Page 31 of Beautifully Broken

Caleb

I should’ve stayed home.

That was the first thing I thought when I stepped out of my truck and heard the music thumping from across the lot. Bass-heavy and nostalgic, the kind of song people pretended to like more than they did—just so they didn’t feel so damn old.

I slammed the door harder than necessary and rolled my shoulders back, already wishing I’d worn something less stiff. My shirt clung to my back from the heat. The Oklahoma air was thick, and not just with humidity. It was memories, dust, old faces. All of it pressing in.

Nate met me by the gate with two drinks and a look that said he wasn’t going to let me run.

“You look like a man headed to his own funeral,” he said, handing me a plastic cup. “Relax. It’s just a reunion, not a firing squad.”

“I’d rather be in front of a firing squad.”

He smirked. “You’re here. That’s step one. Now drink that and try not to look like you’re planning your escape.”

I took a sip. Warm beer. Of course.

The courtyard was strung with lights—too soft, too golden, like someone was trying to romanticize the past. It smelled like fresh grass, barbecue, beer, and a trace of cologne that had no business still being sold.

I saw Cooper and West near the bar, laughing with a couple of girls I didn’t recognize. West gave me a nod, unreadable. Coop held up his drink. I nodded back but didn’t head over.

Because then I saw her.

Emily .

She was standing near one of the long wooden tables, talking to Jordan and Sadie.

Her blonde hair was curled, half-up, catching the light like it had a mind of its own.

Her black dress shimmered faintly, printed with gold bows—short, flirty, and entirely unfair.

She laughed at something Jordan said, tipping her head back, and I swore it knocked the breath from my lungs.

She looked good. Effortless. Like she belonged here, surrounded by music and conversation and everything I’d forgotten how to enjoy.

Nate followed my gaze. “She looks happy,” he said.

“Yeah,” I muttered. My throat was dry, and it wasn’t from the beer.

“You talk to her every day,” he said. “What’s different now?”

Everything.

“She’s wearing that dress,” I said finally.

He snorted. “You’re pathetic.”

I didn’t deny it. My feet were glued to the ground. I watched her turn a little, fingers curled around a plastic cup, and then—she looked up.

Right at me.

It was like she knew.

Our eyes met, and something shifted. Her expression softened. A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth, and her fingers gave a subtle wave.

Just for me.

My heart stuttered.

I didn’t think. I moved.

The crowd blurred around me—faces, names, voices I barely heard. I walked like a man in a dream, zeroed in on one thing. One person.

Emily turned toward me fully when I was a few steps away, her smile real, steady. “Hey.”

“Hey.” My voice came out rough.

She stepped in and hugged me without hesitation. My body tensed, startled—but I didn’t pull away. I folded into her, let my arms wrap around her slender frame, and pulled her close.

My fingers splayed across her back. Her dress was soft beneath my palms, thin enough that I could feel the heat of her skin through it. My heart pounded hard and fast. I breathed her in—citrus and something faintly sweet—and held on for half a second too long .

It was a mistake, how good that felt.

And then a voice behind us ruined it.

“I still think about Hannah sometimes,” a woman said. “She was just… special.”

Emily’s hand tensed against my side.

I turned. A couple I barely recognized stood behind us, both smiling politely like they'd just handed me a casserole and not an emotional grenade.

“Thanks,” I said, throat tight.

They moved on.

I looked down at Emily. She was watching me carefully, but not with pity. Just… knowing.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” I lied.

Her fingers slipped into mine. “Come on.”

She tugged me toward the dance floor before I could overthink it.

The music shifted. Something fast at first—people clapped, shouted, swayed. But as we stepped into the middle, the tempo changed. Slowed. A soft drawl, a steel guitar. The kind of song you didn’t just listen to. You felt it.

Emily turned, arms sliding up around my neck.

My hands found her waist.

And I forgot how to breathe.

She moved into me like she belonged there. Her chest brushed mine with every step. I felt the shape of her hips under my palms, the curve of her waist, the flutter of her pulse where her neck met her shoulder.

She was watching me, but not nervously. Like she already knew what I was thinking.

“You clean up nice,” she murmured.

“So do you.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you in that shirt.”

“Almost?”

She grinned. “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.”

That made something twist low in my stomach. I swallowed hard and pulled her closer.

She fit against me like a secret I hadn’t meant to tell .

Her hair brushed my chin. I leaned in, pressing my nose against the top of her head, breathing her in again. Her body moved with mine, slow and sure, and every nerve ending I had buzzed to life.

Before I could stop myself, I kissed her temple.

She stilled.

Her head tipped back, and her eyes met mine.

Confused. Searching.

I didn’t wait.

I kissed her.

Her lips parted. Her fingers curled at the back of my neck. She kissed me back—soft at first, then deeper, more certain. Her body pressed closer, and I let myself feel all of it. The want. The fear. The truth I hadn’t let myself say out loud.

I wanted her. And that scared the hell out of me.