Page 15 of Kellan & Emmett (Gomillion High Reunion #1)

Emmett

The noise of the field blurred. For a beat, neither Kellan nor I looked away. His stare held, unreadable, and my chest tightened like the years had folded in on themselves. Sweat ran down from his temple, clinging to the edge of his jaw, his shirt plastered against his back. My body betrayed me—pulse quick, heat climbing sharp and unwanted.

Kellan blinked first, dropping his gaze back to the kids. Relief should’ve come with that, but it didn’t. Because a minute later, he did it again—another quick glance, like he couldn’t help himself. Each one landed like a spark, small but enough to warm something I’d worked hard to freeze.

The ache settled deep, heavy as summer air.

And just like that, I was back in the stands. Friday night lights burning overhead, the roar of the crowd shaking the bleachers. Kellan on the field, scanning the rows after a big play. Every time, without fail, his eyes skipped past the boosters, past his dad, past the coaches. They landed on me.

I hadn’t known what to do with it back then. Pretended it was nothing. But I’d noticed. Always noticed. And now the thought hit hard—maybe I hadn’t been the only one feeling something more.

I remembered the moment I realized I was in love with my best friend. It was during a late practice, and of course, I’d stayed back to watch. Kellan’d jogged off, sweat-dark hair plastered to his forehead, grin stretched wide. And somewhere between the sight of him brushing it back and the sound of his laugh, I’d realized I was gone. That it was more than friendship, and had been for longer than I’d admitted to myself.

The sharp tweet of a whistle brought me back to the present. I stayed tucked near the bleachers, the cases of water nearby, telling myself I was only here to drop them off. That was a lie I barely believed. Kellan’s key was still on the board this morning. He hadn’t checked out. Curiosity got the better of me.

“Em.”

I turned. Paige Turner angled toward me, sunglasses sliding down her nose, a travel mug in hand. She had that kind of effortless polish that came with confidence—skin smooth and glowing, dark hair brushing her shoulders, eyes sharp but warm. She looked like someone who belonged on a magazine cover at the airport, not standing on the sidelines of a youth scrimmage.

“Paige,”

I said.

“Didn’t think you’d be out here.”

She smirked.

“My nephew’s number twenty-three.”

She tipped her chin toward the boy tearing downfield, socks slouched at his ankles, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration.

“He begged me to come, so I figured I’d better cheer before he decides football’s not for him.”

“Smart,”

I said.

“Gets harder to stick with it later.”

She took a sip from her mug, leaning on one hip.

“Don’t get used to seeing me, though. Just got back from New York, and I’m heading out again soon. Travel nurse life. Chicago next week, maybe Denver after that.”

I did. Paige had been around for about ten years, long enough to be part of the fabric of the town, but her job kept her in motion. She was the kind of friend who could vanish for weeks, even months, and still make it feel like no time had passed when she turned up again.

I chuckled.

“Good thing you always come back, Paige. Gomillion wouldn’t feel the same without you.”

Her grin widened.

“I heard it was hell of a weekend? Reunion, prom, all that dancing. Folks’ll be talking for months.”

I huffed.

“They already are.”

“That’s true.”

She sipped from her mug, eyes glinting.

“Caden and Theo sure gave ‘em something to talk about. Hand in hand, slow dancing like no one else was there. Didn’t see that one coming.”

A flicker of warmth tugged at my mouth before I caught it.

“Good for them.”

“And Brad and Finn? Spotted at Fresh Brews. Kissing”

She shook her head like it was the juiciest thing she’d heard in years.

“Makes you wonder who else reconnected this weekend.”

I didn’t take the bait. Just shifted my weight, eyes back on the field.

“Good for them.”

That was all I gave her. Because what was I supposed to say? That I’d spent half the reunion trying not to look at the one person who could still hollow me out with a glance?

Kellan was laughing at something one of the kids said, head tipped back, throat slick with sweat and sunlight. It wasn’t polished or careful—it was easy, the kind of laugh that cracked through me like it had no right to.

My chest felt too tight for the heat of the day. Every instinct I had was at war: look away, for Christ’s sake, save yourself. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. My eyes tracked the way his shirt stuck to his shoulders, the way he leaned down to ruffle a boy’s hair, the way his voice carried—low, sure, steady enough that the kids hung on every word.

Paige followed my gaze for a beat, then hummed.

“Who’s that?”

I swallowed. “Kellan.”

Her brows lifted, slow.

“Oh. Is that—”

“Yes.”

The word was out before I could stop it. Too sharp, too fast.

The word dragged me back, uninvited, to the only time I’d ever said his name to her before. A few years back.

She’d stopped by the inn for breakfast, fresh off a night shift, still in scrubs with her hair tied up, asking if the coffee was strong enough to keep her upright.

I’d been half-asleep myself, caught off guard when she asked what had me so quiet. It happened to be my birthday.

The kind of day that never sat easy. And without thinking — without planning — I’d said it.

Told her about a boy who used to make birthdays something worth looking forward to. About the best friend I’d lost the night he kissed me and vanished.

I’d regretted it as soon as the words were out. But Paige never pressed. Never dangled it in my face. She just nodded, poured more sugar in her coffee, and said.

“Sounds like he mattered. That’s all I’ll say.”

And now, here she was again, reminding me I’d let that name slip to her once before.

Something flickered in her smile, wry and knowing.

“Huh. I could still kick his ass, you know.”

A sound escaped me—half laugh, half regret.

“Yeah. Get in line.”

Before she could reply, Coach Rick’s whistle split the air, sharp enough to draw every head.

He’d spent most of practice pacing the sideline. Now he jogged a few steps closer, clapping his hands to part the knot of kids, who’d practically hemmed Kellan in at the center, tugging at his sleeve, begging for one more throw.

And Kellan? He’d been so good with the kids. Even as practice was about to end, he still gave them a last tousle of hair or a pat on the shoulder. It warmed my heart

Does he have any kids of his own? He’s a natural dad with them.

“Alright now, give Coach K some air. Let the man breathe.”

The coach shot Kellan a grin.

“So what’s the deal, huh? Did we just luck into a guest coach for the summer?”

The kids made a collective gasp, parents chuckled from the bleachers.

And me?

I held my breath, eyes fixed on Kellan.

Waiting to hear his answer.