Chapter 7
I haven’t spoken to, seen, or thought about Emma Green since Saturday night.
Okay, that’s a lie—the thinking part, anyway.
After we were interrupted in my room, the night went to hell. Matt—being Matt—smashed a ceramic statue over Bunny’s head. (Lauren. But thanks to my brother, that nickname is branded into my brain.) Blood everywhere. Panic.
I didn’t even hesitate. Silas didn’t have to ask—I drove them to the hospital and stayed. Hours on those stiff plastic chairs, Emma by my side.
She’s usually this unshakable beam of sunshine. But that night? She wasn’t. She was nervous. Vulnerable. And somehow, it felt like an honor to be the one she leaned on. Like even in the chaos, she’d chosen me.
When the doctors finally took Lauren to stitch her up, Emma started murmuring to herself, “Someone's being born, someone's dying, someone’s getting bad news, someone’s crying… Someone's being born, someone's dying…”
I asked what it was.
She said, “Oh, it’s something I do to remind myself that whatever I’m going through, someone out there is going through worse. So, I should feel grateful.”
I didn’t say anything else because I was falling in love with her. And I knew if I opened my mouth, it’d come pouring out. So, I just sat there, hand on her back, until her parents arrived. Then I left.
The weekend passed, but now it’s Monday—and all I can think about is picking up where we left off.
I wasn’t lying when I told Emma I wanted to lock us in my room. That thought crossed my mind more than twice. It's like every rational part of me short-circuits around her. And that kiss…
Hot. Soft. Addictive.
I need more.
I stalk the halls of Willow High like a predator, scanning the crowd for her messy blonde hair, paint-splattered clothes, and sharp green eyes.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Silas grumbles. He’s still pissed about what happened at the party.
“Why?” I ask, trying to play it cool.
“You’re more tense than usual.”
“Algebra test,” I lie.
“You’re good at math.”
“Didn’t study enough,” I say, lying badly.
The bell rings and school starts. But where the hell is she?
We don’t share classes, just cross paths in the hall—and today, she’s vanished.
What if her parents pulled her and Lauren out of school after everything?
If that’s true, I swear I’ll kill Silas.
This whole circus started because he can’t admit he’s into Lauren.
What an idiot.
At lunch, I sit with my brothers. There’s a group of girls hovering near Silas’s friends. I tune them all out. I’m busy scanning the cafeteria for one face.
Emma Green.
“Luca, you coming tonight?” Someone yanks me back to the table.
“Sorry, what?” I blink, dragging my gaze from nowhere.
My brothers laugh, shaking their heads—they know I wasn’t listening.
Victoria’s the one talking. We’ve shared classes. She’s cute and smart enough; we went out a few times. She leans forward, chin resting on her hand, eyes bright with expectation. “Movie night,” she repeats. “You in?”
“Nah, I’m good.” I shrug, already glancing away, letting my arm drape lazily over the back of the chair.
“Luca…” she presses, tilting her head, lips pushing into a pout. “You always say no.”
Silas glances over my shoulder, his jaw tightening, eyes following something across the room. He only gets that look when Lauren walks by. I whip around, pulse jumping, hoping Emma’s there too—but nope. Nothing.
“Then stop inviting me,” I mutter, drumming my fingers on the table.
“Is he always like this?” Victoria asks Oliver, her brows knitting as she tries to laugh it off.
“Only with people who bore him,” Oliver says with a smirk, poking at his lunch with deliberate ease.
Everyone laughs—except her. Her smile falters, and she fiddles with her straw.
I’m not a prude. I’m just not wasting my time drinking from the same puddle everyone else does. Get it?
By the end of the day, I toss my car keys to Silas.
“Again?” he asks, one brow arched, already knowing.
“Later, Silas,” I call as I head to the art room, shoulders squared, stride quick.
“You’re pathetic!” he snaps, loud enough for a few heads to turn. My younger brother glances at him, startled, eyes wide.
I stop and turn back, meeting Silas’s glare head-on. My voice drops, sharp. “You know what’s really pathetic? You. At least I know what I want.”
I don’t give him the chance to answer. I walk off, jaw tight, his curse chasing me down the hall.
Don’t care. I’ve got one goal.
Emma.
And there she is—small, focused, deep in thought—staring at a new canvas, one bursting with bold colors and actual life. She’s in her usual paint-covered clothes, plus a huge denim shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Ten bracelets on each wrist. Faded Vans.
Effortless. Perfect.
I open the door. She turns and smiles. Like she hasn’t been spiraling for two days like I have. Like I didn’t leave her at the hospital without a word. Like everything’s totally fine.
“Hey, Gothic Gargoyle,” she teases, eyes glinting with mischief.
I freeze, my shoulders going rigid. “Excuse me?” My arms cross tight over my chest, like armor.
She steps closer, her smile soft but playful, and presses a finger between my eyebrows. “Right here,” she says, tilting her head as if studying me. “You’ve been frowning all day.”
Her touch melts the tension in my forehead, my jaw loosening despite myself.
“You’ve been watching me all day?” I ask, voice edged with a smirk. So, she’s obsessed, too. Interesting.
Emma nods, her lips quirking as she keeps massaging the space between my brows.
“Then why’ve you been hiding?” My voice dips, low and loaded, as I angle my head down to hers.
“I like spying sometimes,” she says, her lashes lowering as she drops her hand.
But I catch her wrist midair, wrapping my fingers around it, holding her there. “Funny. Me too.” I lift her hand, pressing a slow kiss to the inside of her wrist.
Her smile falters, breath hitching. She watches me, teeth catching her bottom lip, eyes dark with something she’s not naming. “What are you doing, Gargoyle?” she whispers.
With a grin tugging at my mouth, I step in, backing her against the nearest wall. Her breath stutters as my body crowds hers—and then I take her mouth like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stay away from her again.
I wanted a real date.
Just her and me, doing something we’d both enjoy. That’s why I asked Emma to come with me to a Renaissance art exhibit at the city museum.
I told my brothers I was taking the car that afternoon—none of them complained.
My parents are in... Cancun? Quintana Roo?
Somewhere in Mexico. Honestly, I stopped keeping track of their "soul-reconnecting" getaways a long time ago. With them gone, the Walker brothers had one plan: couch, Playstation, snacks, repeat. That could’ve been me too, like, a month ago.
But Emma showed up and rearranged my entire orbit.
I can’t wait to see her. I want to spend time with her, kiss her for hours. She’s the first girl who makes me want everything all at once. Yeah, I’ve been with girls before—some older, some from school—but none of them made me feel this. Wanting to just be with someone? That’s rare.
Laughing without faking it. Feeling like my brain doesn’t get bored with someone’s presence. That’s... wild.
She’s waiting outside her house when I pull up.
The place is modest, a two-story with peeling white paint and a porch light that flickers every few seconds.
A chain-link fence lines the small front yard, where patches of grass fight their way up through bare dirt.
The windows glow warm from inside, curtains a little crooked, the kind of house that speaks of family and routine more than money.
I freeze for a sec when I see her. She’s wearing a floral dress. Like, not at all her usual vibe. She looks… uncomfortable, even in how she’s standing. When she slides into the car, she gives me this small smile. Not a teeth smile. Just lips.
“What the hell?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
“What?”
“I came to pick up Emma Green. I don’t know who this is, but it’s not her.”
She laughs, kind of shy. “Too much?”
I nod. She exhales. “I just wanted to impress you.”
And see, that right there? That’s what kills me. Emma doesn’t do fake. She just owns whatever weird or awkward thing she’s feeling. That honesty hits me harder than the dress. “You don’t need a dress to impress me, Em. Honestly, the way you usually dress? That’s what I love about you.”
I turn the key, and we pull away.
“Wait, let me change—you're right. This isn’t me. My mom said if I was going on a date—”
“Nah, too late. Now I’m stuck enjoying the dress and all the special access that comes with it.”
She laughs again—full teeth this time—and just like that, she’s glowing again. That light of hers? Yeah, it wrecks me.
We park by the museum, but to get there we’ve gotta cross the biggest avenue in the city. Four lanes. Nonstop chaos. We’re waiting at the crosswalk, and I notice her cracking her knuckles over and over.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my hands shoved in my pockets. I’m in jeans and one of my favorite nerd shirts: I survived Plato’s Cave.’
“I hate big streets. They make me nervous. Too many cars.”
Without thinking, I pull one hand out and grab hers. Firm. Solid. She looks up at me—yeah, I’m taller—and smiles like I just anchored her. “Come on.”
I lead her across when the light changes, still holding her hand tight. And when we hit the other side... I don’t let go.
We walk the whole museum that way. Her hand in mine. I sneak kisses when she’s distracted by a painting or when I just can’t take it anymore.
And I swear—I’ve never been this happy in my entire damn life.