Chapter 45
Gage
“Why did you have to bring so much crap?” I grunted, my arms aching as I lugged Jenna’s mountain of belongings up yet another damn staircase. My shirt was sticking to my back, sweat dampening the collar, but still she floated along beside me like she was on a goddamn
catwalk.
I mean, one or two suitcases, fine. A duffel, sure. But three massive suitcases, a duffel bag, a
sports bag, and some oversized crossover stuffed full? That was overkill. And of course, I
was carrying all of it.
“It’s not crap,” Jenna shot back, her tone clipped as her thumbs flew across her phone screen like she was competing in some Olympic texting event. How many people could she possibly need to update at once? She didn’t even glance at me, eyes glued to her messages, like I was just her pack mule. “I need every single thing in those bags.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath, blowing out a sigh as I hit the landing for the fourth floor. My arms were shaking, but what really burned wasn’t the weight–it was the thought running through my head.
I couldn’t help but compare it to Bree. Her single duffel bag came to mind instantly, how neat and precise she’d been, packing only what she truly needed. No fuss. No unnecessary extras. Just her essentials, tucked away with quiet efficiency. She was simple in the best way–the kind of girl who didn’t need sparkle or excess to shine.
God, I missed her.
The ache for her never left me. It was constant, gnawing at me every hour of every day. I missed her laugh, the way it bubbled out of her unexpectedly, warm and unguarded. I missed the shy little smiles she gave me, the ones that made me feel like I’d just been handed something priceless. I missed those clear blue eyes that always seemed to see straight through me.
I missed the way she’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear when she got nervous. The flush that would creep across her cheeks when I grinned at her too long. The sharp little spark in her gaze when she caught me or the guys joking around, like she was already planning a
comeback.
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like they’d been made for me. The way her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make my chest tighten. I missed how she’d sigh when I pulled her into me, how she’d melt against me as if she belonged there. And f**k, I missed the way she’d moan my name when
she came undone.
I missed every molecule of Bree Morgan.
But I was playing the long game. I was being patient. I was waiting her out because I knew
this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. My uncle was already working his connections, digging to
find out who had leaked those photos in the first place. And once he had names, once he had
answers, I was going to ask him to do me one more favor–track Bree down. Then I wouldn’t
hesitate. I’d go to her dorm, no matter where it was, scoop her over my shoulder if I had to,
and remind her of everything we had. Remind her that she was mine.
Yeah, it stung that she hadn’t accepted my friend request. That one burned, especially
knowing she’d accepted Caleb’s, Miguel’s, even Kenneth’s. She could let them in, but not me.
Still, I told myself it was just space. If my girl needed distance, I’d give it to her. But the
second she stopped being stubborn, the second she realized she couldn’t breathe without
me either, that space would vanish. Forever.
“Not everyone can be a hobo like you,” Jenna teased, breaking through my thoughts as she
strolled casually down the corridor toward her new room.
I clenched my jaw but kept moving, dragging the heavy suitcases along. Miguel had already
taken my own bags–my single suitcase and sports bag–over to McAlister Court, where we’d
be living for senior year. He’d taken one look at the Everest–sized pile Jenna had handed me,
laughed his ass off, and walked away with my stuff like it weighed nothing.
Mom would send the rest of our things eventually; she always did. Clothes, books, the
random crap I hadn’t bothered packing–she’d mail it in stages until it all arrived. That was
the least of my worries. What I’d really been busy with wasn’t packing at all. No, I’d been
spending my days and nights trying to find traces of Bree online, replaying her voice in my head, daydreaming about her smile, jerking off to the memory of her body stretched out beneath me, moaning my name like it was a prayer.
“I’m not a hobo,” I muttered, rolling the last suitcase down the hall. A group of girls giggled as I passed, batting their lashes, whispering behind their hands. I ignored them. My attention belonged to one girl only. “I’m just not as high–maintenance as you.”
I glanced down at myself. Same as always–shorts, a t–shirt, my cap snug on my head. I
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never cared much about appearances, not beyond the basics. I shaved, I moisturized–Mom
had convinced me years ago, said it would keep my skin healthy, and she was right. It did feel good. But that was where my routine ended. No effort, no hours in the mirror. Just me.
“Whatever, man,” Jenna tossed back, already distracted again as she scrolled her phone. She stopped in front of a door marked Suite 13 and shoved it open without hesitation.
I followed, obedient as always, hauling her bags in like her personal bellhop. That was the
way it had always been. Jenna barked, I carried. It was our unspoken contract. And as much
as she drove me insane, as spoiled as Dad and I had both let her become, I couldn’t help but
love her. She was my sister, and I’d break my back for her every time.
“Just put them here,” she said, pointing toward the far wall.
I dropped the suitcases with a thud, rolling my shoulders to work out the ache. My eyes
swept the room, taking it in. Walton Tower–the oldest dorm on campus, and the one they
always shoved freshmen into first. I knew it well. I’d lived here my own freshman year, in a
room not so different from this one.
But sophomore year, I’d been transferred out to Blakely Hall. The Wolf’s Den, as everyone
called it. A frat house in everything but name–wall–to–wall parties, noise at all hours,
constant chaos. It had been fun at first, but eventually the thrill faded. And now? Now I was
grateful to be somewhere quieter, more private. McAlister Court wasn’t glamorous, but it
would give me what I wanted most: space. Space to nurse a heart that had been torn out of my chest. Space to rage and grieve and dream about the only girl who mattered.
Jenna’s dorm was exactly what I expected. The standard freshman setup–a small common
room with scuffed linoleum floors, three doors leading off it, and a shared bathroom that already smelled faintly like bleach and mildew. The kind of place that would never feel like home, but you made it work because you had no choice.
I’d half expected Jenna to throw one of her legendary tantrums when she found out she had to share with three other girls. That she’d rant about privacy, about space, about how she wasn’t used to “living like a peasant.” But no. Somehow, she’d managed to track down all three of her roommates before move–in. She’d created a group chat, charmed them into her orbit, and by the time she walked in, they already treated her like a queen. Typical Jenna.
Always bending the world to her will.
“Anything else you need?” I asked once I’d hauled in the last of her endless bags, my muscles
burning but my voice steady.
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Jenna gave the room a slow once–over, swiping her hair over her shoulder like she was about to shoot a shampoo commercial. Her eyes narrowed, taking in the empty walls, the bare mattresses. “Nah,” she said finally. “I think I’m good.”
“Alright then,” I said, dragging in a breath and nodding toward the door. “I better get back to my own dorm. But just call if you need anything. I’m ten minutes away. Don’t let any of these f*****g vultures circle you, Jenna. And remember-” I fixed her with a look that made her roll her eyes- “they don’t like you for you. They only like you for what they think they can get between your legs.”
I turned, really looking at her for a moment. She wasn’t my little sister anymore. She was eighteen, starting college, standing on her own two feet. But to me? She’d always be the kid who used to sneak into my bed during thunderstorms, clutching her stuffed rabbit and whispering that she was scared. She’d always be the one who begged me to play dolls, who painted my nails blue once and swore she’d keep my secret. She’d always be the voice in the stands screaming herself hoarse at my games, making damn sure everyone knew whose
brother I was.
“I know, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes again, her mouth curving into a smirk. “Don’t worry, I’ll text you if I need anything. But Oliver will be here soon, and then you can be off duty.”
She grinned like she thought that would reassure me.
Oliver. My stomach clenched at the name. I f*****g hated that guy. Sure, maybe somewhere deep down there was a decent person buried in him, but I didn’t buy it. Not when I knew he was screwing my sister. That was enough to put him on my permanent s**t list.
“I’m never off duty, Jenna,” I said, my voice firmer now, that edge creeping in. “Don’t rely on
him. Rely on me. Always.”
And then, in the space between one breath and the next, something shifted. The air in the hallway seemed to tighten, electric, charged. Every hair on my body stood on end, like the universe was pulling at me, dragging me toward something.
“Alright, big brother,” Jenna sighed, tossing her arms around me in a quick hug. “I’ll text you
first then.”
I hugged her back automatically, my gaze lifting over her shoulder-
And then my heart stopped.
Because at the far end of the hall, standing there like some cruel twist of fate, was my girl.
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Bree.
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She was right there. So close I could see every detail–her shorts brushing her knees, that white top clinging to her curves in ways that made my mouth go dry, the hoodie draped over her shoulders like she hadn’t known what to do with it. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few strands framing her face perfectly, and those glasses–God, those f*****g glasses- made her eyes blaze even brighter, like twin shards of sky.
Her mouth parted when she saw me, her whole body freezing, shock flashing across her face. Color rushed into her cheeks, blooming fast, painting her even more gorgeous than she
already was.
And me? I should’ve been angry. I should’ve been hurt, bitter, furious that she’d left me, that she hadn’t even given me the courtesy of a goodbye. But none of that came. All I felt was raw, unfiltered happiness. She was here. She was standing in front of me, real and alive and
close enough to touch.
But then I saw him.
Some prick leaning over her suitcase, flashing her a grin like he thought he had a shot. The kind of smarmy, too–confident smile you’d see in a bad romcom. He was talking, clearly trying to snag her attention, trying to reel her in. My blood boiled instantly.
But my girl knew better. She knew who she belonged to.
“I gotta go, Jen,” I muttered, pulling back from her hug. My eyes never left Bree. My focus had
narrowed to a razor–sharp point.
And then she moved. She clawed her suitcase away from him, putting distance between them, her body angling toward me. My chest expanded, relief hitting me like a tidal wave.
f**k yes. She was as desperate to get to me as I was to get to her.
I started forward, my grin breaking wide across my face. This was it. This was the moment. She was about to be back in my arms, where she belonged. I could already feel it–the way she’d sink against me, her hands sliding into my hair, her lips on mine. I could already hear the sound of her humming against my mouth, the sound she only made for me.
This was meant to be. She was here all year. She’d be at my games, cheering me on. I’d walk her to class, study with her, spend every spare minute tangled up with her. We’d be the couple everyone envied, the ones who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Nights spent making love until neither of us could move, mornings waking up tangled in sheets and each other.
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It was already written. It was ours.
My arms were ready to open, my lips ready to claim her, my entire body straining toward her like gravity itself demanded it.
And then she turned.
Her hand reached for the handle of the door right in front of her. She opened it.
And just like that, the bottom dropped out of my world.
What the f**k?
Emilia M
So, this book is in an event this week, and because I wanna be nice, I’m gonna make sure the double update fairy comes by every single day from today until Sunday You’re so very welcome And don’t forget to join the group on F*cebook, Emilia M writes, so you know what’s happening
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