Page 64 of Kellan & Emmett
I dropped to the grass, the damp soaking through my jeans, buried my face in my hands. The ache hollowed me out, sharp and raw, and I couldn’t stop the thought: maybe I’d already lost him. Maybe love wasn’t enough to make him stay.[46]
The phone burned in my pocket, heavy as stone, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. My chest was too tight, my head too loud. All I could see was that half-sentence seared into my brain:Got a job offer to coach—
I didn’t need the rest. My heart had already filled in the ending, cruel as ever.
Around me, the day slid toward evening, cicadas buzzing, water threading over rock the same way it always had. I pressed my palms to my face, dragged in a ragged breath, and the fear gnawed steady, merciless.
Maybe I’d already lost him.
August 21
I never thought it would take six weeks to close out twenty years of living in L.A. Twenty years of habits and routines, of drawers full of papers that didn’t matter anymore, of jerseys I hadn’t worn in a decade. Every errand came with another memory, every box another reminder of how much time I’d spent building a life that never really felt like mine.
I ended leases, shut down accounts, handed over keys. Packed what I wanted to keep and left the rest behind. Movers promised the boxes would catch up with me.
Through it all, there was one steady thought—this isn’t about what I’m leaving. It’s about where I’m going. About who I’m going to. Every time the work felt endless, I’d picture Emmett’s arms around me, the sound of his laugh, the quiet steadiness of him. That’s what kept me moving.
—K
Chapter 33
Kellan
The rental crunched over the gravel drive, and my chest tightened the second the inn came into view. Same porch railings, same swing creaking gently in the breeze, but it felt different now. Not just a place I’d run to for the summer—this time, it was supposed to be home. My real shot at it. At him.
My suitcases sat in the trunk, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. They could wait. Emmett couldn’t. I shoved the car door closed, heart thudding faster than it had on any field I’d ever played.
Inside, the familiar smell of coffee and lemon polish hit me like a welcome I’d been aching for. The author sat in his usual corner, glasses sliding down his nose, laptop balanced on a stackof notes. He glanced up, surprise flashing before settling into a smile.
“Kellan. You’re back.” He pushed his glasses higher. “Emmett just stepped out. Looked a little upset, but said it wasn’t serious.”
The words were casual, sincere. But my stomach went tight. Upset. Emmett didn’t show that side to guests. Not unless something had knocked him sideways.
“Thanks,” I managed, though my voice came out rougher than I meant.
By the time I reached the porch again, my phone was already in my hand. I called. Straight to voicemail. Texted. No reply.
Pacing the boards, I muttered under my breath, “Think, think, think.” Where would he go?
I thumbed Paige’s number. She answered on the second ring, bright as ever.
“Well, if it isn’t Coach Hayes. How’s LA treating you?”
“I’m not in LA,” I said quickly. “I’m back in town. Have you seen Emmett?”
A beat of silence. “Not today. Why? What’s wrong?”
“He stepped out, looked upset. He’s not answering his phone.”
Her voice softened. “I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s spotted him.”
“Thanks, Paige.” I shoved the phone back into my pocket, but it didn’t ease the knot in my chest.
I dropped into the driver’s seat of the rental, fingers tight around the wheel. The hardware store? No. He wouldn’t go there. Paige’s? No. Not if he wanted to be alone.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Think.
And then it hit me. Of course. A place older than both our scars. A place I should’ve thought of first.
