Page 24 of Kellan & Emmett (Gomillion High Reunion #1)

Kellan

The door clicked shut behind us, soft but final, and the little office felt too small for the heat between us.

My shoulder brushed his as he stepped in close, and I caught the scent of soap still clinging to his skin, the faint bite of coffee on his breath.

I pressed my back to the wood like I needed the barrier to hold me steady, arms crossed tight.

I shouldn’t have followed him here.

Shouldn’t have let him lead me where no one else could see.

Because private meant no excuses.

Private meant nothing to hide behind. And God help me, the way he was looking at me now—like last night wasn’t a mistake, like it was the start of something—left me hotter than the sunburn across my neck.

Emmett’s voice cut the silence.

“We can’t pretend nothing happened. We did that twenty years ago, and look where it left us.”

I tried to meet his eyes, but my throat locked tight. The words wanted to stay buried, the way they’d always been. But his gaze—green and unflinching—drew them out.

“I shouldn’t want this,”

I managed, though the pulse hammering in my chest betrayed me. My arms stayed folded, fists digging into my biceps, like I could hold myself together by force.

“I’ve spent my whole life telling myself I couldn’t. I don’t even remember how to feel without bottling it up.”

For a beat, all I heard was the tick of the wall clock. Then Emmett shifted, closing the space between us until I could feel the warmth of him just off my arm. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach for me and wasn’t sure if he had the right.

“You don’t have to keep doing that,”

he said.

“Not with me.”

His throat worked, and his gaze flicked over my face like he was trying to memorize every crack in the armor I’d spent years welding shut.

The way he looked at me like I wasn’t broken — tore something loose.

The memory rose sharp, unwanted, and I let it spill because I couldn’t stop it.

“When I was nine, my mom gave me a journal. Dove gray cover. Said I needed a place to keep my head clear. I filled it—every thought, every hope, every stupid thing that made me laugh… or cry. And every year she’d buy me another when I finished.”

My voice broke, soft and bitter all at once.

“When I was thirteen, my dad found one. Read it. Every page had your name on it, Emmett. Every damn one. He showed me the line where I wrote that your eyes were the prettiest green I’d ever seen, and that I wished I could kiss you.”

I swallowed hard, shame clawing up my throat.

“He gave me a look I’d never seen before. Cold. Disgusted. Said being gay had no place in football. Said if I wanted out of this town, if I wanted to make something of myself, I’d better get my shit together. Because I was his ticket. His way out.”

I let the words hang, raw and jagged, my chest heaving. I risked looking straight into Emmett’s face to see how he’d take it.

His jaw tightened first, like he was holding back words too sharp to say.

Then his eyes softened—those same green eyes I’d scrawled about in a thirteen-year-old’s messy handwriting.

His fingers curled once at his side, then uncurled, like he was fighting not to reach for me.

He exhaled slowly, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “Kelly…”

He shook his head, eyes locked on mine.

“You were a kid. You wrote what you felt. That wasn’t wrong. None of it was wrong.”

The words hit harder than I expected, scraping against years of silence I’d carried.

I wanted to look away, to fold myself back into the armor, but I couldn’t.

Not when his gaze held me there, not when it burned with something that wasn’t pity, or judgment—it as just truth.

“Your dad should’ve protected that part of you,”

he said, firmer now, like he needed me to hear it.

“Not crush it. You don’t owe him the man he wanted. You don’t owe anybody that.”

His throat bobbed, his mouth opening like there was more he wanted to say, but the weight between us held.

His throat worked, like he was still chewing over words, but they came anyway.

“Kelly… all that shame? It was never yours. He dumped it on you because he was too damn small to carry it himself.”

His voice sharpened, not at me but for me.

“You wrote down the truth, and it was beautiful. He couldn’t stand it because it wasn’t his truth.”

My chest squeezed hard. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted it so bad. But twenty years of swallowing myself didn’t just disappear because Emmett said I deserved better.

“I’ve spent every year since then trying to keep it buried,”

I admitted, voice raw.

“And still—”

I faltered, but the words clawed free.

“Still I never stopped wanting you.”

His face broke open at that—something fierce and aching, like I’d just handed him every piece of me I’d tried to hide. His hand lifted then, no hesitation this time, palm cupping my jaw. Warm. Not trapping, or demanding—but anchoring.

“Emmy—”

It slipped out of me without thought, like the boy I’d been was still alive under my skin.

His thumb brushed my cheekbone, and he leaned closer, whispering against my lips.

“Still Kelly.”

And then he kissed me.

It was heat and salt and twenty years crashing together all at once. His mouth was firm, hungry, tasting of coffee and something sharper—want, need. His tongue slid against mine and I groaned into it, helpless. My fists found his shirt, clutching hard, dragging him in like I’d die if there was an inch of space between us.

He pressed me back against the door, his arousal hard against my thigh. I shuddered at it, hips twitching before I could think better. Every nerve in me screamed wrong, dangerous, don’t, but my body knew better. My body had been waiting for this.

I kissed him harder, messy, and desperate. Relief poured through me so sharp it almost hurt.

When we finally tore apart, breath ragged, our foreheads rested together. I shut my eyes and let myself have it—just this. His breath, his heat, his hands still braced on me.

I didn’t run. That was the victory.

He kissed me again, quick but certain. Then he eased back.

“Go shower, Kelly. Take a nap. You’ve had a long morning.”

He glanced at his watch, the practical innkeeper back in place.

“Couple of guests’ll be back soon. When things settle, I’ll come by your room. We’ll talk more then.”

My pulse was still hammering when he stepped away, giving me space. I stayed with my back to the door, chest heaving, the taste of him still on my lips.

Twenty years I’d called it a mistake. But nothing about his mouth on mine felt like one.