Chapter Sixteen
The Space Between
Emma
T he late afternoon sun casts a warm glow over Sierra’s parents’ backyard, the kind of golden light that makes everything look softer, prettier. I should be enjoying this—laughing along with the other bridesmaids, sipping the lemonade that’s almost too sweet, letting the chatter fill the awkward silences in my head. But instead, I’m hyper-aware of the fact that in less than forty-eight hours, I’ll be face-to-face with Ethan.
“Emma, are you even listening?” Sierra’s voice cuts through my thoughts, light and teasing, but it still makes me jump. She’s standing a few feet away, hands on her hips, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, forcing a smile. “Got lost in my own head for a second. What were you saying?”
Sierra rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I asked if you’re ready for the rehearsal dinner. The venue is gorgeous, by the way. Totally Pinterest-worthy. ”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, though my voice doesn’t sound nearly as confident as I’d like.
Sarah, sitting beside me on the patio couch, raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. She’s been quiet since we got here, her gaze flickering to me every so often like she’s waiting for me to crack.
Sierra grins, plopping down next to me and gesturing toward the glass in my hand. “You know, if you keep nursing that lemonade like it’s a cocktail, people are going to start wondering what’s really in it.”
I laugh lightly, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ll switch to water. That’ll really keep them guessing.”
She nudges me with her shoulder, her voice dropping to something softer. “You okay? You’ve seem a little… I don’t know, distracted today.”
I glance at her, caught off guard by her perceptiveness. Sierra’s always been warm, the kind of person who makes you feel included without even trying. But now, under her curious gaze, I feel like I’m under a spotlight.
“I’m fine,” I say, too quickly to sound convincing. “Just… a lot on my mind.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read between the lines. “If this is about the wedding— ”
“It’s not,” I cut in, shaking my head. “I promise. Everything’s fine. Really.”
Sierra doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she pats my knee and stands, calling over to another bridesmaid about centerpieces. The moment she’s gone, Sarah leans closer, her voice low.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
I sigh, letting my shoulders sag a little. “I’m fine. Just… overthinking, I guess.”
Sarah snorts softly, leaning back against the cushions. “Well, that’s nothing new.”
I shoot her a look, but there’s no bite in it. She’s not wrong. Overthinking is practically my default setting, especially when it comes to Ethan.
The conversation around us drifts on, a mix of laughter and plans for the wedding day. I do my best to tune in, to focus on the here and now, but my thoughts keep slipping. It’s been ages since I last saw Ethan, a lifetime ago and yet the memories are fresh and vivid, as though they just happened yesterday.
The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered—and the way that look disappeared when everything fell apart.
I shake the thought away, reaching for my drink. I’ve done a good job of convincing myself I’ve moved on, that I’ve built a life outside of him. But the closer we get to the wedding, the harder it is to believe.
“You’re doing it again,” Sarah says, her tone dry but not unkind.
“Doing what?”
“Disappearing into your head.” She pauses, studying me. “Is it because of him?”
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the glass. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been so long, Sarah. What am I even supposed to say to him?”
She shrugs, her expression softening. “Whatever feels right. Or nothing at all. You don’t owe him anything, Em.”
I nod slowly, her words sinking in but not quite settling. It’s easy to say I don’t owe him anything. But the truth is, I’m not sure I believe it.
Across the yard, Sierra laughs at something one of the other bridesmaids says, the sound bright and carefree. I envy her, the way she can be so sure of herself, so at ease. But then I remember she’s the one marrying Jace—the guy who, as far as Sarah’s concerned, might as well be the sun.
I glance at Sarah, catching the way her gaze flickers to Sierra before she looks down at her hands. It’s quick, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make my chest ache for her. She’s been so careful not to let her feelings for Jace show, but they’re there, hovering just below the surface.
“You ready to head out soon?” Sarah asks, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, I’m ready now,” I say, standing and brushing off my dress. “Let’s go.”
As we make our way toward the gate, I feel the weight of the next few days looming. Seeing Ethan, pretending as though I’m not still carrying pieces of him with me—it’s going to be hard. But I’ll survive. I always do.
Right?
The drive back to the hotel is quiet, the soft hum of the car engine filling the silence between Sarah and me. She’s scrolling through her phone, probably catching up on work emails or Instagram, while I focus on the road ahead. But even with my eyes on the street, my mind is miles away.
“I still can’t believe Sierra picked blush for the bridesmaid dresses,” Sarah says suddenly, breaking the silence. “It’s nice and all, but isn’t it, like, the most cliché wedding color ever?”
I snort softly, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. “I think that’s the point. Sierra’s all about the classic, picture-perfect wedding.”
Sarah rolls her eyes, tossing her phone into her lap. “Sure, but picture-perfect is boring. Weddings should have some personality, you know? Like, throw in a deep red or emerald green. Something bold.”
“You should tell her that,” I tease, even though we both know she won’t.
“Right, because nothing says ‘supportive friend’ like trashing her color scheme two days before the wedding.” Sarah smirks, shaking her head. “No thanks. I’ll just suffer in silence.”
I laugh lightly, but the sound feels hollow. Sarah’s banter is comforting and familiar, but it doesn’t erase the nervous energy thrumming under my skin. Every mile brings me closer to Ethan, to the moment I’ve been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
“Alright, spill,” Sarah says, leaning back against the seat and crossing her arms. “You’ve been weirdly quiet all day. What’s going on in that overthinking brain of yours?”
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, my knuckles whitening. “Nothing. Just… trying to wrap my head around everything.”
Sarah arches a brow, her expression skeptical. “Everything? Or one thing? One tall, broody thing with a killer jawline and a knack for making you lose sleep?”
“Sarah,” I groan, but she’s not wrong.
“Look,” she continues, her tone softening, “I know seeing him again is going to be… a lot. But you’re not that girl anymore, Em. You’re stronger now. You’ve built a life without him. Don’t let him throw you off.”
Her words hit home, but they don’t ease the knot in my chest. I nod anyway, forcing a small smile. “Thanks. I’ll try.”
“You better,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “And if he so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll handle it.”
Despite myself, I laugh and quirk my eyebrow at her. “What, are you going to take him down in that fancy and might I say, sexy dress you plan to wear?”
“Damn right I will,” Sarah says, grinning, “and I’ll look fabulous doing it, too.”
Her humor lightens the mood, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. Maybe I can face Ethan without falling apart. Maybe this wedding doesn’t have to be the emotional minefield I’m building it up to be.
But as we pull into the hotel parking lot, the weight of reality settles over me again. In just two days, I’ll be face-to-face with him. And no amount of pep talks or jokes can prepare me for how that’s going to feel.
Sarah heads up to the room first, mumbling something about needing to call her mom. I linger in the car for a moment, staring at the dashboard like it holds the answers to questions I don’t even know how to ask.
Taking a deep breath, I grab my bag and step out into the cool evening air. The lobby is quiet when I walk in, the soft murmur of conversation from a nearby seating area the only sound. As I head toward the elevator, I catch a glimpse of a familiar figure sitting in one of the leather chairs.
Ethan.
He’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his phone in his hand. He looks… different. Older, of course, but there’s something else—something in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens as he types. He’s not the same boy I knew in college. He’s a man now, and the realization sends a jolt through me.
For a split second, I consider turning around, pretending I didn’t see him. But before I can move, he looks up. His eyes meet mine, and the world seems to slow.
“Emma,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to take a step forward. “Hey, Ethan.”
And just like that, everything I’ve been running from catches up with me .
He stands as I approach, slipping his phone into his pocket. For a moment, neither of us says anything, the weight of years pushing down between us. His eyes sweep over me, a flicker of something—relief? Surprise?—crossing his face before it’s gone.
“You look… good,” he says finally, his voice quieter than I expected. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” I reply, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. “It has.”
The awkwardness is almost unbearable, and I glance toward the elevator, considering an escape. But then he takes a step closer, and suddenly, the air between us shifts.
“Emma, I—” He stops, running a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “I didn’t think I’d see you until the wedding.”
“Same,” I admit, my heart pounding. “Guess fate has other plans.”
His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile, but it doesn’t quite happen. Instead, he nods toward the seating area. “Do you… want to sit? Talk for a bit?”
I hesitate, every instinct telling me to say no. But then I catch the look in his eyes—vulnerable, searching—and against my better judgment, I nod.
“Sure,” I say, my voice barely audible.
We sit across from each other, the small table between us feeling more like a wall. He leans forward, his hands clasped, while I keep mine in my lap, fidgeting with the edge of my bag.
“How have you been?” he asks, his tone careful, like he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.
“Good,” I say, though the word feels hollow. “Busy. Work’s been… a lot.”
He nods, but his eyes never leave mine. “I’m glad. You deserve good things, Em.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, and I look away, my chest tightening. “What about you? How’s… everything?”
“It’s been… fine,” he says, though the hesitation in his voice tells me otherwise. “Football keeps me busy. It’s a lot of pressure, but I can’t complain.”
We lapse into silence, the unspoken words lingering between us, thickening the air with tension. I want to ask him why he’s here, why he wants to talk. But I’m afraid of the answer.
The hum of the hotel lobby is a constant undercurrent, blending with the faint clink of glasses from the nearby bar and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. It’s a comforting backdrop, but it does nothing to calm the erratic thrum of my pulse as Ethan leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I thought about reaching out,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “So many times, but… I wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear fr om me.”
I blink, thrown off. My grip tightens on the strap of my bag, my fingers pressing into the leather. “Why wouldn’t I?” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, almost swallowed by the hum of conversation around us.
He lets out a soft laugh, but it’s bitter, lacking any real humor. His eyes flick up to meet mine, and for a moment, there’s no wall between us—just raw regret. “Because I walked away,” he says, his voice barely audible over the faint buzz of the air conditioning. “I let you go when I should’ve fought for us.”
My breath catches, the raw honesty in his voice cutting through me like a blade. “Ethan…”
“I screwed up, Em,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ve spent every day since, regretting it. I know there’s no way to fix what I broke, but… I needed you to know that.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. This is the moment I’ve imagined a hundred times, the apology I thought I’d never hear. But now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do with it.
“Ethan,” I say softly, my voice trembling. “You didn’t just walk away. I let you. I thought… I thought it was what you wanted.”
His brows knit together, pain flashing in his eyes. “It was never what I wanted. Not then, not now.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest ache, and for the first time in years, I feel the faintest glimmer of hope—fragile and fleeting, but there.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Then don’t say anything,” he replies, leaning forward. “Just… don’t walk away. Not yet.”