Prologue
EMERSON
Bellevue High School—2007
Senior Year
The Big Game
6:30 p.m.
“Emerson!” Miller slammed his hands against the locker room door at least ten times before he stopped and then started again; this time it sounded like he was using his cleats. “I know you’re in there!”
“Emerson!” Miller yelled again. “I will break down this door!”
“Just go away!”
“No!”
“You’re a pain in my ass!”
“Well, you have a nice ass,” he said, humor lacing his tone.
I smiled.
“You’re smiling, aren’t you?” he said in a silky voice.
I snorted and tried to wipe the hot tears from my cheeks.
“Don’t fight it. You love me.”
“I hate you.” I was full-on grinning as I stood and shuffled over to unlock the door.
Miller shoved it open.
“You should be warming up with the team,” I whispered. “Whatever will our school do without its hero?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who’s hiding out in the locker room because you let some skinny bitch get to you.”
I sighed. “Maybe next time I’ll give her a cookie.”
As he towered over me, he held his helmet in one hand and placed his other against the doorframe. I’d been bigger than most girls my whole life. Miller was the only person capable of making me feel small. He reached out a massive hand and gripped my chin. “You’d be grumpy too if you referred to bread as Satan.”
I forced a watery smile. “You’re right. Sorry.”
He dropped his hand. “Em . . .”
“Uh-oh, what’s that look?” I teased, already feeling slightly better. How could I not when it was Miller Quinton?
The hottest thing to hit Bellevue High since . . . well, ever. With mocha-colored skin and clear blue eyes, he was almost impossible to not stare at without feeling uncomfortable. His Ethiopian mom was drop-dead gorgeous; mix that in with the Spanish heritage from his dad’s side and you got model-good looks, giant muscles, and a killer smile that had the power to make even my crappy night look completely blissful.
“I’m your best friend, right?” He stepped closer, reaching for my hand before grasping it and pressing an open kiss to my palm. His lips were warm, his smile gentle.
“Why do I feel like you’re about to give me the sex talk right now?”
“You loved that sex talk we had last year. I rocked your world with those pictures.” He winked and I felt my cheeks get all hot and splotchy. “But seriously, Em. Have you ever thought that maybe you’re perfect just the way you are?”
Air whooshed out of my lungs as tears threatened again. My uniform felt tight and itchy, and the really sick part was that Larissa, my nemesis, was right. Between last year and this year, my boobs had grown, and I’d turned into this curvy woman I didn’t recognize. One who would never fit into a size six, or eight, or even a ten.
“Smile, Em.”
“Yes, Miller.” I forced a smile.
“I’m only friends with the cool kids, right? No losers on this roster.” God, he was such an arrogant ass. “Which also means . . .” He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me toward the field. “I can’t win this game unless you cheer really loud for me, boo.”
I groaned out loud. “Never say that again. Ever.”
“Boo.” He burst out laughing. “I think I just lost a brain cell.”
“Not to mention all of my respect.”
“Well, we had a good run.” He gripped my hand in his as we walked back to where the game was about to start. “Cheer loud, cheer girl.”
“Don’t rip anyone’s head off, ya dumb football player.” I hugged him tight.
He jerked his head toward Coen. “Except his, right? Because I’ve been itching to rip his head off since day one.”
I followed the direction of his gaze while Coen threw a long pass across the field. “He’s your quarterback.”
Miller clenched his jaw and pointed at the field with his helmet. “After this season’s over, I’m kicking that punk’s ass.”
“And ruin your chances of going to college because his dad sues you for touching his precious?”
Miller made a face. “What do you see in him anyway?”
“Biceps. Nice mouth. Killer body—”
“Horrible personality . . . cheating tendencies?” Miller finished. “When are you going to finally admit you have feelings for me and throw caution to the wind, hmm?” His dimpled cheeks broke out into a huge smile as he tapped his face with one of his gloved fingers. “Alright, give me some. Platonic. Strictly for good luck.”
I tugged his head down, ready to brush a kiss across his cheek, before he turned his mouth and crushed his lips against mine.
I sucked in a breath.
Breathing him in.
He broke off the kiss and shrugged. “Whoops.” He winked over my head at what I was sure was my furious boyfriend.
“He hates it when you do that.” I slapped a hand across Miller’s chest.
“Perks of being your best friend. That mouth.” He turned and started running away, while yelling back at me. “It’s always been mine. I’m just waiting for you to leave the dark side.”
Ignoring what he said like I always did, I called after him. “Have a good game.”
“Go, Knights, go!” He pumped his fist into the air and then gave me one last cocky grin before pulling his helmet on.
I jolted awake at the sound of my alarm going off. Of course, the night before trying out for the Bellevue Bucks squad, and I dreamed of him. Tears welled in my eyes. I always dreamed of him when I was stressed, and all it did was add fuel to the fire, fanning the flames of my pain until I wanted to scream. I had enough to deal with—why did it always come back to him? He was impossible to escape, all I wanted was a breather. To feel normal. To move past it. To move past him. Instead, he was a constant reminder, a constant pain in my ass.
It was still dark out, so I checked my phone. Four more hours of sleep before I had to report to tryouts. I had four more hours to thrust all thoughts and memories of Miller Quinton out of my brain—my heart—expelling even the happiest memories right along with the agony of the bad ones.
He wasn’t worth my time.
Or the space in my head and the tiny cracks still infused around my heart.
He may as well be dead . . . just like our friendship was the minute he promised he’d never make me cry—and then walked out of my life forever.