Everything with you

Part 59

Justin

The cool evening air brushed against my face, doing little to calm the storm still thrumming in my chest. We'd done it. We actually did it. One win away from the cup. My pulse still buzzed with the rhythm of the game, like it hadn't caught up to the fact that it was over. I could still hear the final whistle in my ears, see my teammates swarming me after the last goal, and feel Coach's clap on my shoulder—firm, grudging, but real. After weeks of riding the bench, watching from the sidelines, doubting myself... I was back. And it had mattered.

"Still buzzing?" Nate sat beside me, tossing a peanut M&M into his mouth like we weren't standing outside a dance studio like two awkward high schoolers.

I gave him a sideways glance. "You could say that."

He grinned. "You were insane out there, man. You shut every mouth that said you were done. Including Coach's. Like, did you see his face after that second assist?"

I nodded, still half in the game in my head. "He didn't say much, but... yeah. I saw."

"Are you going to make me say it?" Nate nudged me. "You carried the second half."

I smirked. "We won as a team."

"Yeah, yeah, humble MVP," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You're lucky I dragged you to Emma's after. You know you needed to see her."

"I asked for a ride," I pointed out.

"You said, 'Drop me off.' I insisted I meet her. Big difference."

He was right, of course. When I told him I wanted to see Emma, he gave me that look—the one that meant he wasn't just driving by. Ever since Emma and I got back together, Nate had been subtly campaigning to make things normal again.

Now we stood outside the familiar glass doors of her studio, lit from within by the soft golden glow of the evening classes. Through the frosted pane, blurred figures danced—spins and stretches that somehow always looked like Emma even when they weren't her. I stuffed my hands in my hoodie pocket and tried not to pace.

"She doesn't know we're here, does she?" Nate asked.

"Nope."

"Gonna be a surprise, huh?"

"Yeah. A good one, hopefully."

Before he could crack another joke, the door opened, and Emma stepped out with a bag slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled into that messy bun she always wore. She looked tired in the way someone looks when they've done something they love all day. Focused, glowing, a little sweaty.

Her eyes locked onto mine.

"Justin?" Her voice was halfway between confusion and delight, her feet already moving before she finished saying my name.

I took a few steps forward, smiling, heart thudding with something different now—something that had nothing to do with soccer and everything to do with the way her face lit up when she saw me.

She threw her arms around me without hesitation, and I wrapped mine around her, inhaling the soft scent of jasmine and sweat and Emma. "You're here," she murmured against my shoulder.

"We won," I said into her hair. "We're going to the finals."

She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes wide. "I know"

"Oh my God, Justin, that's—" She kissed me then, quick but real, full of all the words she couldn't say fast enough.

A loud cough behind us broke the moment.