Page 60 of Kellan & Emmett
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One more week. That’s all the time I’ve got left at camp. One more week of kids yelling my name across the field, of dirt-streaked smiles, of feeling like I’m part of something that matters.
Funny thing is, LA should be pulling at me by now. The job, the contacts, the noise. But when I picture going back, all I feel is hollow. Like I’d be stepping into a life I already outgrew.
Here, everything feels different. Steady. Real. Emmett is real. The way he laughs, the way he steadies me without even knowing he’s doing it — it’s everything I didn’t know I was starving for.
I keep circling the same truth: I love him. And I can’t leave Gomillion without saying it.
Chapter 31
Kellan
The last whistle blast cut through the hot afternoon air, sharp enough to send a flock of sparrows skittering from the chain-link fence. For a beat the field went still, then sneakers squeaked and kids came rushing at me, some grinning ear to ear, others with their mouths pulled tight like they didn’t want the day to end. Arms wrapped around my waist, little hands tugged at my shirt, a dozen voices all calling my name.
“Coach Hayes! Watch me throw!”
“Coach, I’m gonna miss you!”
“You promised to sign my ball!”
I laughed, loud and helpless, the sound catching in my throat. Sweat ran down my back, sunscreen and cut grass thick in the air. I crouched to tie one boy’s shoelace and got ambushed by another who slapped a goodbye high-five against my palm.
The parents drifted in from the parking lot, folding chairs under their arms, water bottles sweating in their hands. They shook mine, thanked me like I’d given their kids something more than drills and scrimmages. “Confidence,” one mom said. “You made him believe he belonged.” That hit me harder than any trophy I’d ever lifted.
Coach Rick clapped me on the back, the weight of it steady, grounding. “Hell of a job, Hayes. Door’s open if you want to come back next summer. Or more than summer. Kids like you. You’ve got a knack.”
I nodded, throat tight. Summer work wasn’t a career, I knew that. But the way he said it — like there could be something permanent if I wanted it, if I asked — made my chest ache in a good way.
The two high school volunteers lingered at the edge of the field, shuffling like they weren’t sure how to say goodbye. One finally blurted, “We learned a lot from you, Coach.” Their voices cracked like the kids they still were, and I saw a younger me in their restless faces.
Pride swelled in me, sharp and unexpected. Not the fleeting rush of a touchdown, not the roar of a stadium. This was quieter, steadier. Real.
I stood there in the heat, surrounded by grass stains and sunscreen and too-tight hugs, and thought: This feels like home.[38]
Kids peeled off one by one until the field emptied, the heat still rising from the grass like the day didn’t want to let go. Rick was the last to leave, keys jangling at his side as he jerked his chin toward his truck. “C’mon, Hayes. I’ll run you back.”
I climbed in, the seat belt sticking against my damp shirt, and leaned my head against the window. Gomillion blurred past — familiar storefronts, kids licking snow cones on the curb, the wide arms of oaks throwing shade across cracked sidewalks. My chest ached, heavier with every mile.
I tried to picture LA. The apartment I’d already given up, walls blank and impersonal, the echo of a fridge door in a kitchen that never smelled like anything I wanted to come home to. The endless grind of chasing something that never felt like mine.
And then I thought of the inn — Emmett’s laugh down the hall, his shirts hanging beside mine, the way his hand had anchored on my hip like he knew where I belonged.
By the time Rick pulled up to the gravel drive and clapped me on the shoulder with a “See you around, Coach,” the decisionhad already taken root. I was done running. Done pretending LA held anything for me.
I wanted this. Him. If he’d have me.
Inside, I sank onto the edge of the bed I wasn’t sure I could still call mine, pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen too long before I typed:
We need to talk tonight.
I stared at the blinking cursor, fingers itching to add more.Love you.The words burned on the tip of my tongue, but I erased them before they made it to the screen.
Not like this. Not in a text.
I hit send. The message whooshed away, leaving my chest tight — part nerves, part thrill.[39]
The official goodbyes bled into a picnic under the oaks, parents unpacking coolers, kids trading phone numbers they’d probably never use. Rick handed me a paper plate piled with fried chicken and potato salad, nodding like I belonged there. The high school volunteers hovered near me too, their chatter a mix of relief and sadness, like they didn’t quite want to admit the summer was over.
