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Something tightens in my chest. I haven’t had support like this in a long time. I reach across the table, squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”
She smiles, squeezing back. “Always.”
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Stella leans back, grinning mischievously. “So, you never actually answered my question.”
I blink. “What question?”
She waggles her eyebrows. “What’s it like actually living with Bryan?”
I groan, dropping my head onto the table again. “Em.”
“Stella.”
She laughs, nudging my foot under the table. “Come on. You can’t tell me it’s just cordial.”
I lift my head, sighing. “Okay, fine. It’s… weird.”
She leans in, excited. “Weird how?”
I hesitate. “I mean… we don’t fight. Not really. We’re not friends, but we’re not exactly avoiding each other either. It’s like…” I trail off, struggling to put it into words.
Stella tilts her head. “Like old wounds that aren’t quite healed yet?”
I flinch. Because yeah. That’s exactly what it feels like. She watches me carefully, her playful expression softening. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but the movement feels stiff. “I will be.”
She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand again. Three months. That’s all I have to get through. And then I can move on.
Chapter six
Bryan
Buddy barrels toward the porch, ears flapping, tongue hanging out, completely ignoring the ball I just threw. I frown, watching him change course mid-run, something’s caught his attention. And then I see her.
Emma’s just stepped into the yard, hair loose, ocean breeze catching the edges of her sweatshirt. She’s probably heading to her car or the shed, or anywhere that isn’t me, but Buddy has other ideas.
With an excited bark, he launches himself at her, tail wagging so hard he nearly topples her over. She laughs, crouching to ruffle his ears, completely oblivious to the way my chest tightens at the sound.
I grip the porch rail a little harder than necessary. I should go inside. Let her do whatever she came out here for and pretend she doesn’t exist.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am. Watching. Noticing too much.
The way she scratches behind Buddy’s ears, exactly where he loves it most. The way her fingers move gently, familiar, like she’s done it a thousand times before.
The way her eyes crinkle when she smiles, wide and bright, completely unguarded. It hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve seen that exact look before. Years ago.
When she’d sat on the beach, cradling a hurt seagull in her lap, so determined to help.
I remember telling her, “You’re gonna be a great vet one day, Em.” And she’d smiled at me, so full of dreams and certainty.
What happened to that girl? What happened to her plans, her future, the thing she swore she wanted more than anything?
I shove the thought away before it takes root. It’s not my business. Not anymore.
Buddy flops onto his back, exposing his belly in surrender, and Emma laughs, scratching him without hesitation. Her hair falls into her face, a loose strand brushing against her cheek.
I don’t mean to stare. But I do. And for one stupid, fleeting second, I forget why I’m supposed to hate her. Why this should be easy. Why I should be able to stand here, watching her smile, and feel absolutely nothing. Instead, I feel too much. And I hate it.