Page 46 of Beautifully Broken
"Subtle," I said.
"Always."
We paused near the bar, waiting to be seen. The music shifted to something slower, a song that made my throat feel tight.
I looked out over the field, where fireflies blinked between rows of chairs and a makeshift photo backdrop. Beyond that, more headlights were pulling in. A couple stepped out. A group of guys from the football team. Someone in a tux, already loosening his tie.
And then—
My heart stuttered.
I saw him.
Not all at once. Just a glimpse. The back of a broad figure stepping out of a familiar truck. A flash of messy brown hair, a profile I knew too well.
He was here.
I felt the girls watching me.
"Still want that margarita?" Jordan asked.
"Maybe after," I whispered.
Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to walk toward him or run the other way.
Chapter 7
Caleb
I should’ve stayed home.
That was the first thing I thought when I stepped out of my truck and heard the music thumping from across the lot. Bass-heavy and nostalgic, the kind of song people pretended to like more than they did—just so they didn’t feel so damn old.
I slammed the door harder than necessary and rolled my shoulders back, already wishing I’d worn something less stiff. My shirt clung to my back from the heat. The Oklahoma air was thick, and not just with humidity. It was memories, dust, old faces. All of it pressing in.
Nate met me by the gate with two drinks and a look that said he wasn’t going to let me run.
“You look like a man headed to his own funeral,” he said, handing me a plastic cup. “Relax. It’s just a reunion, not a firing squad.”
“I’d rather be in front of a firing squad.”
He smirked. “You’re here. That’s step one. Now drink that and try not to look like you’re planning your escape.”
I took a sip. Warm beer. Of course.
The courtyard was strung with lights—too soft, too golden, like someone was trying to romanticize the past. It smelled like fresh grass, barbecue, beer, and a trace of cologne that had no business still being sold.
I saw Cooper and West near the bar, laughing with a couple of girls I didn’t recognize. West gave me a nod, unreadable. Coop held up his drink. I nodded back but didn’t head over.
Because then I saw her.
Emily.
She was standing near one of the long wooden tables, talking to Jordan and Sadie. Her blonde hair was curled, half-up, catching the light like it had a mind of its own. Her black dress shimmered faintly, printed with gold bows—short, flirty, and entirely unfair. She laughed at something Jordan said, tipping her head back, and I swore it knocked the breath from my lungs.
She looked good. Effortless. Like she belonged here, surrounded by music and conversation and everything I’d forgotten how to enjoy.
Nate followed my gaze. “She looks happy,” he said.
