Page 2 of The Truth of Our Secrets

“Emmet,” she shrieks and throws herself into my arms. “Oh my God, it’s been so long. Look at you.” She sits back on the stool with her hands on my shoulders.

I glance over at Jayce and hate replaces his lust. If he could murder me with a stare, I’d be dead on the floor.

Madyson

Emmet brings tears to my eyes. I never thought I’d see him again and I have so many questions. He looks incredible. His dark hair is shorter but long enough to flop in his honey-brown eyes. His smile doesn’t match the pain in his eyes that he always tried so hard to hide. I hate it’s still there.

“Have a seat.” I motion to the empty stool I saved for Alec. I don’t want to think about my best friend being so mad at me that he canceled at the last minute. Emmet’s the perfect distraction. “We haven’t ordered yet, and I’d love to catch up.”

Emmet opens his mouth, but when his eyes dart to Jayce, he shakes his head, not saying anything.

Jayce frowns, jerking his head sideways in an uncharacteristically spastic movement. I pat his hand.

“We don’t have to stay long, but since we’re eating here, I want an update on Emmet’s life.”

Emmet hasn’t moved and his eyes ping-pong between us. It’s been four years and I’m not letting Emmet go until I’m certain he’s okay. He went through hell and I hope his life’s better. Many sleepless nights have been spent worrying about him.

I slide off my chair, grab his arm, and point at the vacant stool. “Sit.”

He complies with a confused expression.

After I sit, Jayce maneuvers our seats closer, wrapping his arm around me. Usually, his touch feels safe and protective, and I want his arm there, but tonight it’s aggressively possessive. As if he’s staking his claim in front of Emmet.

It’s probably my imagination. He said Emmet’s gorgeous and could be the perfect partner for the night. But obviously we can’t have a one-night stand with Emmet.

Jayce clears his throat. “It’s McKenna.” When Emmet tilts his head, Jayce says, “Her name. She goes by McKenna.”

Emmet’s smile gets wider, but his eyes harden and the honey brown becomes murky. “Congratulations.” He removes his hands from the table and rests them in his lap. “Do you remember—”

“I do,” Jayce grits out. They wordlessly glare at each other and it’s uncomfortable. They only met once, briefly, and they had a great conversation. Jayce helped me convince Emmet he could play college hockey to get an education.

The server stops by to take our order, which adds a new tension. Emmet claims he’s already eaten but orders fries and water after I hound him to eat. I don’t believe he’s eaten, but I won’t accuse him of being too poor to eat here. His pride suffered enough in high school.

I order sliders and a charcuterie board plus a meal. He’ll eat some of it, I’m sure. Jayce squeezes my thigh under the table, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

“So what do you do these days?” I ask, eager for scraps of his life.

“Eh, you know me, always doing something different. I have a new job that I love and I’m taking it as it goes. Are you still teaching?” Emmet leans in.

“No, I only substitute taught at your school. I was lucky enough to focus on art after that. I make ceramics and sell them at a gallery.” With the small table, I could easily reposition myself to touch Emmet. Those innocent touches with no possibility of more had healed part of my trauma. He healed me and has no idea how much he meant to me. The pain of him ghosting me when I tried to help stops me from seeking out his familiar touch.

“She actually ow—”

“You don’t need to brag about my art,” I cut Jayce off. The last thing I want is for Emmet to feel less than. And telling him I own a gallery could trigger memories of his classmates taunting him for being poor and a loser.

I expect Jayce to argue, but a genuine smile spreads across his handsome face. Which I refrain from kissing because I’m not throwing that in Emmet’s face either. Thankfully, the server drops off the charcuterie board.

“I got this for the table. Help yourself,” I say, handing both Jayce and Emmet plates.

Jayce picks up a piece of cheese and prosciutto, then feeds it to me. “Mmm,” I hum in satisfaction. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am.”

Jayce pops a grape in his mouth, looking oddly smug.

Emmet stares out the window and doesn’t take any food. His fingers drum on the table, a nervous habit.

“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask, trying to draw him into conversation to determine if our past means anything to him.

“Nope.” He emphasizes the P but doesn’t say anything else.

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