to his cousin’s fear of heights, she’d never ever make it up here. That left 1B, which was currently empty, 2B with Mrs. Bessler, who wouldn’t spare the energy to get up here, or . . . 2A with Emma—who wasn’t exactly a fan of stairs.

Which, damn, left Alison after all. His dad must’ve fallen asleep early and she’d gone exploring. He loved Alison, but the last thing he wanted was to be around someone and talk. After a shit day, silence worked for him in a big way. Alison loved to fill a silence.

Only . . . it wasn’t his cousin.

It was Emma. All five feet five inches of lithe, willowy body that at first glimpse might seem fragile, but that was an illusion. She sat on the love seat Simon had dragged up here a couple of years ago now. Hog was next to her, his soft snores drifting on the wind. Emma was head back, watching the day turn to night. It was a gorgeous sunset, the sky streaked from purple to red across the sky, but Emma’s mouth pinched, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Everything about her pose screamed exhaustion and pain. Guess he wasn’t the only one who’d needed an escape from life tonight.

She’d been through hell, but she was made of tough stuff. Tough enough to survive eight surgeries to repair her myriad injuries after being hit by a car. She’d coded twice on the way to the hospital and had received twelve pints of blood. She’d had an intracranial bleed and a multitude of fractures; the most serious had been in her humerus, ulna, and radius—which now all sported new internal hardware.

She was a walking, talking miracle.

When Simon had first been brought in to help facilitate Emma’s recovery, the two of them had talked, coming up with daily, weekly, monthly, and long-term goals. This had given her something to work toward. Her long-term goal had been to get her life back, the way it was when she’d been happy and healthy enough to run a 5K and be working toward her real goal—a half marathon. Her daily goal was simpler—to be pain free. Through sheer grit and determination, she’d come further than the doctors had ever thought she could. But she had her limits, and the way she was carefully holding herself had him worried.

Though Simon hadn’t made a single sound, Emma turned her head toward him and, even in the near dark, unerringly found him.

“Go away.”

He smiled. “I think you mean hi.”

“Nope. And stop right there,” she said, pointing at him as he came closer. “I can already feel your assessing PT gaze. Knock it off. I’m fine.”

Her dark brown hair had been shaved off a year ago during the brain surgery for the intracranial bleed. The strands had grown back, falling to her chin like soft silk, loose and a little bit wild since, he assumed, with her left hand still not back on its game, she had trouble with it. Her eyes were the exact same color as her hair, mahogany brown, and had a way of drawing a person in.

Even when said person didn’t want to be drawn in.

He’d never seen her in a lick of makeup, and for some reason, that drew him in too. But it also meant he could see exactly how pale she looked. “You’re not fine.”

She looked at him.

He looked right back.

She raised a brow. “Oh, was that a question?”

“No, because I know you. You pushed yourself too hard and you’re in pain, but hell will freeze over before you admit it.”

Emma didn’t respond, which she had a habit of doing when she didn’t want to lie. When he’d first started working on her, she could hardly handle any touch at all. Her surgical scars had healed, but they had left her skin so tight it hurt. He’d started with deep-tissue massage to help break up scar tissue, which was incredibly painful, but effective in regaining mobility. She’d spent their first three weeks together alternately swearing at Simon and crying while pretending not to.

“How about the leg cramps where you had the crushed nerve. You still getting those?”

“Is this Hard-Ass PT talking? Cuz I don’t want to talk to that guy until my next torture session.”

He smiled. “Hard-Ass PT?”

“I’ve called you that before.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Okay, correction. I’ve called you that before, just not to your face.” She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m okay, really. Just . . . stressed.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for lending me R and J on moving day. I’ll pay you back.”

“Not necessary.” She wore leggings with a strappy workout tank, both hugging her body. Her feet were bare.

He already knew every inch of her body. Professionally, he’d had his hands on most of it. He’d never allowed himself to catalog any of it. But she was right. Tonight she wasn’t his patient. She was just a beautiful woman on his rooftop. And she was sexy as hell. “For the record, I was asking how you are as your friend.”