love me at my worst

CHAPTER FIVE

Emily made it exactly three steps before regret clawed up her throat.

Coward. She could’ve said something. Anything. A hi, a hey, even just a nod. But no she’d walked past him like he was just another locker in the hall.

The bus shelter was empty, the flickering fluorescent light casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Emily pulled her sweater tighter around herself, the autumn wind biting through the thin fabric. She shouldn’t have stayed so late at the library. Now she was alone at the edge of town, waiting for the 10:15 bus the last one that would take her anywhere near her neighborhood.

A car sped past, its headlights washing over her for a brief moment before disappearing into the darkness. She checked her phone again no new messages. Sarah had offered to drive her home, but Emily had refused. She hated the way her friend’s tiny Honda sagged when she got in, the way Sarah had to move the seat back to make room. “It’s fine!” Sarah always said, but Emily knew it wasn’t. A gust of wind sent a crumpled fast-food bag skittering across the sidewalk. Emily tucked her hands under her arms, shivering.

A gust of wind sent a crumpled fast-food bag skittering across the sidewalk. Emily tucked her hands under her arms, shivering.

Then

The low rumble of an engine. Tires rolling to a stop.

A familiar black Jeep pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolling down.

Adam Smith leaned across the seat, his dark blue eyes barely visible in the dim light

"Emily."

Her name sounded different when he said it softer, like it wasn’t an afterthought.

She froze.

"You waiting for the bus?"

She nodded, her fingers tightening around the straps of her backpack.

Adam glanced at the empty street, then back at her. "It’s late."

"I know."

A beat of silence. The Jeep’s engine idled, a steady, impatient growl.

"Get in," he said. "I’ll drive you."

Emily’s stomach twisted. She imagined squeezing into the passenger seat, the way the leather would creak under her weight. Imagined Adam pretending not to notice. It’s okay," she said quickly. "The bus’ll be here soon."

Adam frowned. "Emily, it’s freezing."

"I don’t mind."

Another pause. The wind howled through the telephone wires overhead.

Then Adam did something unexpected.

He turned off the engine.

And got out of the car.

Emily’s breath caught as he walked around the front of the Jeep, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could see the way his breath fogged in the cold air.

Then I’ll wait with you," he said.

She stared at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Because you shouldn’t be out here alone." Emily opened her mouth, then closed it. There were a hundred things she could say that she was alone, always had been, that no one had ever cared before but the words stuck in her throat.

So they stood there in silence, the streetlight flickering above them, the distant hum of the city the only sound between them.

After a long moment, Adam cleared his throat. "You’re really not getting in the car, are you?"

Emily shook her head.

He exhaled, a small, frustrated sound. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"Here." She took it hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his. The paper was warm from his pocket.

"What is it?"

Open it."

She unfolded it carefully.

Inside was a faded drawing a stick-figure version of the two of them, standing under a lopsided sun. At the bottom, in messy crayon:

"To Adam, Happy Birthday! Emily"

Her chest tightened.

first grade. She’d given this to him at his birthday party back when they were still friends, before the weight of other people’s expectations had pushed them into different worlds.

You kept this?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Adam’s gaze was steady. "Yeah."

The distant rumble of the bus cut through the night.

Emily looked down at the drawing, then back at him. "Why?"

The bus pulled up, its brakes hissing. The doors creaked open.

Adam didn’t answer.

But as she climbed the steps, she heard him say, just loud enough for her to hear:

Because I never forgot."

Then the doors closed, and the bus pulled away, leaving him standing there in the yellow glow of the streetlighta boy who remembered, and a girl who didn’t know what to do with that.