“They got soft porn.”
“They gotfemale form studiesin correct proportions.” I shrug. “It’s not my fault the committee’s got fragile sensibilities.”
He doesn’t smile, but I see it in his eyes—he’s used to worse.
“I see you still list your father as your former guardian,” he says. “No change to the legal record?”
“No change.”
He flips the tablet shut and leans back like he’s waiting for something.
“You know, most people distance themselves from the person who set off the explosion,” he says. “They don’t volunteer to absorb the shrapnel.”
“I never said I volunteered.”
“Right.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. Just scribbles a final note and nods at the door.
“You’re good for the month. Same time next.”
I push to my feet and walk out without another word.
Outside, the air is thick and humid, but it’s still easier to breathe than it is in there. I climb into my car, grip the wheel, and sit there for a minute before starting the engine.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I expect to feel that familiar weight—the bitterness, the regret—but instead, what surfaces is her.
Emily.
She’s nothing like the girls I’ve known. No fake giggle, no easy flattery, no smooth attempt at making herself fit.
She doesn’t fit anything.
And maybe that’s what I can’t stop thinking about.
The look on her face when I stepped into that bathroom. The flush climbing up her throat. The way she didn’t look away until the very last second.
“Shit,” I mutter, hitting the gas.
I didn’t expect to want her this badly.
I didn’t expect tofeelanything at all if I saw her again.
But I sure as hell know one thing:
No matter what my dad does with her mom—no matter how many rooms we share under the same roof—I’ll never be able to look at Emily like she’s family.
I step into the garage, still tasting the stale coffee from the center on my tongue.
Inside the house, the lights are low and the mood is too cheerful for this late.
“Hey there, Cole.” Heather smiles at me from the living room. “Want to watch a movie with us?”
“I’ll pass, thank you.”
“He’s not into hanging out with me,” my dad says, kissing her cheek. “If it was just you, he might consider.”
“Right.” I move past them and head to the fridge, pulling out a chocolate bar.
