Chapter 31: Tasha

I banged on the door, my fists shaking. Milton opened it, his face shifting from confusion to alarm.

"Oh my god, Tasha, come in," he said, ushering me inside.

I was soaked to the bone, trembling as tears streaked my cheeks. Thank goodness his parents were out of town—no one else needed to see me like this.

"I'm getting you some clothes. Go shower," he ordered firmly.

By the time I was out of the shower and dressed in something warm, Milton handed me a cup of hot chocolate. I sat down on his couch, clutching the mug like it was a lifeline.

"What happened?" he asked gently.

"Damien didn't actually like me," I spat, my voice cracking. "It was all a bet."

"Let me guess—Emmett told you," Milton said, leaning back in his chair.

My head snapped up. "How did you know?"

"He called me like a maniac," Milton explained, shaking his head. "He was desperate to figure out where your date was. He was all over the place, driving around town for hours."

"Oh."

"Yep." Milton chuckled softly. "He sounded crazy, but I guess he's crazy about you."

I looked down at my hands, twisting the edge of the blanket around my fingers. "He told me he loved me," I whispered. "And a bunch of other things. But... what if he hurts me again? How am I supposed to trust him?"

Milton pulled me into a hug, rocking me back and forth like a child. "I can't answer that for you, Tasha. But I do know this: love doesn't come without risk. You have to decide if he's worth taking that chance."

Later, Milton drove me home. I spent the rest of the weekend trying to keep my emotions in check, but by Monday, I was tired of crying. I just wanted to finish high school and move on.

Damien had the nerve to show up at my locker before first period, his lip swollen and one side of his face bruised.

"Tasha," he started, flashing a weak smile.

I cut him off, slamming my locker shut. "Save it. I already know what you were trying to do, so don't waste your breath."

I stormed off, ignoring the stares. I didn't have time for guys like him.

When I walked into AP Literature, I stopped short. Sitting on my desk was a cappuccino. I glanced to the side, and there was Emmett, smiling sheepishly from the seat beside mine.

"What is this?" I asked, holding up the cup.

"A French vanilla cappuccino," he said. "Milton told me you like them."

I narrowed my eyes. "What are you doing? I thought I made my choice very clear."

Emmett sighed, but his smile didn't falter. "I'm courting you, Tasha. I'm going to win you back."

I scoffed, turning my attention to the lecture. But I took a sip of the cappuccino anyway.

When the bell rang, Emmett grabbed my bag before I could reach for it.

"I've got this," he said brightly.

"Give it back!" I demanded, reaching for it.

He smirked, holding it out of reach. At 6'6", he towered over me, and my 5'4" frame stood no chance. I stumbled trying to grab it, and he caught me, his hand steadying my waist. My chest pressed against his, and I immediately pushed away.

"Fine," I huffed, stomping off.

Milton and Kyle were waiting by the library, wrapped in each other's arms.

"Can you tell your friend to give me my bag?" I asked Milton, glaring.

Kyle chuckled. "Can't stop him. He's on a roll."

"Are you helping him?" I demanded, exasperated.

"Just a little," Milton admitted with a grin.

This routine continued for weeks. Emmett carried my books and bag, brought me cappuccinos, and even read the mangas I recommended. He'd bake me cookies, bring flowers, and make handmade gifts. He mowed my dad's lawn and drove my brother to football practice. Everyone was on his side, and it made me feel like the bad guy for holding out.

"He loves you," Milton said one day as we walked to class. "He's showing it, just like the book boyfriends you always rave about. The old you would be swooning."

"Well, not the new me," I snapped, slamming my locker shut.

The next day, I was surprised when there was no cappuccino on my desk, no flowers, no Emmett waiting in the hall.

By lunch, my chest felt tight.

I texted Isla: Where's your brother?

Her reply came with a smirking emoji: He's sick. Badly. Mom thinks we might need to take him to the hospital.

My heart sank. I bit my lip, guilt gnawing at me. After school, I made a detour to my favorite soup shop before heading to Emmett's house.

Caroline answered the door, her face drawn. "How bad is it?" I asked, my voice trembling.

She looked at the bag in my hand and frowned. "I'll put this in the fridge. You should go see him."

I nodded, climbing the stairs with a sense of dread.

When I stepped into his room, my breath caught. Emmett lay in bed, pale and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. A gas mask rested beside him, hooked to a small monitor.

"Emmett," I whispered, sitting beside him. I grabbed his hand—it was cold as ice. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I started to sob.

"I was scared," I admitted through the tears. "I was scared you'd hurt me again. But now... you look like you might die, and I can't lose you. I still love you, Pierce. So wake the hell up. Get better."

His hand tightened around mine. I looked up, startled, as a sly smile spread across his face.

"I knew you still loved me," he said, sitting up and pulling off the mask.

I blinked in disbelief. "You faked being sick?!"

"I'm sorry!" he laughed, but he didn't sound sorry at all.

Furious, I grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. He flinched, laughing harder, and in one smooth motion, he pulled me onto his lap, his hands resting on my waist.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked softly, his eyes searching mine. "Can we be together again?"

"Do you love me?" I whispered.

"With all my heart," he said without hesitation.

My pulse quickened. "Then... yes."

His face lit up, and he pulled me into a tight hug, making me squeal.

"How did you know this would work?" I mumbled into his chest.

"I didn't," he admitted, grinning. "You, Pinky, have turned me into a hopeless romantic. I would've kept trying, no matter how long it took, to win you back."

I teared up, smiling through the emotion. "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

I wiped at my face, noticing white smudges on my fingers. "Are you wearing makeup?"

"Yep. Foundation and a little black eye shadow," he said proudly.

"Who was in on this?" I demanded.

"Everyone," he said with a laugh.

We both dissolved into laughter, the tension melting away. For the first time in weeks, I felt like everything was going to be okay.