Emily wiped at her face—she must have been crying.
Liam noticed stepped closer, and this time she didn't step back.
No.
He said something. She nodded and then his arms went around her.
No. No. No.
Not a hug she started. It was Liam, the guy who had my dick in his mouth a few nights ago, comforting his ex-girlfriend. It was the kind of hug that saidI'm sorryandplease forgive meandI choose you,all at once.
I couldn't believe this was happening; it was all falling apart—for me.
Emily's arms stayed at her sides for a long moment. Then slowly—reluctantly—they came up around him.
She held on.
They stood there together. Liam's face buried in her shoulder and Emily's arms tight around him.
Then Liam pulled back and kissed her.
The air left my lungs.
It wasn't desperate or passionate, it was gentle and tender.
My hand gripped the bark harder. The rough texture bit into my palm until it stung.
I could still feel what it was like to kiss Liam. Two nights ago in his dorm room—the weight of him, the hunger, the way he'd tasted. The desperate sounds he'd made against my mouth. The way his hands pulling me close, as if he couldn't get close enough.
There was no way she had that with him. That was us—only us.
But it didn't matter because clearly he was choosing her, anyway.
They broke apart. Emily said something. Liam nodded. She touched his face once—brief, affectionate—then turned and walked back toward campus.
Liam stayed on the bridge.
He stood there for a long moment, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, staring down at the dark water. The wind lifted his hair. His shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
Then he turned and looked back toward the Kingswell side.
My breath caught.
For a second, I thought—
But no. He turned away. Started walking toward Riverside, following the path Emily had taken.
The certainty landed cold and absolute in my chest.
Saturday night meant nothing—just a moment of weakness he already regretted. The rowing this morning changed nothing—just muscle memory and athletic chemistry that I'd mistaken for something deeper.
He was always going to choose her. The girlfriend who fit into his life. The relationship that made sense. Normal over whatever complicated, impossible thing existed between us.
And I was always going to be the secret. The mistake. The thing that happened in the dark that he'd spend the rest of his life pretending didn't matter.
If I let myself feel this fully, I'd break.
So I didn't let myself feel anything at all.
