Page 20 of Coming Home

The flush hit her face so fast I could practically hear the heat of it. "It was on ESPN, Ralph. The entire country saw it."

"Yeah, but you specifically watched the clip."

"I did not go out of my way to search your name." She scrambled to her feet, her hands shoved deep into the hoodie pockets, her wet eyes bright with an indignation that was so beautifully, violently familiar I had to drop my eyes before it showed on my face. "The television in the motel was already on that channel. I didn't have the remote. I didn't seek you out."

"You remembered the metal chairs pretty well for a girl who was just looking for the weather report."

"Because it was everywhere! I couldn't scroll through a single platform without seeing your massive shoulders blocking out the sun."

"So you were scrolling for me."

"I was not scrolling for you!"

"I'm just stating the facts." I crossed my arms over my chest, digging my back deeper into the wood frame, letting the grin have the room. "If you want an update on my rap sheet, you don't need the internet, Em. I'm twelve feet away. You can skip the comment section altogether."

Her mouth stayed open, her cheeks bright crimson. Watching her come back to life did something to me I wasn't ready to name. Thirty seconds ago she was on the floor. Now she wanted to take my head off. I'd missed that.

"I absolutely hate you," she mumbled. She didn't mean it. The left corner of her mouth was twitching toward a smile.

"You called me last night."

"Out of pure, unadulterated desperation."

"You're going to wear that word out."

"Because it's the only one that fits."

I held her gaze, dropping the banter, letting the weight of my voice anchor her to the floor. "You can be as mad about it as you want. Doesn't change the shorthand of why you did it."

She stared at me through her lashes. I stared right back. The bathroom was small, white, and flooded with that hard morning glare coming through the frosted glass window, catching the damp black strands of hair sticking to the side of her neck.

"It's like time hasn't changed a damn thing," I murmured, mostly to myself. But she heard me.

"It's changed though. It's been three years."

CHAPTER 8

Emma

"Get dressed. We're going out."

"Out where?"

"Breakfast. There's nothing edible in this house, and I refuse to hand you a chalky protein bar."

I shook my head, my brow furrowing. "How does a grown man with a kitchen that looks like a luxury showroom have zero food?"

"Because the woman who handles my logistics is currently punishing me by letting me starve," he said, a faint, dry edge to his mouth. "We had a massive disagreement, and she's decided my penance is an empty refrigerator and a deep, existential understanding of what hunger feels like."

"Athena?"

"Who else?"

The name tugged a small, helpless smile loose before I could stop it. Athena Brandt. I remembered her as the fiery girl with the high ponytail, trailing behind Ralph and Theo at chaotic swim meets with a canvas backpack full of snacks she routinely refused to share with anyone on earth except me.

She'd decided back then that I was her honorary older sister, enforcing the title with a fierce, terrifyingly possessive loyalty. She had once cornered a boy at a pool party who wouldn't stop staring at me in my swimsuit, quietly informing him that if he didn't look away, she would drown him in the diving well and make it look like a cramp. The boy believed her. So did I.

"I've always been a massive fan of your sister," I murmured.