Kellan & Emmett: A Small Town MM Romance, page 8
Still, the weight of his gaze lingered at the edge of it all—silent, steady, impossible to shake.
Chapter 15
Emmett
The noise of the field blurred. For a beat, neither Kellan nor I looked away. His stare held, unreadable, and my chest tightened like the years had folded in on themselves. Sweat ran down from his temple, clinging to the edge of his jaw, his shirt plastered against his back. My body betrayed me—pulse quick, heat climbing sharp and unwanted.
Kellan blinked first, dropping his gaze back to the kids. Relief should’ve come with that, but it didn’t. Because a minute later, he did it again—another quick glance, like he couldn’t help himself. Each one landed like a spark, small but enough to warm something I’d worked hard to freeze.
The ache settled deep, heavy as summer air.
And just like that, I was back in the stands. Friday night lights burning overhead, the roar of the crowd shaking the bleachers. Kellan on the field, scanning the rows after a big play. Every time, without fail, his eyes skipped past the boosters, past his dad, past the coaches. They landed on me.
I hadn’t known what to do with it back then. Pretended it was nothing. But I’d noticed. Always noticed. And now the thought hit hard—maybe I hadn’t been the only one feeling something more.
I remembered the moment I realized I was in love with my best friend. It was during a late practice, and of course, I’d stayed back to watch. Kellan’d jogged off, sweat-dark hair plastered to his forehead, grin stretched wide. And somewhere between the sight of him brushing it back and the sound of his laugh, I’d realized I was gone. That it was more than friendship, and had been for longer than I’d admitted to myself.
The sharp tweet of a whistle brought me back to the present. I stayed tucked near the bleachers, the cases of water nearby, telling myself I was only here to drop them off. That was a lie I barely believed. Kellan’s key was still on the board this morning. He hadn’t checked out. Curiosity got the better of me.
“Em.”
I turned. Paige Turner angled toward me, sunglasses sliding down her nose, a travel mug in hand. She had that kind of effortless polish that came with confidence—skin smooth and glowing, dark hair brushing her shoulders, eyes sharp but warm. She looked like someone who belonged on a magazine cover at the airport, not standing on the sidelines of a youth scrimmage.
“Paige,” I said. “Didn’t think you’d be out here.”
She smirked. “My nephew’s number twenty-three.” She tipped her chin toward the boy tearing downfield, socks slouched at his ankles, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. “He begged me to come, so I figured I’d better cheer before he decides football’s not for him.”
“Smart,” I said. “Gets harder to stick with it later.”
She took a sip from her mug, leaning on one hip. “Don’t get used to seeing me, though. Just got back from New York, and I’m heading out again soon. Travel nurse life. Chicago next week, maybe Denver after that.”
I did. Paige had been around for about ten years, long enough to be part of the fabric of the town, but her job kept her in motion. She was the kind of friend who could vanish for weeks, even months, and still make it feel like no time had passed when she turned up again.
I chuckled. “Good thing you always come back, Paige. Gomillion wouldn’t feel the same without you.”
Her grin widened. “I heard it was hell of a weekend? Reunion, prom, all that dancing. Folks’ll be talking for months.”
I huffed. “They already are.”
“That’s true.” She sipped from her mug, eyes glinting. “Caden and Theo sure gave ‘em something to talk about. Hand in hand, slow dancing like no one else was there. Didn’t see that one coming.”
A flicker of warmth tugged at my mouth before I caught it. “Good for them.”
“And Brad and Finn? Spotted at Fresh Brews. Kissing” She shook her head like it was the juiciest thing she’d heard in years. “Makes you wonder who else reconnected this weekend.”
I didn’t take the bait. Just shifted my weight, eyes back on the field. “Good for them.”
That was all I gave her. Because what was I supposed to say? That I’d spent half the reunion trying not to look at the one person who could still hollow me out with a glance?
Kellan was laughing at something one of the kids said, head tipped back, throat slick with sweat and sunlight. It wasn’t polished or careful—it was easy, the kind of laugh that cracked through me like it had no right to.
My chest felt too tight for the heat of the day. Every instinct I had was at war: look away, for Christ’s sake, save yourself. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. My eyes tracked the way his shirt stuck to his shoulders, the way he leaned down to ruffle a boy’s hair, the way his voice carried—low, sure, steady enough that the kids hung on every word.
Paige followed my gaze for a beat, then hummed.
“Who’s that?”
I swallowed. “Kellan.”
Her brows lifted, slow. “Oh. Is that—”
“Yes.” The word was out before I could stop it. Too sharp, too fast.
The word dragged me back, uninvited, to the only time I’d ever said his name to her before. A few years back.
She’d stopped by the inn for breakfast, fresh off a night shift, still in scrubs with her hair tied up, asking if the coffee was strong enough to keep her upright. I’d been half-asleep myself, caught off guard when she asked what had me so quiet. It happened to be my birthday. The kind of day that never sat easy. And without thinking — without planning — I’d said it. Told her about a boy who used to make birthdays something worth looking forward to. About the best friend I’d lost the night he kissed me and vanished.
I’d regretted it as soon as the words were out. But Paige never pressed. Never dangled it in my face. She just nodded, poured more sugar in her coffee, and said, “Sounds like he mattered. That’s all I’ll say.”
And now, here she was again, reminding me I’d let that name slip to her once before.
Something flickered in her smile, wry and knowing. “Huh. I could still kick his ass, you know.”
A sound escaped me—half laugh, half regret. “Yeah. Get in line.”
Before she could reply, Coach Rick’s whistle split the air, sharp enough to draw every head.
He’d spent most of practice pacing the sideline. Now he jogged a few steps closer, clapping his hands to part the knot of kids, who’d practically hemmed Kellan in at the center, tugging at his sleeve, begging for one more throw.
And Kellan? He’d been so good with the kids. Even as practice was about to end, he still gave them a last tousle of hair or a pat on the shoulder. It warmed my heart
Does he have any kids of his own? He’s a natural dad with them.
“Alright now, give Coach K some air. Let the man breathe.” The coach shot Kellan a grin. “So what’s the deal, huh? Did we just luck into a guest coach for the summer?”
The kids made a collective gasp, parents chuckled from the bleachers.
And me?
I held my breath, eyes fixed on Kellan.
Waiting to hear his answer.
Chapter 16
Kellan
Heat pressed down, thick as the noise around me. Kids bouncing at my side, parents watching from the bleachers, Rick’s grin sharp as a spotlight.
Guest coach. The words hit harder than the whistle had. My pulse kicked, a jolt low in my gut, the kind of crossroads moment you couldn’t sidestep.
I’d packed a bag this morning. Stared at it like it might tell me what to do. And now here I was, standing on a field I hadn’t touched in twenty years, a dozen pairs of young eyes waiting to hear my answer.
“Yeah.” My voice wasn’t polished. I didn’t have a speech, or a plan. Just a short, firm breath of a word. “I’ll stick around. I’ll help.”
The kids erupted, voices tumbling over one another. Rick grinned like he’d just won the lottery. Parents nodded from the sideline, easy smiles, approving murmurs.
“We’ll hash out the details on Monday,” he said, dropping his voice so it was for me, not the crowd. “Schedule, paperwork, liability waivers—all that boring stuff. But for now—” He tipped his cap toward the kids still hanging back, waving like I was some kind of pro. “—looks like you’ve already won ’em over.”
Pride flickered sharp in my chest—because this part was easy. Saying yes was easy. Being useful, showing up, putting on the coach’s voice. I knew how to do that.
But figuring out the rest? Where I’d sleep once the money ran out, what the hell my life looked like past this field—none of that was simple.
Through it all, I felt him. The weight of Emmett’s gaze from the bleachers. I didn’t have to look to know he hadn’t moved, hadn’t left. My skin prickled.
Rick blew his whistle again. “Alright, that’s it! Pack it up, we’ll see you Monday[4]!”
Parents started calling out names, voices carrying across the field as kids clattered toward the bleachers.
TThe field emptied in slow motion, or maybe that was just how it felt. Parents shepherded kids toward minivans, voices fading with each slam of a door. Rick’s whistle dangled from his neck, quiet now, a small metallic glint.
Sweat cooled sticky on my back. My hand flexed against my thigh, restless.
And I could feel the weight of his stare from the bleachers, steady as a spotlight, pulling at me no matter how I tried to keep my eyes on the field.
Finally, I looked.
Emmett stood, arms folded, his frame angled like he couldn’t decide if he was staying or leaving. He wasn’t scowling, wasn’t smiling either—just watching, the kind of gaze that stripped me down to parts I didn’t know how to hide.
The last kid hollered a goodbye and clattered off, the noise thinning into nothing. For a beat, it was just the two of us across that stretch of grass.
My chest tugged like someone had hooked a fist behind my ribs.
I could’ve walked the other way, could’ve headed straight for the parking lot, let the moment slide like I had a hundred chances before.
But my feet wouldn’t move that way.
A step forward. Then another. Each one too loud in the hush of the field, crunch of gravel carrying, like even the ground wanted to make a damn announcement.
He didn’t move. Just stood there, jaw working like he was grinding back words. Watching me close the space.
And God, if that wasn’t the most terrifying part—because once I reached him, I had no idea what came next.
The distance shrank to a few feet. Close enough to see the way the heat had flushed the top of his chest above the open collar of his shirt. Close enough to catch the faint scent of cologne that clung to him, stubborn even out here in the sun.
I stopped, pulse jackhammering. For a second neither of us spoke, the weight of twenty years pressing down hard, thicker than the heat.
I cleared my throat. “I didn’t think you’d be here.” The words were rougher than I meant.
Silence stretched between us. Uneasy, fragile. But not sharp the way it had been in the week I’d been here.
“Didn’t think you’d say yes.” His arms stayed crossed, hair falling into his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “Guess the field got its hooks back in you.”
Heat prickled the back of my neck, though I couldn’t tell if it was from the sun or from standing under that gaze. “Maybe it did.”
His eyes stayed on me, unreadable, and it made me shift, weight rolling heel to toe like I was back under Friday night lights, waiting for a snap.
Then he spoke again, low. “You didn’t check out this morning.” Not an accusation, not casual either. “Figured you’d be on a flight by now.”
I dragged a hand over the back of my neck, buying time. “I was packed,” I admitted. A beat. My throat worked. “Bag’s still sitting by the door.”
His brow ticked, but he didn’t move. “So what stopped you?”
Air rushed out of me in something closer to a laugh, but there was no humor in it. My shoulders sagged. “Truth is…” I had to look past him, anywhere but straight into those eyes, or the words would stick. “…I didn’t know what I was going to do next. I’m floundering.”
The confession hung there, heavier than the heat pressing against my skin. For a moment, he didn’t answer. My chest tightened, bracing for the scoff, the shake of his head, the cold wall I’d been running into since I got back.
Instead, after too long, he said quietly, “At least that’s honest.” Softer than I deserved.
Something in me eased, just barely. Enough to let me breathe.
I shifted, toes digging into the dirt like I could anchor myself to the ground. “I resigned from my job,” I said, the words tasting bitter now that they were out. “Gave up my lease. No plan. No backup. Nothing lined up.” My laugh was sharp, self-directed. “It’s a fucked-up thing to do.”
Emmett’s jaw worked. His arms stayed folded, but his eyes—God, his eyes—felt like they were cutting straight through me, seeing every hollow space I’d been trying to cover. I wanted to look away. I didn’t.
Damn. I couldn’t read him. Couldn’t tell if he was about to walk away or let me stand there with the words hanging like a damn noose around my neck. My palms itched. Every second of silence stretched longer than the last.
All I knew was that I’d finally said it out loud — the truth I’d been ducking since I left L.A. — and the one person I’d sworn I’d never admit weakness to was staring back at me.
My throat burned. I held his gaze anyway. Waiting.
Chapter 17
Emmett
I should’ve said something. Christ, anything. But the words stuck, tangled up with twenty years of anger and shame.
Kellan stood there, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen — not under Friday night lights, not even that last night we…
My pulse thudded hard. Because damn, but part of me wanted to reach out. To close the gap between us, to say I knew what it felt like to be untethered.
Instead I dragged in a breath and forced my voice to work.
“It’s reckless, yeah. But… it’s also brave.”
It came out lower, rougher, softer than I meant.
And the way his shoulders eased—just barely—was enough to wreck me all over again.
Kellan scrubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes sliding past the empty field. “Truth is, I don’t even know where I’ll be sleeping long-term.”
“What, planning to pitch a tent on the fifty-yard line?”
His head tipped, catching me watching him. And there it was—the smallest flicker of a smile, gone almost before I caught it.
“Wouldn’t be the worst spot,” he said. “Better view than some of the motels I’ve stayed in.”
I huffed, shaking my head. “Pretty sure Rick would run you off before the sprinklers did.”
Kellan’s grin widened, just enough to show he remembered. “Wouldn’t be the first time we got run off somewhere.”
My brow rose. “Oh yeah?”
“Don’t play innocent. Who climbed the fence with me at the old drive-in, swearing we’d just hang out for a while? And who nearly broke their neck trying to scramble back over when the manager came at us?”
A snort slipped out before I could stop it. “You’re the one who caught your jeans on the fence.”
“And you left me there,” he shot back, grin tugging wider. “Some best friend.”
Heat pricked my neck, half from the memory, half from the way his eyes lingered on me now. “You were the one who said just five more minutes—every damn time. You made it sound like the world would end if I didn’t give in.”
“And you always did.” His voice dipped, softer, not quite teasing anymore.
For a second, it felt too close to the bone. I broke eye contact, cleared my throat, aiming for lightness. “Guess some of us had a hard time saying no.”
That pulled a huff of laughter out of him—quiet, surprised. Against my will, the corner of my own mouth twitched too.
Not much. Barely there. But enough.
It was the first time in twenty years that we’d both smiled in the same breath.
My chest tightened, the ache too familiar.
Don’t fall for him again. Don’t.
But the warning in my head was already drowned out by the way his eyes held mine.
Gravity. That’s what it was. The same damn pull that had wrecked me once already.
I dragged in a breath, forced my arms tighter across my chest, like I could hold myself together with sheer will. This is temporary, I told myself. He’ll coach for the summer, then he’ll be gone again.
But another thought slid in anyway, traitorous and quiet.
Maybe not.
I hated how much that whisper lit something in me.
“So what now?” The words slipped out sharper than I meant. I loosened my jaw, tried again. “I mean… you planning to crash at the inn forever? It doesn’t exactly come cheap.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Are you kicking me out already?”
“I’m saying…” My arms tightened, fingers biting into my own elbows. “You didn’t check out. And if you’re serious about hanging around here for the summer, you’ll need a plan that’s not bleeding your savings dry.”
He watched me, like he was trying to gauge if this was an opening or another wall. My pulse thudded too loud in my ears.
I forced the words past it. “You can help out at the inn, maybe pitch in with some chores around the place…” My throat worked. “I could… adjust the rate.”
It came out gruff, practical, like I was just running numbers. But the heat in my chest gave me away.
Because this wasn’t about rent. It was about wanting him close.
His brows lifted. “You’d really do that?”
The question wasn’t light. Wasn’t casual. It landed between us like he was testing the ground before stepping onto it.
