Page 22 of Kellan & Emmett
“Yeah.” I toyed with my mug, watching steam curl. “Like it never happened.”
“But it did.” She leaned back, surveying the room. A couple of classmates hunched over plates, eyes bleary, movements slow. “And I’m glad it did. Feels good to remember we weren’t just names in a yearbook.”
I nodded, something tight loosening in my chest. “Yeah. Gomillion will always feel like…second home, I guess.”
“For Emmett it’s always been first,” she said softly, not unkind.
That name in her mouth did something to me. I didn’t bite, not right away. I just sipped the bitter coffee and let her fill the quiet.
“You and Emmett,” she went on after a beat, “you were close. Always were. But senior year, it changed. He was…different. I used to wonder if something happened.”
I kept my gaze steady on the rim of my mug, though my pulse betrayed me. “We drifted.”
“Maybe.” She studied me, eyes too sharp for comfort. “But I wondered, even back then, if you two were more than just best friends. Not that it’s any of my business. I just…saw things.”
I forced a laugh, hollow in my own ears. “What, like me and Emmett were joined at the hip? Everyone saw that.”
“Mm,” she said, not letting me off the hook so easily. “Sure. But it wasn’t just that. You two had your own language. A look, a shrug, and suddenly the rest of us didn’t exist. That’s rare,you know. Even back then, I wondered if it was more than friendship.”
The words landed heavy, but I forced my mouth into a smile. “You wondered wrong.”
She smiled at that, but it faded quick. “When you left, it hit him hard. First time I came back from college, he was still…off. Took years before I saw the old Emmett again. Even now, I’m not sure he’s the same.”
Her words scraped something raw. I didn’t trust myself to answer.
She pushed her chair back, grabbing her bag. “I’ve got a flight to catch.“You’re still leaving Friday, right?” she asked, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “Five more days.”
I nodded.
She leaned in as we hugged, her voice dropping to a whisper at my ear. “Make them count, Kellan. Make them count with him. You may not get another chance.”
The words lodged deep.
She pulled back with a small smile. “Take care of yourself.” Then she crossed the room, heading toward where Emmett stood, refilling the coffee urn.
He smiled and bent to hug her. I couldn’t hear what she murmured to him, but I saw his mouth twitch with something that wasn’t quite a smile. When he straightened, his gaze lifted and caught mine—just for a second. Then he turned back to his work.
A shadow slid across the table, blotting out the slice of sunlight on my plate.
“Thought that was you,” the voice drawled—half gravel, half thunder.
My fork stalled midair. I didn’t have to look up to know. That voice had barked morning announcements into tinny intercom speakers for most of my teenage years.
“Principal Bushman,” I said, softer than I meant.
He grinned like I’d handed him a gift. “Ain’t ‘principal’ anymore. Retired’s the word. Call me Josiah or Jo, if you can stomach it.” He set his mug down on my table like the seat across from me had been waiting for him, and lowered himself in with the same bulk that used to loom over detention desks.
For a second, all I could do was take him in. Hair white now, face deeper in the lines I half-remembered, shoulders still broad but less certain under his button-down. Time had worked him over, but the eyes were the same—sharp, missing nothing.
“You’ve been slippery,” he said, leaning back. “Saw you all weekend, but there’s always some crowd around. Hard to get a word in when everybody wants a piece of you.”
I huffed a breath. “That’s one way to put it.”
“You surprised some folks,” he said, voice dropping into something gentler. “Surprised me too. Never thought I’d see you back in Gomillion.”
My biscuit had gone cold, but I broke it open anyway, fingers itching for something to do. “I didn’t think I’d be back either.”
He chuckled, big and booming. “TheWelcome BackawardThat’s what they gave you, right? Fitting, I’d say.”
