Page 19 of Kellan & Emmett
Heat prickled under my collar. Of course. He’d bailed. Again.
I tipped the cup back harder than I meant to, liquid stinging my throat. The fact that he wasn’t there didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t matter.
But irritation crawled under my skin all the same, souring into something I didn’t want to name.
Where the hell had he gone?
I scanned the gym, casual at first, pretending I wasn’t checking doorways, corners, shadows near the bleachers. Too many people pressing close, perfume and cologne mixing. The music was louder now, or maybe just grating harder against the place in me that knew he wasn’t here.
Dammit.
Leif asked if I wanted another round. I muttered something—“Need some air”—and set my half-empty cup on the nearest table. My pulse thudded in my ears as I pushed the double doors.
The air tasted faintly of sugar and sweat, like the night itself had swallowed the punch bowl whole.
I scanned the parking lot once, twice, stupidly hoping I’d catch a familiar frame leaning against my truck, waiting. But he wasn’t there.
A couple leaned against a sedan, sneaking kisses like they were seventeen again. Someone else lit a cigarette near the far end, flame snapping bright before dying. No Kellan.
Go back inside, Em. Stop caring. He isn’t your problem and hadn’t been for twenty years. If he wants to disappear, let him.
I circled farther, around toward the track. The field lay still, the scoreboard dark, only the faint hum of the stadium lights filling the air. I stopped, scanned, heart thudding harder for no good reason.
My throat worked around a tightness that had nothing to do with the drink. If he wasn’t here, then—where?
The answer came before I let myself name it. The bleachers. Of course.
And suddenly my feet were moving, gravel crunching under my shoes as the music bled thinner behind me.
It wasn’t logic, not really. Just instinct—muscle memory from a lifetime ago. That was where we always ended up. After practice, after games, after too many nights when the world felt too heavy to carry alone. That was our place.
For a second, I almost laughed at myself. Maybe I’d lost that right to know him, tofindhim. Twenty years erased a lot. But something under my ribs insisted.
My steps slowed as I crossed the grass.
The bleachers came into view, washed silver under the field lights. He was there, slouched forward on the bottom row, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. Like the weight of everything had finally buckled him.
He didn’t look up.
I waited a beat, two, telling myself to turn back. To let him be. But I stayed. Of course I stayed.
“You always were good at disappearing.”
His head shifted, just enough to let me know he’d heard. After a beat, his voice came—low, frayed at the edges. “And you always knew where to find me.”
“Not anymore,” I said, taking a step closer, gravel crunching underfoot. “This time it took me twenty years.”
That got him to look at me. His eyes caught mine under the lights, haunted, like he wanted to say something and swallow it down at the same time.
“I was…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “That night—everything was changing.” His words came fast, ragged. “You staying here, me leaving, my dad breathing down my neck about the scholarship, about being the perfect son. And then there was you. My best friend. The only thing that made sense. And suddenly it didn’t. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe, because what if—”
“It’s too late for what ifs, Kellan.”
Chapter 11
Emmett
