Everything with you

Part 56

Emma

The car hummed beneath us like it knew too much. Wind chased the edges of the windows, and golden light spilled in through the windshield as we pulled onto the highway. I shifted in my seat, the seatbelt tugging across my chest like a quiet reminder of reality.

Justin didn't speak. Not right away. His hands gripped the steering wheel loosely, his profile caught in the sunlight—the same familiar one I used to study when he was focused on something else.

We had dropped off Joanna twenty minutes ago. She'd waved from the porch, barefoot as usual, tugging their dad's sleeve . She was sweet, messy, and louder than anyone her size had a right to be. But now it was quiet. Too quiet.

I looked out the window at the blur of trees and highway signs. My stomach was a tangle of feelings that didn't quite know what to do with themselves.

I wanted to speak about last night. I didn't know where to start.

He did.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft, but it landed like thunder.

I turned to him slowly. "Yeah," I said. "Just... tired, I guess."

That was the easiest truth I could manage. I was tired—emotionally, physically, from pretending I knew how to handle everything that had happened between us. Because last night—God, last night—had changed something. Everything.

My first time, and it was with him.

The boy I'd fallen for freshman year. The one who used to smile just for me . The one I'd fought with and forgiven, and then broken away from when we couldn't find our way back. Until now.

"I keep thinking," I said, tracing a finger along the edge of the window, "about what happens next."

He glanced at me. "You mean with us."

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.

The road stretched ahead in a long, endless ribbon, the kind that made it feel like time wasn't real. Like we could drive forever and never have to make decisions.

"I don't want to pretend like last night didn't happen," he said, eyes forward. "And I don't want it to be a mistake."

"Was it?" I asked so quietly I wasn't sure if I'd said it out loud.

His hand tightened on the wheel. "No," he said, and I believed him. "Not to me."

I didn't answer right away. My mind kept replaying moments—his lips on my neck, the way he'd held me after, how safe it had felt. Like home, almost.

"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice cracking a little.

"Of what?"

"That this is just another detour. That we'll go back to college and you'll be you and I'll be me and... we'll just fall apart again."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, without taking his eyes off the road, he reached across the console and laced his fingers with mine.

It was so simple. So gentle. Like breathing.

"I don't want to fall apart," he said. "I want to figure it out. With you."

My eyes burned, but I blinked the feeling back. "That sounds like a really nice idea."

"It's not an idea," he said. "It's a choice."

We drove for a while in silence again, but it wasn't heavy anymore. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows over the highway. My hand still rested in his, warm and steady.