Page 6 of Kellan & Emmett
Before I could make sense of it, he’d already crossed the room, and Emmett—of course—was the one he went straight for.
They fell into conversation, heads bent close, laughter slipping easy between them. Too easy.
My stomach knotted.
Back in high school, as far as I knew, Emmett had been straight. At least that’s what I’d told myself. Until graduation night. Until one kiss that had haunted me ever since. I’d spent years wondering if I’d imagined it. If maybe he hadn’t kissed me back, and I’d just wanted it so badly I convinced myself I’d felt it. But then there were nights—late, restless—when I could still swear I felt the heat of his mouth on mine. That it had been real.
Now here he was, leaning into Leif like—hell, I didn’t know what.
My throat went dry.
I’d admitted to myself years ago that I was gay. After denying it for too long. After trying to prove something with women, marrying one of them, even, and dragging us both through a passionless couple of years before it fell apart. Divorce papers had been easier than facing the truth back then. I was so far in the closet I’d practically boarded the door shut. Coming out never felt like an option. Not for me.
So why did watching Emmett laugh with Leif feel like my ribs were being pried open?
It wasn’t jealousy. Couldn’t be. He could talk to whoever he wanted.
Still, when Leif touched his arm and Emmett didn’t pull away, something sharp bit under my skin.
I stared down at my glass, fingers tightening until the rim pressed into my palm. My pulse wouldn’t slow down.
They moved toward the exit, shoulders brushing, talking in a way that felt private. The door swung open, spilling night air into the bar, and then shut again.
Maybe they went for a smoke.
But did Emmett even smoke? Somehow, I didn’t think so.
“Everything good?” Derrick asked beside me, raising his brows when I didn’t answer right away.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I wasn’t fine. My gaze stuck to that door like it owed me answers.
Hooking up? The thought lodged deep, unwelcome.
But the longer the door stayed shut, the tighter my chest drew.
It didn't matter. None of it did.
So why couldn’t I stop imagining him with someone else?
The minutes dragged on. I stayed where I was, glass in hand. Derrick and Jamal still carried on with stories about clients and city life, and I still nodded at the right moments, threw in the occasional “yeah” or “sounds good,” but none of it landed.
My mind was outside, with him.
That door stayed shut.
I told myself maybe they’d just gone out for a smoke. Maybe they were catching up like old friends. Maybe I was an idiot for caring. Didn’t stop my chest from tightening every time laughter rose near the entrance, only to realize it wasn’t theirs.
The crowd thinned as the night wore on. Groups peeled off in twos and threes, voices fading as they called goodbyes and stumbled into the dark. The buzz of conversation dulled, the bar quieter, softer around the edge.
Exhaustion pressed into my bones—travel, jet lag, everything I’d been carrying for twenty years.
I drained the last swallow of beer, set the glass down harder than I meant to, and pushed away from the table. Time to go. Time to stop staring at a door that wasn’t going to open for my peace of mind.
So I walked out, keys in hand, and let the dark swallow me whole.
The road stretched out in front of me, two black lanes swallowed in the beam of the SUV’s headlights. Midnight in Gomillion meant emptiness—just the hum of tires on cracked asphalt, treelines hemming me in on either side, and the faint glow of a porch light here or there, set way back from the road.
