Chapter 3
EMMA
Dinner drags.
Or maybe it only feels that way because my skin hasn’t stopped crawling since the second Alex walked through the door.
I keep eating, bite after bite, tuning out any conversation as best as I can. My brothers carry on like it’s any other Friday night. Meanwhile, Alex is in front of me stealing all the damn oxygen out of the room.
Sipping my wine, I pretend the weight of his stare isn’t burning a hole into the my face every other second. By the time Leo leans back in his chair and stretches with a satisfied groan, I’m about two minutes from snapping the stem of the wine glass clean in half.
“Well,” I say too brightly as I slide my plate away and break myself from the table. “This has been fun. I’m going to call it a night.”
Leo’s brow crinkles. “You’re sure you don’t want to stay here tonight?”
“Very sure.”
Cam’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “Em, it’s dark. We don’t even know if the power’s on at the yellow house.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t have time to take firewood over there today so it’s gonna be ice cold.”
“Not my first time flipping a breaker, thanks.” I plaster on my sweetest smile. “And, I’m a big girl. I’ll be alright.”
I snatch my bag from its place by the couch and before I can make it even two feet towards the front door, Alex’s deep voice cuts through the air. “I’ll drive you over.”
My spine locks like it’s responding to a command. Slowly, I pivot on my heel and shoot him a look, sharp enough to peel paint straight off the walls. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
He shrugs, maddeningly calm, one arm slung along the back of his chair. “Didn’t say you did. Just offering a ride since it’s dark and I have to head that direction into town anyway.”
I can feel the heat rising up my neck, hot and prickling. My fingers twitch against the worn leather strap of my bag. “No thanks. I’ll take the side-by-side.”
Leo clears his throat. “Let him take you, Em. The side-by-side’s transmission is shot and I haven’t had a chance to fix it yet.”
I snap my gaze at Leo.
Traitor.
“I’ll walk then,” I counter, desperate for an out. But Leo gives me a look, a mix of concern and exasperation, and I know I’m cornered.
“Over my dead body. I’m not letting you walk that far in the dark.”
“Can’t any of you three take me instead?” I ask, looking at each of my brothers in a desperate plea for help. They each exchange looks.
“He already offered, Em. Let the damn guy drive you,” Cam finally says.
I narrow my eyes at him and he simply shrugs like this is all perfectly reasonable.
“Fine,” I grind out, the word tasting like broken glass on my tongue. Stalking toward the front door without looking back, I purposefully drop the bag back on the ground so Alex is obligated to carry it. Any small inconvenience for him is a win in my book.
Behind me, the door creaks open, and I can hear boots shuffling after me.
His truck is parked at the end of the driveway, still as battered and stubborn as it used to be.
It’s the same 1989 Dodge Ram he had ten years ago.
The blue paint is chipped along the edges and there’s rust creeping under the wheel wells.
The passenger side mirror is cracked and held together with electrical tape.
It’s a miracle this thing is still running.
It has to be some kind of road hazard at this point.
The second I swing the door open and climb inside, it hits me.
Leather, cedar, and something faintly smoky, like a lingering trace of a campfire that sticks to your clothes and hair, making it impossible to forget. It wraps around me before I can shove it back, somehow both annoying and comforting.
I breathe it in deep out of habit and the memories slam into me.
Late nights crammed into this exact passenger seat with fast food bags crinkling under my feet.
Alex’s hand slung over the steering wheel, the music too loud, but his grin even louder.
The drive out to the far side of the property late at night, where we’d lie in the truck bed, wrapped in blankets, staring at the endless stretch of stars above.
Alex would point out constellations, making up ridiculous names for the ones he didn’t know, just to make me laugh.
Sneaking out after midnight and convincing him to drive me down to the lake where we would sit on the tailgate and talk, and sometimes argue, about anything and everything.
That one night when the sky cracked open with a summer storm and we stayed parked under a gas station awning while we waited for it to settle.
The windows fogged up as Alex draped his jacket over my shoulders even after I’d pretended I wasn’t cold.
The way these old leather seats felt warm in the summer. How the scent mixed with his cologne, making it impossible to think of anything but him. How we’d drive aimlessly with the windows down and my feet up on the dash. Our laughter would get lost to the wind as he sped down empty backroads.
It's the same truck where he taught me how to drive stick while sitting in his lap. His big hands guided mine over the gear shift while he tried not to laugh at how badly I kept stalling. The same truck where we sat parked outside my house for hours, never quite ready to say goodbye.
The same truck that drove Alex, my three brothers, and me to my mom’s funeral, one rainy summer afternoon.
I shove the memories back down, somewhere deep where they can’t get loose and hurt me again.
Alex finally slides into the driver’s seat, the springs groaning under his weight. For a long, loaded beat, we sit there in silence as the engine hums low. The radio crackles static before he switches it off with a sharp exhale. The tension stretches as tight as a live wire.
“You don’t have to look like I’m driving you to your execution, Princess,” he says finally, as his knuckles flex on the steering wheel.
I snap my head toward him. “Don’t call me that.”
His jaw ticks. “You don’t like it anymore, huh?”
I roll my eyes in response. His lips part again like he has something else to add, but instead lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“Just take me to the house, Alex,” I mutter, barely looking at him. He simply nods and shifts gears, the truck roaring to life as we drive away.
I stare out the window as we bump along the dirt roads in silence. There’s nothing but us, the rolling countryside and a blanket of stars above. In another life, this is the perfect scenario. Where we were always meant to be. Together.
“Why’d you offer to drive me?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Because I didn’t want you out here alone, walking in the dark.
” His jaw tightens again as his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.
I see the way his forearms flex, the veins in his hands standing out and the moonlight reflecting off the scars on his knuckles.
The scars I subconsciously drew in my sketchbook only a couple hours earlier.
I was with him the day it happened.
We were walking through town one afternoon.
The streets were busy with kids out of school for the summer.
It had been a couple weeks since Mom had passed and some teenage boy made a rude comment about my “dead mom” as we were walking past him.
The second the guy opened his mouth again, Alex stepped between us, shoving me behind him like I was something breakable.
“Say it again,” he said, dangerous in a way I’d never heard before.
The boy laughed in his face.
Big mistake.
Alex’s fist connected with the boy’s face before I could even say his name to stop him.
He caught his knuckles on the boy’s teeth, splitting them clean open, blood blooming in seconds, dripping onto the hot concrete below.
The whole thing was chaotic after that. Shouting, scrambling, people trying to pull Alex off of him, Cam yelling from somewhere.
I don’t remember all of it, only the red streaks down Alex’s wrist and forearm, and the way nothing in the world mattered to him except me.
As if at that moment, he would go to any length to protect me.
Later that day I found him down by the lake, sitting on a flat rock ledge where we used to skip rocks. He was rinsing the blood off with his hand in the water. His face still looked tense and burning with rage, refusing to look at me, as if expecting me to be upset with him for what he did.
“You’re such an idiot,” I’d said, dropping down next to him.
I took his hand anyway, holding it gently in my palm. My thumb brushed over his split knuckles as the blood mixed with the lake water. The world had never felt so sharp and alive than in that moment.
“For you,” he responded, like that explained everything. And maybe it did.
Now I notice that the scars never healed right. There’s a thin, pale line across his middle knuckles and fingers. The faintest reminder of the moment where something shifted between us, before we even knew it.
And for one insane second, I think about what that hand would look like wrapped around my throat like a necklace, holding me in place as he makes me forget every bad thing that’s ever happened.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I rip my gaze away from his hands, angry at myself, angry at him, just… angry.
“You always think I need saving, don’t you?” I finally huff out.
He exhales hard through his nose, shaking his head. “Jesus, Em. I’m not trying to save you. I’m trying to…” His words cut off as he swipes a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already is. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to do.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I try to contain the anger but it’s fighting to be released. “You don’t get to act like I’m still your problem. You lost that right a long time ago.”
His head whips towards me, his eyes piercing through the armor I swore I had reforged by now. “Don’t do that. Don’t sit there and pretend like I didn’t matter. Like we didn’t matter.”
I flinch at how hard and unexpected his words hit.
Damn it.
“We obviously didn’t matter enough to make me stay in this god forsaken town.
” I snap, before I can stop myself. I take a moment to catch my breath, realizing my anger is making me lash out.
“I didn’t mean that, I just—you think I wanted to leave?
Do you really think it didn’t kill me to walk away from you? ”
His foot eases off the gas. The truck hums lower, gravel crunching under the tires as it coasts. “You obviously wanted to because you did,” he bites out. “You left anyway. You left me, Em. And you didn’t even give me the chance to fight for you.”
My chest caves in and burns hot all at once.
“I couldn’t stay here, Alex,” I whisper, shaking my head hard as my breath falters.
My nails dig crescents into the soft fabric of my jeans.
“I couldn’t breathe here anymore. Not after her.
Every street, every room, every goodman inch of this town reminded me she wasn’t coming back.
And you—you reminded me too.” I choke on the words.
“You made me feel safe, and I hated it because it made me weak. I was drowning and I couldn’t drag you under with me. ”
His jaw works hard, throat bobbing with a thick swallow. His hand lifts off the wheel and rubs roughly over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away every word I just said.
“Do you really think I wouldn’t have drowned with you? That I wouldn’t have chosen to sink if it meant keeping you close?” His voice is raw as he continues, “I would’ve carried every ounce of that grief for you if you’d let me. Hell, I wanted to. But you didn’t give me the chance. You just ran.”
I suck in a breath so shaky that it feels like my ribs might splinter.
“Loving you wasn’t enough to make me stay. I thought it would be. I wanted it to be, but it wasn’t.”
He goes still, like a statue, as if fighting the urge not to crack.
The truck finally comes to a stop in front of the yellow house and before he can say anything in response, I yank the handle and swing the door open.
Grabbing my bag from behind the seat, I slam the door shut.
“Thanks for the ride,” I grit out without looking back, my voice wobbling at the seams. A couple more seconds in that truck with him and all my walls I’ve spent years building would have started to crumble.
Behind me, there is a creak of a window rolling down. Alex lets out a loud sigh. “Wait Em, I didn’t mean—”
I stalk up to the front door, ignoring the sad state of the porch.
That’s a problem for a different day. My hands are shaking as I fumble with the keys, trying to decipher which one I need out of the five on the key ring.
After finding the right one, the rusted-out lock gives me more trouble and is the final obstacle in me failing to achieve the dramatic entrance I was going for.
I finally bust the door open and slam it shut behind me, not bothering to let him finish what he wants to say.
Leaning back against the wooden door, I throw my bag down and a puff of white dust shoots up into the air as it lands on the ground.
I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as I try to catch my breath.
The keys continue to rattle in my hands as I fight to get them to stop shaking.
Even then, I can’t help but make my way over to the window, peeking out through the curtain.
Alex is still there, sitting in his truck.
He hesitates like he wants to get out and continue the conversation.
He doesn’t look satisfied with the way it ended.
I know, from past experience, how much having the last say gets him off.
But after two eternal minutes, he simply nods to himself in defeat, rolls up the window and drives away.