Chapter Six
Haunted by Distance
Ethan
I t’s been weeks since that night at the party, and even though I try to convince myself I’m doing the right thing, it doesn’t make the regret any easier to swallow. Every time I see Emma—her face masking the hurt I know I’ve caused, guarded, like she doesn’t know me anymore. A part of me wants to drop the act, tell her everything. But every time I almost reach out, I pull back. I don’t want to risk it, risk her. But honestly, I’m risking her right now by ignoring her.
I replay the hurt in her eyes when she asked me about the kiss, the way her voice cracked when she asked if I remembered it. I was an ass. I tried to convince myself it was for the best. That keeping my distance was what she deserved, a way to protect her from me. But every time I see her—catch a glimpse of her in the hallway or hear her laugh from across the room—that theory feels weaker. I keep wondering if she’s as hurt as I am or if she’s just…moved on. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
Rumor has it some guy—Daniel, I think his name is—has been asking about her. I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him a few times in the hall, hovering around her locker, cracking jokes. And she laughs. The look on his face let’s me know he thinks he’s already got her wrapped around his finger.
It’s driving me insane. Part of me wants to knock him down a peg, to remind him that Emma’s not just some girl he can toy with. But I know I don’t have the right—not when I’ve been treating her like she doesn’t matter.
Wednesday at school, I spot them walking together. She’s laughing at something he said, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen her in weeks, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. I keep my distance, just watching, but every step she takes away from me I know I’m losing her, even though I’ve been pushing her away.
I can’t take it anymore. I catch up with her in the hallway, while she’s talking to that Daniel guy. My hand lands on her shoulder, maybe a little too rough, but I don’t care.
“Emma, can I talk to you for a second?” My voice comes out sharper than I meant, but I can’t stop myself.
She looks at me, eyes wide with surprise, but they quickly narrow into something steely and fierce. There’s a hardness in her gaze. She’s already decided she’s done with me. “I’m busy, Ethan,” she snaps. “Why don’t you go back to pretending I don’t exist?”
The guilt rises up in me, but I push it down. “I just don’t think you should be hanging around this guy.”
Her face flushes with anger. “Excuse me? You think you get to tell me who I can or can’t spend time with? After the way you’ve been treating me?”
“Em, I don’t trust him,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse is pounding. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re worried about me now ? After you’ve spent the last few weeks acting like I don’t even exist? You ditch me, ignore me, make me feel like an idiot for thinking we were anything close to friends, and now, suddenly, you care?”
I open my mouth to try and explain, but she doesn’t give me the chance.
“No, Ethan. You don’t get to pull this crap. You don’t get to waltz back into my life and pretend you’re protecting me like some hero. Do you know what these past few weeks have been like for me? Wondering what I did wrong, wondering why the person I trusted most in this world could just shut me out without a second thought? ”
I can see the hurt behind her fury, and it cuts me deeper than I want to admit. “Em—”
“No! Don’t ‘Em’ me.” Her voice rises, raw and unfiltered, drawing stares from people passing by, but she doesn’t care. “I thought you were my best friend, Ethan. I thought I mattered to you. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Because the second you got scared or whatever that was, you dropped me like I was nothing. Nothing .”
Her voice trembles, and I see the tears shining in her eyes. “You don’t get to treat me this way, Ethan. And you sure as hell don’t get to swoop in now pretending you’re doing me some kind of favor. So go ahead. Run back to your new friends, your football buddies, and all of your girlfriends . Just stay the hell away from me.”
She turns and storms off, leaving me standing there, feeling shredded from the inside out. Realizing just how much I’ve fucked this up.
……………………………………………………………
Jaxson is throwing a semi-beginning of the year party. He had to wait a few weeks because he wanted to do it when his parents were out of town. That way people can ‘hook up’ if they want.
I overhear one of the guys on the football team talking about it, and I’m only half-listening until I hear Emma’s name come up. Someone mentions she’ll be there, and I’m surprised. Emma isn’t the type to go to parties—it’s not her scene. I had to drag her to the last one, begging her to go. But, knowing she’s going, I feel this need to check on her, to make sure she’s okay.
I tell myself it’s none of my business, that she’s free to go wherever she wants. But the thought of her at some random party, surrounded by guys who don’t know her like I do… gnaws at me. I can’t shake it. I try to focus on something else, but all I can picture is her there, out of place, uncomfortable, or worse—getting caught up in something she shouldn’t.
By the time I’ve argued with myself for the tenth time today, I know there’s no point. I’m already grabbing my keys and heading out. Maybe it’s an excuse, maybe it’s something else, when I arrive the party’s in full swing, I’m there, scanning the crowd, my pulse racing as I look for her.
Then I spot her, and my heart stops. She’s with that guy…Daniel. He’s got one arm wrapped possessively around her waist, pulling her against him, way too close. He’s leaning in, whispering something right in her ear, his eyes glinting with a look I don’t trust one bit. Emma’s expression says it all—she looks uncomfortable, tense. She’s trying to pull back but can’t.
My pulse spikes as I watch him tighten his hold on her, guiding her toward the staircase. My stomach twists as he leads her up, one step at a time, his grip on her firm, like he’s not giving her a choice. Before I even realize it, I’m shoving through the crowd, ignoring the people in my way.
I can barely see straight. I follow them up, fists clenched so tight my knuckles are white, the noise of the party a distant blur against the pounding of my heart. When I reach the room they disappeared into, the door’s shut. An uneasy mix of anger and fear churns in my stomach, making it impossible to sit still.
I lean in, straining to hear, and that’s when I catch it—Emma’s voice, muffled but unmistakable, pleading, “No…don’t.” Something in me snaps. I twist the knob, but it’s locked. Doesn’t matter. I throw my shoulder into the door, once, twice, until it splinters from the frame and bursts open, then I’m inside.
What I see is a total shock to my system—Daniel is on top of her, his hands gripping her wrists above her head, pinning her down, her eyes wide with fear. He freezes when the door slams open, his head snapping toward me, his expression shifting from shock to anger. But I don’t give him a chance to say or do anything.
“Get off her. NOW .” I roar. My voice is like ice, low and dangerous.
I cross the room, my long legs eat up the space between us and I don’t even think—I grab him by the back of his shirt, hauling him off her with a force that sends him crashing to the floor .
He attempts to get up but stumbles back, shocked, and I knock him to the floor again, my body tense, ready to rip him apart if he so much as tries to get up one more time.
Emma’s sitting up, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, her expression somewhere between shock and relief. But when her gaze locks onto mine, I see everything—hurt, confusion, and maybe a glimmer of forgiveness, at least I hope that’s what it is.
The look on her face is nearly my undoing.
I take a step back from Daniel, my chest heaving as I try to shake the surge of anger still pulsing in my veins. But my focus is all on her. I move to the bed, kneeling in front of her, my hands reaching out but stopping just short of touching her. “You okay, Em?” My voice is barely a whisper, soft, weighted down by all the regret, all the guilt I've carried since I pushed her away.
She nods, it’s the slightest movement, and a rush of relief floods through me, grounding me. But she doesn’t say a word—just looks at me with those searching eyes, waiting, hoping I’ll finally break down the wall I’ve been hiding behind.
I let out a shaky breath, the words slipping out raw and unguarded. “I’m sorry, Em. I’m so damn sorry. I should have been there for you. I should never have pushed you away. You didn’t deserve any of it. And this” I say motioning to the asshole cowering away from me, “I should have been here with you, this should have never happened.”
She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my cheek, and her touch is so light, so tender, it nearly shatters me. I close my eyes, leaning into her hand, feeling something settle back into place that I didn’t even realize was broken.
“I was so scared of losing you,” I whisper, my voice barely steady. “But I can’t… I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”
She holds my gaze, her thumb gently brushing my cheek, and for the first time in weeks, something shifts between us, a silent promise passing in the quiet of the room. She’s my best friend—she’s everything. And I won’t let her slip away again.
For the next few minutes, we just sit there, breathing, finding our way back to each other without words. I don’t move, not until she nods again, more certain this time, letting me know she’s okay. I get up and help her to her feet, guiding her carefully out of the room and down the stairs. Daniel, thankfully, has vanished—probably too cowardly to face me again.
Once we make our way downstairs, we step outside. The cool night air wraps around us, and she releases a shaky breath, her shoulders falling as though she’s shedding the weight of the night. We stand there for a moment, neither of us speaking, just letting the quiet settle over us. I glance over at her, noticing the way she’s gripping her arms, as if to hold herself together, and without a second thought, I reach out, gently placing my hand on her shoulder.
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine, a mix of exhaustion, relief, and something else—a vulnerability I haven’t seen in her since the day I met her. I want to say something to take away her hurt. To erase every second she felt afraid tonight, but the words feel useless. They’ll never be enough. So I just nod, silently telling her, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Then I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight.
After a moment we walk in silence to my car. The entire drive, I can feel her beside me, close but still distant at the same time. It’s a wall I put there, I know that. I grip the steering wheel tighter, the regret hitting me in waves, but I focus on getting her home.
Tonight, it’s about her.
When we pull up to her house, she hesitates before opening the door, turning to look at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, it feels like she’s waiting for me to say something, to break the silence, to finally explain all the things I’ve been holding back. But the words catch in my throat, and all I can manage is a soft, “I’ll check on you tomorrow. I promise. ”
She nods, her lips curving into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Then she slips out of the car, her steps slow and hesitant as she heads up the walkway. I watch her until she reaches her front door, standing there under the porch light, a silhouette of everything I almost lost.
As she turns and gives me one last look before heading inside, it hits me—how close I came to losing her, not just tonight but over these past few weeks. The guilt hits me, hard, tightening in my chest, and I realize that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep her at arm’s length, can’t keep pretending she’s just a friend. Not when I know she’s so much more.
I sit there in the car, staring at her closed door, making a promise to myself that this ends here. No more holding back, no more excuses. She deserves to know exactly how much she means to me, and I’m done letting fear hold me back. This time, I’ll make sure she knows she’s everything.
Over the next few days, we find our way back to each other. It starts with simple text messages, small gestures that break the silence we’ve had and slowly rebuild the bridge I nearly burned.
Me : Morning, Em. Just making sure you survived first period.
Emma : Barely. Think Mr. Clarke is trying to bore us all to death.
Me : Think I’d get detention if I brought you coffee?
Emma : Only if you get caught. ;)
I smile, feeling a weight lift from my chest with every exchange. We start texting more throughout the day—little things, inside jokes we’ve always shared, like how Mr. Clarke’s tie looks like “a sad attempt at a fashion statement,” or how the lunchroom smells of “overcooked regret.” Each message is a piece of us fitting back into place.
In the hallways, I start meeting her by her locker before classes, the way we used to. The first morning, I just lean against the row of lockers, waiting. She rounds the corner, her eyes lighting up when she sees me, and I can’t help but grin.
“Stalking me again, Ethan?” she teases, opening her locker.
“Not stalking, protecting,” I shoot back, leaning closer as she grabs her books. “Big difference.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile playing on her lips. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
The next day, I surprise her with her favorite snack—a chocolate chip muffin from the bakery on 5th street, the one she always claimed had “the perfect chocolate-to-dough ratio.” I wait for her by her locker, holding the muffin out when she walks up.
“Thought you might need some motivation to survive third period,” I say, grinning as she lights up.
“You shouldn’t have,” she says, but she’s already reaching for it, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Her hands opening and closing in that ‘gimme, gimme’ motion.
I just laugh, “Yeah, but I wanted to,” I reply, watching as she takes a bite, rolling her eyes in exaggerated bliss and moaning. Something that goes straight to my cock, making me stealthily adjust myself.
“Okay, fine, you’re forgiven for almost everything,” she says, laughing. “ Almost ,” she repeats, patting my chest.
These moments remind me of how much I need her, but it feels different. There’s a tenderness between us now, some unspoken understanding that wasn’t there before. Every text, every smile, every lingering look—it all feels like some promise, one that doesn’t need words.
In the evenings, our conversations stretch longer. She’ll text me about her day, complaining about homework, and I’ll find myself sharing things I usually keep to myself. The things that worry me, the weight of expectations, and somehow, she always knows exactly what to say. And when she shares what’s on her mind, I listen, more closely than ever, not wanting to miss a single detail.
One night, after a particularly rough practice, I text her.
Me : If I have to hear one more pep talk from Coach, I might scream.
Emma : Sounds like someone needs ice cream. What’s your flavor tonight?
Me : Mint chocolate chip, obviously.
Emma : Wrong answer. It’s cookie dough or nothing.
Me : You’re actually insane. But I’ll allow it, just this once.
I catch myself smiling at the screen, knowing that the next time we see each other, it’ll be another chance to pick up where we left off. And little by little, each moment feels like home. We found our way back to each other, there’s a weight in every look, a quiet intensity in our connection that wasn’t there before. It’s in each shared laugh, a passing touch, brings us closer, grounding us in something neither of us is ready to name but both of us can feel.
Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of what could have happened that night at the party and of everything I almost lost. I don’t try to hide the way I feel anymore, either. I don’t tell her directly, but she sees it in the way I’m there, always. And she doesn’t shy away. In fact, she seems to lean into it. Maybe she’s ready to trust me again.
We start spending our weekends together, just like we used to. But now everything feels layered with something deeper. She catches me watching her sometimes, and instead of looking away, she holds my gaze, daring me to say what I won’t put into words.
A month passes, and we’ve grown closer than ever. Then, one afternoon, we’re sitting on her front porch, flipping through old yearbooks and laughing about the ridiculous hairstyles we thought were cool when we were younger, when her mom calls out from the doorway.
“Emma! There’s a letter for you here…from the university.”
Her face lights up, and she jumps up, grabbing the letter with wide eyes. “Oh my god, Ethan, it’s here. My acceptance letter.”
“Open it!” I say, my excitement matching hers.
She tears into the envelope, her hands shaking as she reads the words on the page. Her face breaks into a grin, and she looks up at me, eyes shining. “I got in. Ridgefield University accepted me!”
I pull her into a hug, lifting her off her feet, her legs wrapping around my waist. God I missed that! “I knew you would. I never doubted it for a second.”
She pulls back, laughing as she wipes away a tear. “And I got a scholarship, too. It’s not everything, but…it’s enough to ma ke this real.”
“I’m so proud of you, Em,” I say, feeling a rush of pride and relief. I’ve always known she was destined to do amazing things.
Then, as if on cue, my own phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and my heart skips a beat when I see the subject line of the email: Ridgefield University Admission and Scholarship Notification.
I read it, hardly breathing. They accepted me too—on a football scholarship. It’s a full ride.
“Emma,” I say, looking at her with a grin. “Looks like we’re going to college together. I got into Ridgefield too.”
The relief, the excitement, the overwhelming feeling of everything we’ve been working toward—it hits us all at once. She throws her arms around me again, and for a moment, we just stand there, holding onto each other. Both of us finally starting to see the future we dreamed about all these years.