Stronger With You

Chapter 1

My name - Emery Grace Collins - was stitched across the front of my old, fraying backpack. The zipper stuck if you pulled it too fast, and a faded keychain shaped like a boxer dangled from one of the loops. My favorite dog. The only one I’d ever had and by far my greatest love.

I arrived at Rosenberg Science Academy with everything I owned in two duffel bags and that backpack that had seen better years. I just turned twenty and worked my ass off in junior college to get a scholarship to one of the best veterinarian schools I know.

I’m finally getting away from this s**t show of a trailer park. I should have left when I was 18 but I just couldn’t afford it. Working part time and paying off school made me… stuck.

The bus hissed to a stop at the curb, and for a second I just sat there, hands clenched around the frayed straps, staring out at the tall white buildings and the arched stone entrance that looked more like a castle than a college dorm.

Great, I thought. I was definitely not going to fit in with these students. I was trailer park raised, and these kids looked like they were born with a trust fund and never checked a bank balance in their lives.

This is a mistake, my nerves whispered.

Probably. But I’d made worse ones. And I will absolutely not think about those right now or I might spiral.

I swallowed and stood anyway. I hadn’t worked my ass off just to let a handful of rich, snobby kids make me second-guess myself.

My scholarship wasn’t charity. It was earned the hard way, with literal blood, sweat, and tears.

And this wasn’t just about school.

Ever since I had Pennie, I’d wanted to be a veterinarian. She’d been my one and only dog, hell—my one and only anything for a long time. A brindle boxer who loved me without conditions and stayed when everything and everybody else didn’t. Ten years with her hadn’t been enough. God, I missed her.

No one was taking this from me.

Not them. Not this place. Not my past.

I deserved to be here.

The August heat pressed down on me the moment I stepped off the bus. Students and families crowded the walkways. The front of the college was filled with SUVs, trunks open, parents giving instructions, and laughter echoing off brick walls. Everywhere I looked it was the same picture of rolling suitcases, designer bags, and matching luggage sets. Like there was a uniform I hadn’t been issued.

I internally rolled my eyes. Those are just things, not important. Definitely not needed to graduate as a veterinarian.

I adjusted the hoodie pulled tight around my arms, even though the air was thick and sticky. The fabric hid the purple-and-yellow fingerprint bruises blooming along my ribs and upper arm. It also hid the way my shoulders wanted to curl inward, like maybe I could make myself smaller if I tried hard enough.

If invisibility were a major, I’d already have a scholarship.

No one had come with me.

That morning, my mom had stood in the kitchen, eyes tired and rimmed with red, twisting her hands together.

“I can’t take you, baby,” she said softly. “You know how he gets when I miss work.”

I nodded, because nodding was safe. Nodding kept the air from turning sharp. Nodding meant I could exist in the room without being noticed too much.

Being quiet was survival.

Wade, my sorry excuse for a step-dad had started drinking before noon. The smell of beer clung to the kitchen like a second skin, thick and sour, making it hard to breathe. He called it “store stress,” like the tiny corner store had anything more stressful than leaning on a counter and yelling at teenagers. He wasn’t even a manager, just a piece of s**t employee.

Funny how his stress always needed somewhere to land.

Today, it landed on me.

The shove came fast. My hip slamming into the counter hard enough to rattle the drawers. Pain sparked down my leg, but it was distant, like it belonged to someone else. I remember staring at the cracked laminate and thinking if I focused hard enough on the pattern, maybe I could disappear into it.

His hand gripped too tight. Fingers digging in. Holding longer than necessary. Sliding where they shouldn’t, slow and deliberate, like he was testing how far he could go before I reacted.

My body didn’t react.

That was the worst part.

I froze so completely I could hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears, loud and hollow. A wave of nausea climbed up my throat, and for a second I thought I might collapse. I kept my arms stiff at my sides, afraid that any movement would make it worse.

Don’t breathe too loud. Don’t look up. Don’t exist.

His voice filled the room as he yelled and slurred at me….at my mom… hell even at the f*****g wall. He gripped my ribs harder giving me that nauseating feeling. The breath against my ear made me tense up, I couldn’t help it.

“Don’t get an attitude,” he snapped.

I wasn’t even speaking.

My hoodie suddenly felt too thin, like it couldn’t protect anything underneath. Shame crawled across my skin hotter than the bruise forming under his grip. It wasn’t just the shove. It wasn’t even just the way he touched me.

It was the way he watched me after.

Like I wasn’t a person.

Like I was something he owned.

Mom moved around us like nothing was wrong, as if the air wasn’t heavy with something rotten. Watching her ignore it, ignore me, made tears burn behind my eyes before I could stop them. She passed by with her coffee and jingling keys, never once meeting my gaze, never once acknowledging the hands on my body that didn’t belong there. Her silence cut deeper than anything he did, a quiet betrayal that lingered long after his touch faded.

I learned early that she would choose Wade every time.

That realization didn’t break me all at once. It was slower. Much like sinking into cold water and realizing no one was coming to pull you out.

So I swallowed everything. Pulled the hoodie tighter. Made myself smaller.

And I waited for it to be over.

Because it always ended eventually.

And surviving meant counting down the seconds until it did.

Finally, Wade passed out with no more issues and my mom was long gone to her waitressing job.

So, I picked myself up. I’d packed in silence too ready to get out of this hell hole. I showered quickly and Pulled on my hoodie. I made sure I was gone before he woke up again. Good riddance, I felt like giving the trailer, my mom, and definitely Wade the middle finger.

Which, in hindsight, might be the bravest thing I’d ever done. Or the dumbest. Hard to tell. Life liked to keep me guessing.

Now I dragged my bags across the walkway, pretending not to notice the way people looked at me.

Two duffels. No boxes. No cart. No parents.

Minimalist. Very trendy.

A group of girls near the steps paused in their conversation to stare.

“That’s… all she brought?” one of them said, not even trying to lower her voice.

Another laughed. “Maybe she’s just here for the weekend.”

I kept walking.

I’d learned a long time ago that if you didn’t react, sometimes people got bored. And if they didn’t, well, at least you didn’t give them the satisfaction.

Inside, the dorm lobby was bright and echoing, full of voices and movement. I checked in, got my key, got my room number, and followed the signs down a long, carpeted hallway that smelled like cleaning solution and something floral.

Suite 314.

I stopped outside the door, took a breath, and told myself I could do this.

I always did things myself. Mostly because no one else ever had.

The door opened into a shared living space with two bedroom doors and a big window. Sunlight poured in. One side of the room was already half-decorated with pillows, neatly stacked boxes, framed photos, a pastel rug.

The other side was empty.

I stood there, suddenly very aware of my two sad duffel bags, which looked like they might apply for financial aid.

“Hi!”

I turned.

A girl with long dark hair and a bright smile stood in the doorway of one of the bedrooms, holding a stack of towels.

“You must be Emery! I’m Callie. Callie Vega.”

Her voice was warm. Easy. The kind of voice that probably made people tell her their life story in grocery store lines.

“Oh. Hi. I—yeah. I’m… Emery.”

Smooth. Very smooth.

Her eyes flicked to my bags, and if she noticed the difference between our stuff, she didn’t comment on it at all.

“Do you want help?” she asked immediately. “We can set you up on this side. I already claimed the left room, sorry.”

“That’s fine,” I said quickly. “I can— I’ve got it.”

But she was already grabbing one of my duffels. “Too bad. We’re roommates now. You’re stuck with me.”

Something in my chest loosened just a little.

We were still arranging things when voices drifted in from the open door down the hall.

A group walked past—laughter, confidence, expensive perfume.

I glanced up without meaning to.

In the middle of them was a girl with glossy blonde hair, perfect makeup, and clothes that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. She walked like the building should be paying her rent.

“That’s Blaire Kensington,” Callie said quietly, following my gaze. “And her… court.”

They stopped at the next door down.

“Allie, there you are!” Blaire said brightly. “We’re going to orientation. Come on.”

The brunette girl, Allie, squealed and grabbed her bag. “I was hoping you’d come get me!”

Then Blaire’s eyes slid to our open door.

To me.

The look was fast. Sharp. Calculating. Like she was mentally rearranging a room and deciding I didn’t match the furniture.

Then she smiled and turned to Callie.

“Callie, you should come with us,” she said. “We’re all heading together.”

For one horrifying second, I thought Callie might say yes.

Instead, she looked at me.

Then she smiled. “Nah. I’m good.”

Blaire blinked. “Oh?”

“I’m going with my roommate.”

Callie put her arm in mine like we’d known each other longer than forty minutes. “Orientation can wait five minutes. Emery and I are getting settled.”

Blaire’s smile tightened.

“Oh. Of course,” she said, and then her eyes flicked to me again. Colder this time.

The look was fast. Assessing. Dismissing.

Then she turned and walked away.

I stared at the floor, suddenly very interested in the carpet pattern.

“Don’t worry about her,” Callie said lightly. “She’s… a lot.”

That might have been the understatement of the century.

Later, when we headed outside toward the quad for orientation, the crowd was even thicker.

I walked a half-step behind Callie, clutching my backpack strap like it might try to escape without me.

That was when I saw him.

He was sitting on the low stone wall with a few other guys, laughing about something. Dark hair. Ice Blue eyes. Broad shoulders.

Sharp cheekbones.

Unfair-looking. Like evolution had favorites.

My stomach did something weird and traitorous.

Great. Even my internal organs were turning against me.

He looked… unreal.

Callie groaned. “Ugh. My cousin.”

“That’s your cousin?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Unfortunately. Nicolás Vega. He's a third year here so that makes him... what? A Junior? I'm not sure anymore.”

Of course he was.

As we passed, one of his friends said something low and they all looked over.

I felt my face heat.

I tried very hard to suddenly become one with the sidewalk.

Nicolás’s gaze flicked over me, my hoodie, my bags, the way I stood too close to Callie like I wasn’t sure where to put myself.

His mouth curved.

“Well,” he said lazily, just loud enough for his friends to hear, “I guess Rosenberg’s charity program is really branching out this year.”

Laughter followed.

It wasn’t cruel.

It was worse.

It was casual.

I felt it anyway. Sharp. Quiet. Familiar.

I kept walking.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t let them see anything.

But I could feel his eyes on me a second longer than they should have and his smile not quite matching the look in his gaze.