Chapter twelve
Bryan
I step into the shelter, the sharp scent of bleach and damp fur filling my lungs as the familiar clatter of kennels echoes through the space. Volunteers shuffle around, feeding dogs, filling out paperwork, lost in their routine. But I only see her. Emma.
She’s crouched beside a wiry little mutt, her hands gentle as she checks its paws. Her ponytail swings forward, a loose strand brushing her cheek, and for a second, I forget why I’m here.
She looks up, startled, her gaze locking onto mine. A flicker of surprise crosses her face before she schools her expression into something neutral.
“Bryan?” Her voice is wary, as if she hadn’t expected to see me here. She straightens, dusting her hands on her jeans. “What are you doing here?”
I shift the box in my arms, nodding toward the storage room. “Brought some things for the animals. Supplies for the cages.”
Her lips press together, and she nods. “That’s… nice of you.”
Nice .
I don’t miss how distant her voice is, how she keeps her hands busy, her gaze flicking everywhere but me.
Three days. That’s how long she’s been acting like I don’t exist. Three days since that night in the kitchen when I’d caught her looking like she was carrying the weight of the world, and she refused to let me in. Three days of her walking around the house like a ghost, slipping in late, leaving early, avoiding any real conversation.
And I had let it slide. Until now. I set the box down with more force than necessary. “What’s with you?”
Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead, she grabs a clipboard off the counter and busies herself with reading except I can tell she’s not reading at all.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says flatly.
I exhale, trying to keep my patience. “You’ve been acting different. Avoiding me.”
She lets out a humorless laugh, shaking her head as she jots something down on the clipboard. “I’ve been busy, Bryan.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Emma.”
She finally turns, arms crossed over her chest, chin lifted in that stubborn way I remember too well. “What?”
Her voice is sharp, clipped, but beneath it, there’s something else. Something raw. I narrow my eyes. “Just talk to me.”
She stares at me, jaw tight, something flashing behind her eyes before she forces out a bitter laugh. “Talk to you?” she echoes, voice laced with disbelief.
Then she shakes her head, muttering under her breath, “This is unbelievable.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She exhales sharply, fingers tightening around the clipboard like it’s the only thing keeping her together. Then, finally, she looks up, and the emotion in her gaze hits me like a fist to the gut.
“I heard you,” she says. My stomach drops. I blink. “What?”
Her lips part, like she can’t believe I have the audacity to play dumb. “At Nate’s,” she snaps. “I heard you.”
I go rigid. And then, before I can even process what she’s saying, she throws my own words back at me like a blade.
“ Never will .” Her voice cracks slightly, but she pushes forward. “That’s what you said, right? That we’re history you won’t repeat? That I'll always be a mistake to you.”
A lump forms in my throat. She swallows hard, a bitter smile curving her lips. “Don’t worry, Bryan,” she says, her voice quieter now, hollower. “I get it.” She turns away before I can say a word.
I step forward, my heart hammering. “Emma, wait…”
“No,” she says sharply, gripping the leash of a dog that doesn’t even need walking. “You were right and that’s why I don't want you to make another mistake.”
And with that, she’s gone, leaving me standing there in the middle of the shelter with a weight in my chest heavier than I’ve ever felt before.
I messed up. And this time, I don’t know if I can fix it.
***
I rub a hand down my face as I step into the kitchen, my phone pressed between my shoulder and ear. Buddy is sprawled on the rug, chewing on a toy, completely oblivious to my tension. The house is too quiet. Emma barely speaks to me anymore, and when she does, it’s clipped, careful, like she’s measuring every word before giving me the bare minimum.
I should be used to it by now. Should have expected it. But it still sits wrong.
My phone buzzes and Liz’s voice crackles through the line, full of energy as always. “Finally! Thought I’d have to hunt you down.”
I snort, dropping into a chair. “You’re six months pregnant, Liz. Not much hunting you can do these days.”
She gasps, all offended. “Excuse you, I waddle with purpose.”
I shake my head, a smirk tugging at my lips despite myself. “Right. My mistake.”
“Absolutely right,” she mutters, then jumps straight to the point. “Anyway, I need you to handle something for me.”
I lean back, already bracing myself. “If it’s baby stuff, you know Nate’s got that covered.”
“Please, Nate’s been on dad duty since I peed on a stick. I need a break from his nesting phase before he drives me insane.” That gets a chuckle out of me. “Alright, what do you need?”
She hums, clearly pleased I’m playing along. “I need the best event planner for my shower.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Liz…”
“Before you even think about saying no,” she interrupts, “remember that I’m carrying your future niece or nephew, and I will absolutely use pregnancy hormones to guilt-trip you.”
I sigh, already pulling up contacts. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” she quips. “Now, while I have you …”
There it is. That shift in her tone. The one that tells me she’s about to bring up something I won’t like.
I hesitate. “What?”
“Emma’s fundraiser how is it going?” she says casually, like it’s something I should already know about.
My brows furrow. “What fundraiser?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Liz sighs. “Oh, Bryan. Are you serious you don't know? It's all over town.”
“Are you serious?” I snap, sitting up.
“She’s raising money for her clinic,” Liz explains. “It’s happening in four weeks. She didn’t tell you?”
I swallow hard. “No.” Which makes sense, doesn’t it? I’d given her no reason to.
Liz groans. “You are so dense.” I drag a hand through my hair. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s avoiding you on purpose because you screwed up,” she says bluntly. “She heard what you said at my place, Bry. Nate told me.”
I shut my eyes. I had told Nate what had happened. “I know,” I mutter.
“Do you?” she presses. “Because I’m guessing you still haven’t fixed it.”
I grip the edge of the table, my jaw tight. “Liz, it’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not,” she argues. “You care about her. You wouldn’t be this worked up if you didn’t.”
I stay silent, because what the heck do I say to that? Liz sighs. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that thick head of yours, but I do know Emma’s doing something incredible for this town, and she needs all the help she can get.”
I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw.
“Maybe you can’t fix everything overnight,” Liz continues, voice softer now, “but you can help her with this. And honestly, if you want to stand a chance at making things right, it’s a good place to start.”
Her words settle in my chest, heavy. I think of Emma, of how hard she’s working, of how she probably won’t even ask for help because she’s too proud.
I drag in a slow breath. “Okay.”
Liz brightens. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” I mutter. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Good,” she says smugly. “And Bry?”
“What?”
“Don’t screw it up.”
She hangs up before I can respond. I stare at my phone for a beat, my mind already racing. Four weeks. If Emma won’t let me in, then I’ll find another way to show her I do care, and that I didn't mean what I had said.
***
I step into the living room, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The air inside the house is warm, thick with the scent of old books and something faintly floral, lavender. Yes, always lavender.
Emma’s hunched over the table, flipping through a worn sketchpad, completely unaware of my presence. The soft glow from the lamp above casts her in gold, highlighting the slope of her neck, the way her lips press together in thought.
My stomach tightens. She doesn’t look up, just keeps sketching, tapping her pen against the paper. “Emma.”
She tenses, her pen pausing mid-stroke. Slowly, she lifts her head, her eyes cautious, unreadable.
I step further in, forcing myself to breathe through the mess of emotions knotted in my chest. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” I start, voice steady, even though it doesn’t feel that way. “For what I said at Nate’s house, what you overheard.”
She tilts her head slightly, studying me, and for a moment, I think she might let me off easy. But then she shrugs. “You don’t have to.”
Her voice is even, controlled, but her fingers tighten around the edges of her sketchpad. I take a step closer, resting my hands on the back of the chair across from her. “Yeah, I do.”
Her eyes flick away, staring at a point over my shoulder. “It’s fine.”
It’s not. I can feel it. “I said what I said because I was scared,” I admit. “Confused. I thought keeping my distance would make everything easier.”
Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t speak. I exhale, gripping the chair a little tighter. “I was wrong.” A flicker of something crosses her face pain, hesitation.
She finally looks at me again, and something shifts. A slow burn in my chest, something dangerous and familiar. Her gaze lingers, warm, searching, and I feel it, like that night on the porch, like every time she gets too close. I swallow hard.
“I forgive you,” she says quietly, but there’s a pause before she adds, “Doesn’t change anything, though.”
I nod, forcing myself to accept that. She’s letting me back in, but only so far. “Fair enough.” Silence stretches between us, but it’s not as sharp as before. I clear my throat. “So… fundraising?”
She blinks, obviously caught off guard by the shift. “How do you know about that?”
I smirk. “Liz. Besides everyone in town knows about it except me, of course.”
Emma lets out a small, exasperated sigh. “Bryan...”
I pull out the folded list from my pocket and slide it across the table. “No, it's okay. I deserve it. Anyways, I’ve been making a few calls.”
She hesitates before picking it up. As her eyes skim the paper, her brows knit together in confusion. “You did all this?”
“Yeah.” I sit down, resting my forearms on the table. “Local businesses, sponsors, a raffle. Figured it might help.”
Emma’s lips part slightly, stunned. “You didn’t have to,” she says after a beat.
I shrug. “Wanted to.”
She looks down at the paper again, shaking her head like she can’t believe it. “Why?”
I don’t have an answer she’d want to hear. Instead, I lean back. “If this doesn’t cover enough, I’ll invest in the clinic myself.”
Her head snaps up. “No!”
I arch a brow. “No?”
She shakes her head, jaw tight. “Bryan, this is my thing. I must do this on my own.”
I study her, the way her shoulders square, the fire in her eyes. “I get that,” I say slowly. “But I’m not offering to take over. I’m offering to help. Besides before you came around the guys and I were thinking of getting a clinic in Ocean Bay, and get some doctors into town to run it. But now that you are doing it, the least I can do is help.”
She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening around the paper. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”
I frown. “Owe you?”
“For…” She stops herself, pressing her lips together.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Emma, I don’t do things out of guilt.”
She swallows hard, staring down at the sketches in front of her. “Just think about it,” I say. “That’s all I’m asking.” For a long moment, she doesn’t speak. Then finally, she nods. “Okay.”
It’s not much. But it’s something. We spend the next hour going over fundraiser details, her bake sale list, my raffle calls. The tension between us softens, something easier settling in. At one point, she glances up at me, her eyes catching mine, and for a split second, the air between us shifts again. I can’t look away.
Her lips part slightly like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear in that endearing “Emma” way and looks back down at her papers.
I let out a slow breath, running a hand over my face. I’m in deeper than I thought. And it scares the heck out of me.
Emma yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “I should head up.”
I nod, watching as she gathers her papers. She hesitates for a second, then offers a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Bryan. Really.”
I clear my throat, forcing a smirk. “Don’t get used to it.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her lips tug slightly at the corners. Then she’s gone, footsteps fading upstairs.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my jaw. Buddy lifts his head, ears twitching.
“What am I doing?” I mutter to him. He just yawns and drops his head again, completely unbothered.
I wish I could say the same.