Chapter 5
Emma's POV
"I said get out." Caleb'd looked up then. His eyes were red. Not angry red—devastated red. The kind of red that came from holding back tears so hard your whole body shook. "Get the fuck out of here."
I'd run. Stumbled back up those stairs with my elbow throbbing and my throat tight and my brain screaming that I'd ruined everything.
Later—after Victoria had found me crying in my room, after she'd explained that the stick had belonged to Caleb's first coach, the man who'd discovered his talent and trained him for years before dying in a car accident—I'd understood.
That stick had been signed. Dated. A week before the coach died.
It was the last thing Caleb had of him.
And I'd destroyed it.
I'd called my mom that night. Begged her to find someone who could fix it. She'd tracked down a sports memorabilia restoration specialist in Denver who'd charged three thousand dollars to repair the break so perfectly you could barely see the seam.
I'd given it back to Caleb on the last day of the trip. Wrapped in tissue paper. My hands shaking as I held it out.
"I had it fixed," I'd said. "I know it's not the same, but—"
He'd taken it. Looked at the repair. His jaw had worked like he was chewing on words he didn't want to say.
"Thanks," he'd finally muttered.
That was it. One word. Flat. Empty.
He'd never looked at me the same way again.
I hit the ground floor and shoved through the exit door into blinding sunlight. The heat slapped me across the face after the air-conditioned building. August in Colorado was weird—hot during the day, cold at night, and my body still hadn't adjusted from Florida's humidity.
I pulled out my phone. Called an Uber. The driver—a middle-aged guy with a Broncos air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror—picked me up in under five minutes.
"Campus security first," I told him. "Then Oak Creek Estates."
He nodded and pulled away from the curb.
The security office was a small brick building near the main entrance. I ran in, grabbed my suitcase from the storage room where they'd been holding it, and climbed back into the car. The whole thing took maybe three minutes.
"Alright," the driver said. "Oak Creek?"
"Yeah. 2847 Maple Ridge Drive."
The drive took another fifteen minutes. Residential streets lined with trees. Neat lawns. Kids riding bikes. The kind of neighborhood that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd watched too many family sitcoms.
When we pulled up to the house, I handed the driver cash and climbed out with my suitcase.
And then I just stood there.
The house was nice. Really nice. Beige siding with dark brown trim. Manicured lawn. Two-car garage. The kind of place that screamed "upper-middle-class suburban family" in a way that made my mom's cramped Tampa apartment feel even smaller in comparison.
I pulled out my phone. Checked the time. Victoria had said they wouldn't be home until after six—something about Dad's concrete pour running late and her having back-to-back client meetings. It was barely four-thirty now.
I could just tell Dad I need a few days to settle in. Get a cheap hotel room. Avoid the whole awkward living situation until school starts—
An engine rumbled behind me.
I turned.
A silver SUV pulled into the driveway. The driver's door opened and Dad climbed out, his face already morphing into that guilty smile he always wore when he knew he'd screwed up.
"Emma! Baby! You made it!" He jogged over. "I'm so sorry about today. The pour finished early—thank god—but I couldn't get away in time to pick you up myself. I thought Victoria told you to meet Caleb?"
"Yeah, it's fine, Dad. Really. I managed."
Victoria emerged from the passenger side. She was dressed in business casual—slacks and a silk blouse—but somehow managed to look elegant instead of stuffy. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat bun.
She walked over and pulled me into a hug before I could react. "Welcome home, sweetheart. I'm so glad you're here. I was worried you'd be stuck waiting outside in this heat."
The hug was warm. Genuine. It made my chest ache in a way I couldn't explain.
"Thanks," I mumbled into her shoulder.
She pulled back and looked me over. Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Did you... have an accident with your luggage?"
Oh god. The smell.
"I—uh—there was a situation at the airport." The lie came out smooth. Practiced. "Baggage claim was a mess."
"Oh no." Victoria's expression shifted to concern. "Well, we'll get you cleaned up. Where's Caleb? Didn't he meet you at the rink?"
My stomach dropped. "He... was busy. Practice."
Victoria's eyebrows drew together. "What? No. I specifically told him to meet you there. I sent him three texts."
"Maybe he didn't see them?" I offered weakly.
"He saw them." Her voice had an edge now. Sharp. The kind of tone that meant someone was about to get chewed out. "That boy—"
The front door opened.
Caleb walked out carrying his gym bag, hair still damp from a shower. He was wearing dark jeans and a PSU Hockey t-shirt that clung to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal.
His eyes locked on me. Something flickered across his face—surprise? Recognition? Guilt?—before his expression went completely blank.
Victoria rounded on him immediately. "Caleb Michael Claffey. I told you to meet Emma at the rink."
"Practice ran late." His voice was flat. Bored. Like this conversation was beneath him.
"That's not an excuse—"
"Victoria, it's okay," Dad cut in. He was already moving toward the front door, clearly desperate to avoid confrontation. "Emma's here now. That's what matters. Let me go start dinner—"
"David—"
"Really, honey. It's fine. Let's just get everyone settled."
Victoria sighed. The kind of sigh that said we'll talk about this later. She turned back to me with a softer expression. "Come on, sweetie. Let me show you your room. Second floor, first door on the left."
I grabbed my suitcase and started up the front steps. Caleb was still standing there, blocking half the doorway. I had to squeeze past him.
That's when he froze.
His nose twitched. His eyes narrowed. And then his whole face shifted into something between confusion and disgust.
"What the hell—" He leaned slightly closer. Sniffed. "You smell like... like that time we walked in on Tyler in the locker room when he was—"
He stopped. Mid-sentence. His eyes went wide.
And I knew. I knew exactly what he was about to say.
My face went nuclear. Heat flooded my cheeks so fast I felt dizzy. Because I knew what he'd smelled. I knew what was still clinging to my clothes.
That sock. That goddamn crusty sock from the laundry hamper.
