Page 34 of Beautifully Broken

Caleb

I almost turned around twice.

Once in the driveway, when Nacho wouldn’t stop staring at me like he knew I was about to do something stupid.

Again at the end of the road, when the sun caught the edges of the clouds just right, painting the sky like something out of a memory.

I could’ve sworn I heard Hannah’s laugh in that silence.

The soft, familiar kind that used to spill out of her and fill our kitchen, warm and honeyed.

But I didn’t turn around.

Not because I wasn’t scared—I was. God, I was. My fingers had gone cold on the steering wheel, and I’d been white-knuckling it all the way across town. But I kept driving. Because somewhere between guilt and grief and all the damn days I spent pretending I was fine… I started to miss her.

Emily.

I missed the way her voice got softer when she said my name.

The way she saw through every mask I wore, even the ones I didn’t know I had on.

I missed her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she’d nudge my shoulder just to feel me lean back.

I missed the way her eyes would flicker like she was holding back a storm, and how somehow, being near her always made it easier to breathe.

So I drove.

She was on the porch when I pulled up. Bare legs tucked under her, a hoodie swallowing her frame.

Her hair was down, curling at the ends, and she had a book in her lap she clearly wasn’t reading.

I saw the way her head snapped up when she heard the truck.

The way her spine straightened like she hadn’t dared to hope but had anyway.

And when she saw it was me, she didn’t smile.

She just waited .

I climbed out slow, palms sweating like I was seventeen again and walking up to ask her out for the first time. Only this time, there was a hell of a lot more on the line.

“Hey,” I said, my voice catching somewhere in the middle of my throat.

She nodded. “Hey.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I was better at this. Wishing I could hand her some flowers or crack a joke or say something poetic. But that wasn’t us. Not anymore.

“I didn’t know if I should come,” I admitted, eyes flicking toward the front steps. “Didn’t know if you'd want to see me after…”

“After you kissed me and left?” Her tone wasn’t angry. It was tired. Like she’d been holding her breath for a long time.

“Yeah,” I said. “That.”

She didn’t speak right away, and I didn’t fill the silence. I let it stretch between us, let it say everything I couldn’t.

“I didn’t expect it,” she said finally. “The kiss.”

“I didn’t either.”

Her brows lifted, skeptical.

“I mean—I didn’t plan it,” I clarified. “I saw you, and you looked… God, Em, you looked like you’d always belonged to me. And something cracked open in me, and before I could think, I was kissing you like I meant it. Because I did.”

She stood then. Walked to the edge of the porch, arms crossed over her chest. “So why’d you run?”

I stepped closer. Not all the way, not yet. “Because it scared the hell out of me. Because it felt real. Too real. And because I didn’t want it to be some fluke or some drunken mistake that ruined what we have.”

Emily didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away.

“I’ve been trying to live with ghosts,” I said, voice thick.

“Waking up with guilt in my throat and going to bed with regrets on my chest. And for a long time, I thought if I loved you, I’d be betraying her.

But lately, I’ve been thinking maybe the real betrayal is staying stuck.

Maybe the most honest thing I can do is live. ”

Her mouth parted, just a little. Like she was about to speak, but the words got lost somewhere in her ribs.

“I’m not over Hannah,” I said. “I don’t think I ever will be. But I think she’d want this. She’d want me to love again. To be happy.”

I climbed the steps, slowly, letting her stop me if she wanted to. She didn’t.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Em. But I know I want to try. With you. If you’ll let me.”

Her arms were still crossed, but her eyes had gone soft. Shiny.

I stepped closer. “Say something. Please.”

She stared at me for a beat, then whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you to come.”

And that was it.

I reached for her, and she melted into me like she belonged there. My hands cupped her face, my thumbs catching the tear that slid down her cheek. Her lips were warm and soft and familiar in a way that had nothing to do with the past and everything to do with right now.

I kissed her slow. Deep. Like I had all the time in the world to get it right this time.

And maybe I did.

Because this time, I wasn’t walking away. I was living.