Page 29 of Only When It Breaks

Then he gets in the car.

And drives away.

Kai

I slam the front door harder than I need to. It rattles in the frame, but I don’t care.

Joel’s on the sofa, half-passed out, beer balanced on his chest like he’s proud of it.

“Nice,” I mutter, tossing my bag down. “It’s barely four. You even make it to work today?”

He blinks at me, squinting like the lights are too loud. “You watch your tone, boy.”

“I’ll use whatever tone I want,” I snap. “Especially after the crap you pulled on Saturday.”

His face twists into something ugly. “It was one night. I apologised.”

“Tome.You apologised tome.But not to Emmie. And not to her mum.”

He sits up, beer clinking onto the coffee table. “You don’t get it. You’re just a kid-”

“No,” I cut in, stepping forward. “I’m not. You want to ruin your life,fine.But you don’t get to drag hers down with it. Stay away from them.”

He stares at me, blinking slowly. Then shrugs. “Didn’t realise you were so attached to the girl.”

I freeze. My jaw locks. Because Iam. And I hate that he can see it. “Just leave Maxine alone. She doesn’t deserve to be put through this hell.” I storm upstairs before I punch a wall.

I release a long breath the second I get to my room. Resting against the door as I try to calm down. Every time I close my eyes, I see Emmie. And that hurt expression.Damn it.Walking past her like she means nothing is the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time. But now she knows, she’s seen the truth, and I can’t let her in. And that’s what she’ll want. To save me. I won’t let him ruin her.

I sit outside her house trying to pluck up the courage to face her. To be cold and heartless when all I want to do is run into her arms and never let her go. Her mum’s car isn’t in the driveway. I’m relieved. I can’t face Maxine, too.

I glance at the house again. The light’s on upstairs, and I watch her room for a minute, wondering what she’s doing and if she’s thinking about me.

I don’t even want my phone back. I said it so I had an excuse to see her outside college. Just one last time before I cut her off completely. The second she stiffened on Saturday after I called her little rebel, I knew it was her.

I kill the engine and get out, slamming the door with a little too much force. My legs carry me to the front step before my brain can talk me out of it. I raise my hand to knock, pausing for a moment before finally letting my knuckles tap against it.

The door opens slower than I expect. And then she’s there. Her hair is piled on her head in a messy knot, and she’s wearing a loose-fit T-shirt and nothing else. I like it.

She leans against the doorway, waiting for me to speak even though she knows why I’m here. I shift uncomfortably. “My phone,” I mutter, arching a brow.

“Right.” Her voice is sharp, clipped. She turns without another word, leaving the door hanging open.

I step inside, shutting it behind me. The house is too quiet. No TV. No background noise, just tension rolling between us and suffocating me.

She disappears into the kitchen, and I follow her like I’m entering enemy territory. She stops by a cabinet, reaches into a drawer, and pulls it out. She holds it in my general direction but doesn’t look at me.

I take it from her slowly, making sure my fingers brush hers. She snatches her hand back like I’ve burned her, holding it to her chest and eyeing me with pain in her expression.

I run a hand through my hair. “Look, I-”

“You don’t have to explain,” she cuts in, finally meeting my eyes. Her voice is flat, emotionless. “It’s fine. You got your phone. You can go.”

Her words hit harder than I expect. She turns to walk away again, and something inside me snaps. “You had it all along,” I say accusingly, and she turns back to face me.

She arches a brow. “And you knew all along and never said anything.”

“You gave yourself away when you stiffened after I called you little rebel.” I look away, “I liked our messages,” I mutter, my voice low. “I didn’t want them to stop.”

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