Chapter 25: Emmett

Monday felt like any other day—at least for everyone else. Girls laughed and flirted with the guys, but for me, it was far from normal. Walking into Mr. Wesley's class, I spotted her.

Tasha.

She sat in the back, as always, but something was different. She wasn't wearing her usual soft pinks or vibrant colors. Instead, she wore black, blending into the shadows. Our eyes met, and for a moment, I couldn't look away. There was a flash of pain in her expression before she turned her gaze to the desk.

The memories from that night hit me hard. We were drunk when she told me she loved me.

And I lied.

I told her I loved her too.

I'd convinced myself it was harmless—just words. But it wasn't. Not when I took something from her that she could never get back. Her first.

I didn't deserve her friendship after what I'd done. But the truth was, I missed her. I missed talking to her, hearing her laugh, and seeing her smile. Now, she wouldn't even look at me.

I spent the rest of the class forcing myself to stare at the front, but I could still feel her presence, an ache in my chest that wouldn't go away.

When the bell rang, I glanced back, but she was already gone. I grabbed my things and headed out, weaving through the crowded hallway. I spotted her slipping into the library, but before I could follow, Milton blocked my path.

"Milton," I said, awkwardly shifting my bag. "Hey."

"Don't hey me," he snapped, jabbing a finger into my chest. "I knew I didn't like you. Now I don't have to feel guilty about it."

I sighed, trying to keep calm. "I just need to talk to Tasha."

"About what?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Our project," I lied.

Milton let out a sharp laugh, his eyes narrowing. "Fuck your project. And fuck you," he said, his words slicing through me.

Before I could respond, Kyle walked over, sensing the tension. "Whoa, whoa, babe. Let's calm down," he said, placing a hand on Milton's shoulder.

"Calm down?" Milton hissed, shrugging off Kyle's touch. "Calm down? Your idiot friend broke my friend's heart, and now he wants to talk to her about some bullshit project? He should be on his knees apologizing."

"I know I messed up," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But we're still partners. We need to finish it."

Kyle stepped in, his tone firm. "They'll finish the project, and then they won't have to talk again. End of story."

Milton's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wow," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What?" Kyle asked, frowning.

"You don't think he should apologize?" Milton shot back, his voice rising.

Kyle hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, she knew how he was. And trust me, I've already gotten on his case about it. But an apology? Come on."

Milton's expression hardened, his brow furrowing. He pointed between himself and Kyle. "This? Us? We're done. And you," he added, jabbing a finger at me, "stay the hell away from her."

Without another word, Milton stormed into the library.

Kyle turned to me, but I could see the anger simmering beneath his calm façade. When I reached out to him, he shook off my hand and walked away.

The day only got worse from there.

By the time I found myself at Giana's house, I was desperate to escape the gnawing guilt. We kissed, and in a haze, we stripped each other down. But every time I touched her, I saw Tasha.

When it was over, I felt hollow. Remorse washed over me like a tidal wave, and I couldn't stay another second. I grabbed my clothes and left, running as if I could outrun the weight of my mistakes.

At home, my father was waiting.

"Emmett," he said, his usual calm smile in place. "I was thinking we could take a trip to Harvard. There's an alumni dinner this weekend, and it'd be a great opportunity to talk to the football coach."

I was already exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally. I turned to him, my voice sharp. "I don't want to go."

His smile faltered. "Are you sure? It's a great chance—"

"I said I don't want to go!" I snapped. "I don't even want to go to Harvard! I want to weigh my options. I'm tired of feeling like my entire life is planned out for me!"

His eyes widened in shock, and I immediately regretted my tone. I turned on my heel and stormed upstairs, slamming my door.

Sitting on my bed, I stared at the couch where Tasha and I used to sit and talk for hours. Her laughter echoed in my mind, a cruel reminder of what I'd ruined.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I muttered.

My parents stepped in, my father sitting beside me while my mother stood with her arms crossed.

"First of all," my mom began, her voice sharp, "what the hell was that downstairs? How dare you speak to your father like that?"

"I'm sorry," I groaned, rubbing my temples.

"All you had to do was talk to me," my father said quietly.

I sighed, the weight of my frustration spilling out. "I didn't want to let you down. You always sound so excited when you talk about Harvard—how you met Mom there. I didn't want you to think I was ungrateful. But I have other ideas. Other schools I'm considering."

My father placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry if I made you feel like you didn't have a choice. What other schools are you interested in?"

I walked over to my desk, pulling out a stack of acceptance letters. As my parents flipped through them, their expressions softened, and for the first time that day, I felt a sliver of relief.

My mother, however, didn't let me off the hook entirely. I was grounded for the weekend.

Later that night, I lay on my bed, scrolling through my phone. I paused on a familiar name in my contacts: Pinky.

Her words echoed in my mind. Don't ever speak to me again.

I put the phone down, staring at the ceiling.

The one person I wanted to talk to... I couldn't.