I swear I still have a hatred for him

Chapter 1

Emery

Hate.

The English dictionary defines it as “intense or passionate dislike.”

But if you ask me?

Hate is the heat in my blood when I see his face.

It’s the twitch in my eye when he walks past with that infuriating calm like the world bends for him.

Hate is… Atlas freaking Lawson.

I stared down at the paper in my hand.

99%.

Not bad. Actually, excellent. For most people, it would be celebration-worthy.

But not today.

Because across the room, sitting like some broody Greek god with a pen behind his ear and zero awareness of personal space, was Atlas Lawson.

And taped to the top corner of his paper?

100.

Of course.

Of course he got a perfect score.

I didn’t realize I was burning holes into the side of his head until he looked up.

Our eyes met.

His lips twitched.

A smile.

A small, smug, soul-crushing smile.

And then he turned to his friend and said something that made him laugh.

Like I was invisible. Like he hadn’t just one-upped me for the eighth time this semester.

That’s it.

That’s it.

I was about to lose my freaking mind.

“I swear,” I muttered through clenched teeth, “if he smirks at me one more time, I’m going to shove this test paper down his—”

“Okay, relax, assassin Barbie.”

Laila, my best friend and long-time chaos anchor, leaned across the desk with her usual iced coffee and a raised brow. “You’re legit about to shoot lasers at him.”

“Oh, I wish I could do more.” I flung the paper onto my desk like it had personally betrayed me.

Laila stifled a laugh. “It’s just one point, Em. You still got the second-highest score.”

“That only makes it worse!” I hissed, glaring at the red ink like it mocked me. “If it were anyone else, fine. I’d shrug it off. But it’s him.”

“Atlas Lawson,” Laila said dreamily, her eyes glued to him like he was the sun incarnate. Sadly, my beautiful friend had also fallen blindly into the trap of his looks, which, by the way, I still thought was nothing far from average (okay, maybe I lied).

I rolled my eyes. “The bane of my high school existence.”

She sipped her iced coffee and didn’t even try to hide her grin. “He doesn’t even talk to anyone, Em. Maybe he’s not evil. Just… socially constipated.”

“He smiled, Laila.”

“Oh, the audacity.”

I dropped my forehead to the desk and groaned. “Why couldn’t he be dumb? Or ugly? Or… I don’t know, allergic to pencils?”

Laila chuckled, reaching over to pat my back. “You’re spiraling again.”

I didn’t reply. I just let my cheek press against the cold desk, eyes peeking over the edge at him.

Atlas was now stretching, arms over his head, muscles flexing under his stupid black hoodie like he was in some sportswear ad.

God.

I hate him.

I hate him so freaking bad.

And the worst part?

This was only Monday.

***

I don’t usually hate people.

In fact, I love everyone.

I’m that girl. The one who volunteers on weekends, bottle-feeds sick puppies, bakes cookies for bake sales, and organizes food drives like it’s a competitive sport. I’m the “teacher’s favorite,” the “golden girl,” the one with the heart of gold, as Mrs. Benson once said while dabbing tears from her eyes at the spring award ceremony.

All A’s.

Captain of the swim team.

Medals? I lost count.

Smiles? Always.

Enemies?

Just one.

Atlas freaking Lawson.

He’s the only person on this earth who makes my blood pressure rise like a thermometer in hell.

I remember the first day he transferred.

He walked into school wearing that hoodie pulled up, hair slightly damp, bag slung over one shoulder like he couldn’t care less. Every girl in a 30-foot radius physically stopped breathing. But not me. No, I was on a mission to be kind.

I approached him at the vending machines.

“Word of advice,” I’d said with a sunny grin, tilting my head toward the machine, “unless you’re into stomach cramps, avoid the tuna sandwich.”

He blinked at me.

Didn’t laugh.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t even nod.

Just walked right past me.

At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he didn’t hear me? Maybe he was having a rough day? But every time after that, every joke, every smile, every attempt to be even slightly human to him, he ignored me.

But here’s the thing about me: I don’t give up.

The more he pushed me away, the more I was determined to break through that arctic wall of broody silence.

So, after one of his hockey games where he’d scored the winning goal and the crowd was practically chanting his name, I decided to be the bigger person. I waited by the locker exit, holding a small white box tied with a blue ribbon.

Homemade chocolate chip cookies. Still warm.

I even wrapped them in tissue paper with hockey stick stickers. I’m not a monster.

He stepped out, hair still wet from the shower, jersey slung over one shoulder. His eyes met mine briefly, and I forced the kindest, brightest, most Emery Collins smile I could manage.

“Hey,” I said cheerfully, stepping forward. “That was insane, you crushed it. I baked these. For you.”

He looked at the box.

Then at me.

Then said, “No, thank you.”

And walked away.

My smile faltered. My stomach twisted.

No, thank you?

That was it. I snapped.

“Why are you such an asshole?” I blurted.

He stopped. Turned. A slow, raised brow.

“What?”

“Did I do something to you?” I asked louder. Now people were turning to look like I was crazy but at this point I couldn’t care less.

He stared at me, calm and unreadable. “No.”

“Then why do you act like I’m this massive pain in your ass? I’ve cracked jokes, offered you my pen, saved you a seat in homeroom. I even helped you find your locker when you got lost that day, and you didn’t even say thank you. I’ve tried, Atlas. I’ve really tried to be your friend.”

His jaw ticked. His voice was low, cold. “I never asked you to be my friend.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He folded his arms, tone sharp but even. “Look, I don’t want to be part of your little Miss Princess Act.”

I stepped back like I’d been slapped. “Miss Princess, what?”

“You don’t have to make everyone like you. You don’t have to pretend to be kind just to feel good about yourself.”

My throat tightened, heart slamming against my ribs, my hand still holding the damn cookie box like a trophy of humiliation.

People were watching. Whispering.

And he just turned and walked away.

No.

No freaking way he was going to walk away after embarrassing me like that.

“Atlas!” I yelled.

He stopped mid-step.

I stormed up to him and shoved the box into his chest, hard enough that he had to grab it.

“Fine,” I snapped. “You don’t want to be friends? Great. Amazing. But mark my words, I’m going to crush you. On the track, in the classroom, wherever I see you…I’m coming for the crown. And you can thrash the cookies if you want to.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked off like a girl on fire.

I didn’t look back.

But I really hoped he choked on the smell of chocolate chip cookies.

And that, right there, that embarrassing cookie moment in the hallway was the very beginning of my downfall.

Because, as much as I wanted to write Atlas Lawson off as a one-time nuisance, the universe had other plans. Evil, well-packaged, six-foot-two plans with annoyingly good cheekbones and an even more annoyingly high IQ.

Turns out, Atlas stupid, annoying jerk-face Lawson wasn’t just a hockey prodigy with lips women would write songs about.

Nope.

He was smart.

So smart, in fact, that he managed to do the unthinkable, push me to second place in our final GPA rankings.

SECOND place!

Me.

That had never happened. Not in Preschool, not in Elementary school, not in middle school, and certainly not in my entire four years of high-functioning, overachieving, anxiety-powered high school life.

And now, on graduation day, I sat there in my cap and gown, clapping like a good little graduate while the Dean called out his name.

“And now, it’s my honor to recognize the student who has achieved the highest academic distinction in the graduating class of 2024. This year’s Valedictorian, with the highest cumulative GPA, is Atlas Lawson!”

Cue the thunderous applause.

I rolled my eyes so hard I swear I saw the inside of my skull.

There he went.

Walking across the stage like he owned the damn planet. The crowd loved it. Even the parents behind me murmured, “he’s so handsome” and “what a bright young man.”

Barf.

Gag me with a diploma.

But no. I wasn’t going to let him ruin this moment. This was my graduation too. And I had other things to be happy about…real things.

Like my amazing friends.

My loyal boyfriend Kevin.

My bright, glittering future.

And most importantly…

“There’s my little golden locks!”

I turned just in time to be swept into a bear hug.

“Dad,” I laughed as he spun me gently and then set me back on the ground.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” he said, his voice thick. “And I know your mom would be too.”

My chest squeezed, and I smiled through it, gripping his arms tightly. “Thanks, Dad.”

We pulled apart, and he wiped his eyes like he wasn’t totally getting emotional, which meant I was definitely getting emotional. But before I could say anything else, his face lit up, and he turned.

“Oh! There he is, the man of the hour.”

My dad said a little too excited as he stepped forward and extended a hand.

To Atlas.

I blinked.

Wait.

No. No no no no no.

And then I remembered.

Oh yeah.

The one tiny, soul-crushing detail I conveniently forgot to mention:

My dad is dating Atlas Lawson’s mom.

Yup.

Let that marinate.

My actual father.

Dating the mother of my academic nemesis.

The human migraine that has haunted my educational career.

The universe really does hate me.

And honestly?

At this point, I think the feeling’s mutual.

Chapter 2

Atlas

My forehead rested against the cool glass of the window, headphones drowning out the world.

The kind of music that didn’t have words, just enough bass and emotion to keep the silence from swallowing me whole.

Outside, rows of unfamiliar houses blurred past, this town looking nothing like what I used to know. New streets. New school.

No friends.

Scratch that, friend. Singular. Past tense.

Everything I knew was three hours behind me.

This? This was a forced restart. One I didn’t ask for.

The car slowed, then stopped.

Through the windshield, the sign read:

Crescent Hill High School.

Figures.

“Hey, bud.”

I pulled off my headphones and turned to see my mom giving me that brave smile, the one she wore when she wanted to pretend everything was okay.

“You can do this, okay? Fresh start.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Not because I believed it. Just because I didn’t want her to worry.

Her hand reached out, squeezing my shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I stepped out, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

She waved. I waved back.

Then she drove off, leaving a quiet cloud of reassurance in her trail.

And me. Alone. Again.

I turned to face the school building.

Modern brick, tall windows, groups of students huddling near the entrance.

I took one breath.

Then my phone buzzed.

AVERY.

I stared at the screen for three seconds.

Then hit end call.

Then block number.

Fresh start.

No past. No attachments. No second chances.

I slipped my phone in my back pocket and made my way inside.

The main office smelled like lavender and floor polish. I barely made it two steps in before a voice called out, “Atlas Lawson?”

I looked up to see a woman standing behind the desk.

Warm brown skin, soft features, and a full afro wrapped in a vibrant headband. She wore a sunflower pin on her blouse and smiled like she’d known me for years.

“Hi, sweetheart! I’m Mrs. Benson, the principal. Welcome to Crescent Hill.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

She looked me over, eyes kind but sharp. “Now, I know you probably don’t need a tour, but I insist. We’re not going to let you wander around like a lost duck.”

“I’m fine…”

“Nope.”

She was already on the intercom before I could finish. “Emery Collins to the main office, please. Thank you, darling.”

I exhaled. Of course.

A few minutes passed before the door opened, and in came a girl I absolutely wasn’t ready for.

Blonde.

Freckles.

Green eyes that seemed to glow when the sunlight hit them.

And a smile that was so bright it almost knocked me backwards.

She looked like everything this town probably loved:

Effortlessly pretty.

Golden glow.

Confident walk.

“Hey!” she beamed. “I’m Emery. I’ve been recruited as your official school guide-slash-welcome committee.”

Great.

I gave her a nod. “Atlas.”

“Cool name.” She didn’t wait for a response. “Alright, let’s go. You’ll love it here. I mean, maybe not at first, but it grows on you. Like mold but, you know, the cute kind.”

I said nothing.

She didn’t seem to notice or care. She just kept talking.

And smiling.

And walking backwards as she led me down the hallway.

“This is the main corridor. You’ve got History with Mr. Falkner he’s kind of obsessed with the Cold War. Oh, and the gym is where the swim team practices. That’s my baby. Don’t worry, you’ll meet Coach Sims. He’s like a golden retriever in sneakers.”

She laughed at her own joke.

I didn’t.

Not because she wasn’t funny.

Just because my phone buzzed again.

I slid it out, expecting another blocked number.

Nope.

DAD: “Heard you ran away with your mom. Tell her to stop turning you into a little princess.”

My fingers curled around the phone.

Emery was still talking beside me, pointing toward the cafeteria.

I couldn’t hear a word.

My throat tightened. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, heart pounding.

Just breathe.

We turned a corner, and without warning, I walked off down another hallway, away from the tour, away from her voice.

I leaned against a locker and closed my eyes.

Breathe.

One... two...

Then I yanked out my phone and typed:

Don’t text me again.

Ever.

Sent.

Blocked.

Deleted the message before it could burn a hole through my memory.

This was my fresh start.

And I’d be damned if I let anyone ruin it.

***

I didn’t mean to be a jerk to Emery.

At least… not at first.

But something about her rubbed against every raw edge I was trying to keep buried.

She was too bright. Too nice. Too perfect.

The kind of person who made you feel like you were doing life wrong just by existing in the same hallway.

And I know how that sounds like I’m bitter.

But the truth is, she reminded me of a version of life I no longer believed in.

One, I buried six feet under the day I stopped pretending my old world hadn’t burned down around me.

She was the poster girl for everything I wasn’t.

Star student.

Golden child.

Flawless smile.

The kind of girl that sunshine probably asked permission to shine on.

To me? It all seemed fake. No one’s that happy. No one cares that much.

And even if she was genuinely like that, it didn’t matter—because I wasn’t interested in being part of anyone’s fairytale. Especially not hers.

So, I kept my distance.

She was all flowers and sunshine, and I was the thunderstorm trying to stay out of reach.

That was the plan.

Until she made it so damn hard to ignore her.

She smiled at me like I deserved it.

Cracked jokes like we shared some inside language.

Offered pens, saved me seats, said things like “this class will make you want to walk into traffic, but the vending machine has Oreos, so it balances out.”

And every time I tried to walk away, she chased harder.

Chirping laughter. Freckles. Vanilla perfume.

God.

I told myself she was just another people pleaser. Trying to win me over like she did the rest of the school.

And maybe that’s why, when she handed me that box of cookies after my game, I said it. Cold. Flat.

“No thank you.”

I don’t even like chocolate chip. I’m not a sweet tooth kind of guy.

But the second it left my mouth, I knew how it sounded.

Like I’d kicked a puppy. Or a Disney character.

She stood there, blinking. Crushed. Then fuming.

And just when I thought she’d storm off like the rest of the world?

She came back.

Marched straight up and shoved the cookie box into my chest.

“Fine, you don’t want to be friends? That’s great. But mark my words I’m going to crush you. And you can thrash the cookies if you want to.”

Then she spun on her heel and disappeared.

Cute.

Really freaking cute.

And just like that, I became the only black book in Emery’s perfectly color-coded library.

Chapter 3

Atlas

She glared at me like I’d insulted her bloodline.

Made it her mission to beat me at everything.

Every test? We danced between 99s and 100s like it was war.

Every assignment? She handed hers in like she wanted to kill me with paper cuts.

And every game we won? She baked cookies… for Kevin.

Yeah. Her boyfriend. Mr. Letterman Jacket himself.

He got smiles. Hugs. Homemade desserts.

I got glares. And the occasional death threat through narrowed green eyes.

Eventually, I came out on top.

Valedictorian.

Top of the class.

And not because I wanted to win.

Because I had to.

After graduation, I expected the usual post-ceremony chaos photos, parties, people I didn’t care to see.

But my mom insisted we go to dinner.

At Mr. Collins’ house.

Yeah. Emery’s dad.

Who, surprise, had been dating my mom for over a year.

At first, I hated the idea.

Too close. Too weird. Too many reasons to make eye contact with someone who wanted to bury me in a shallow academic grave.

But then I saw my mom laughing. Smiling.

The kind of smile I hadn’t seen since before the divorce. Since before Dad drank us into silence.

And just like that, I stopped caring where we were.

Because she was finally happy.

And if that meant Emery freaking Collins would be a little harder to avoid…

Then I’d deal with it.

***

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Emery Collins, it’s this…

She’s very easy to mess with.

Not because she’s weak.

No, not at all.

But because she gets flustered. Fast.

One eyebrow raise, one well-placed smirk, and she’s rolling her eyes so hard I swear I can hear it.

And for some reason…

I like it.

I like the banter. The glares. The way her voice pitches just slightly higher when she’s irritated.

I never say it. God forbid she knew.

But I do.

I enjoy every second of poking the golden girl.

Tonight was no different.

Dinner at Rory Collins’ house was like stepping into a five-star buffet with the heart of a family-owned diner.

Plates of roasted lamb, garlic mashed potatoes, honey-glazed carrots, two types of pasta, and three kinds of bread.

The man didn’t cook…he orchestrated.

“Wow, this looks amazing,” my mom said as she took a seat beside him.

“The one and only,” Rory grinned proudly. “Thought I’d go large considering we’re in a room filled with the latest graduates.”

Mom laughed, resting a hand on his arm.

I took the seat beside Emery, who didn’t bother glancing at me.

“We’re so proud of you guys,” Mom said warmly, eyes flicking between us.

“Thanks, Daisy,” Emery replied with a polite smile, reaching for the mashed potatoes.

“Let’s feast!” Rory boomed, and just like that, everyone dug in.

The table filled with clinks of cutlery, shared laughter, and conversation.

My mom and Rory had a rhythm. It was weird at first, watching her laugh so freely.

But not bad.

Not bad at all.

Emery and my mom got along pretty well too. Better than I expected, honestly.

“So, Emery,” Mom said, sipping her wine, “have you made a decision on college yet?”

Emery dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin like she was on some talk show. “Still deciding. I applied to two.”

“Oh?” Mom leaned in. “Which ones?”

“Braymont University and Linchester,” she replied, trying to sound casual, but I caught the spark in her eyes when she said the first name.

Braymont.

Right.

The elite, glossy-campus, dream school with the top swim team in the country.

The same school she’s probably been manifesting since she was ten.

“And which one’s your favorite?” my mom asked, already knowing the answer.

“Braymont,” Emery said. “It’s been my dream school forever. Their swimming program basically shapes Olympians.”

I didn’t argue with that.

As much as I wanted to roll my eyes, Emery wasn’t just a good swimmer she was ridiculous. Fast, focused, lethal in the water.

She may have been annoying, but she earned her medals.

“What about Linchester?” my mom asked.

I paused. Fork mid-air.

Because that’s where I was going.

Hockey scholarship. Full ride.

I didn’t think she knew that yet.

Emery blinked. “It’s fine. Just… not Braymont.”

“Well, Linchester has an amazing sports program too,” Mom said. “Their swim team is ranked sixth in the country. And wouldn’t it be fun if you and Atlas ended up at the same school?”

I didn’t say a word. Just chewed slowly, watching her reaction.

She scoffed, muttering under her breath, “More like a pain in the ass.”

Rory cleared his throat. “Emery.”

She looked up all sweetness and smiles. “Thanks for dinner, Dad. Daisy.”

Then stood and grabbed her plate like she hadn’t just stabbed me with verbal cutlery.

“I’ll clear the table,” she added, already heading toward the kitchen.

My mom smiled, unbothered. Rory leaned back with a sigh.

And I, enjoyed my meal.

Dinner was over. Emery had disappeared up to her room like I had personally offended her existence…again.

Not surprising.

I stayed at the table, absently dragging my fork through the remnants of dessert while my mom and Rory got cozy on the couch.

Their laughter hummed in the background, soft and weirdly sweet.

Domestic bliss or whatever.

My phone buzzed.

Nash: Yo, Lawson. You still coming?

Dallas is already six cans deep and dared Sarah to do a keg stand.

A second later, he sent a blurry photo of Dallas, shirt halfway off, chugging beer like it was water and dignity wasn’t a thing.

Typical.

Me: I’m on my way.

I stood and stretched, grabbing my hoodie from the back of the chair when..

Click. Click.

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

I turned..

And there she was.

Emery Collins, in a short black, flowery dress that barely grazed her thighs.

Legs long.

Blonde golden hair curled in soft waves and flowing down her back

A little shimmer on her collarbone that caught the hallway light.

And of course… no jacket.

“You do realize it’s going to get colder, right?” I said, more instinct than intention.

She didn’t even look at me. “You do realize I don’t need your opinion, right?”

Classic.

“Dad, I’m off to the party!” she called out.

From the living room, Rory answered, “Wait isn’t that the same party Atlas is going to?”

Emery stopped like she’d just been slapped with cosmic betrayal.

I smirked.

“Yeah,” I replied, tossing my keys up and catching them mid-air.

“Perfect,” my mom chimed in. “Atlas can drop you off.”

Emery’s face twisted like someone had just asked her to share a toothbrush with me.

“I’m good,” she said quickly. “Kevin’s probably already there…”

“Nonsense,” Rory cut in. “It’s safer this way. Atlas is already heading out.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but one stern dad-look later, she shut it and gave me a glare that could’ve melted glass.

“Fine,” she mumbled.

I stepped toward the door and glanced back. “You coming, or should I text Nash to bring a leash?”

She didn’t answer. Just stalked past me with a huff, flowery skirt swaying with every step like it was trying to slap me in the face.

I bit back a grin.

This ride was going to be fun.

Chapter 4

Atlas

The drive was quiet.

Tense.

The kind of silence that wasn’t exactly peaceful but not uncomfortable either. Just… simmering.

Emery sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the window like the streetlights had personally wronged her.

I had music playing low some indie rock playlist Nash had sent me but even that felt like background noise to the hum of her energy beside me.

Then the red light hit.

The car slowed to a stop, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shiver.

Bare arms.

Exposed shoulders.

That stupid floral dress with tiny straps and nothing else.

Of course, she still didn't carry her jacket.

And of course, she wouldn’t admit she was cold.

I didn’t mean to look at her.

But I did.

My eyes dipped, trailing lower…

Her chest rose slightly with each breath. The cold had clearly gotten to her…hardened nipples visible through the thin fabric.

No bra.

Great.

Just what I needed to see.

I looked away instantly, jaw tightening, focus snapping back to the road ahead.

Without saying a word, I pulled off my jacket and tossed it onto her lap.

She blinked. “I… I’m fine.”

I sighed. “You’re practically shivering, Collins. Wear the damn jacket.”

She hesitated, like taking it would be admitting defeat.

Then she scoffed and slid it on. My jacket dwarfed her frame, sleeves past her wrists, but she didn’t complain again.

I reached forward and turned on the heater. Warm air filled the car as we drove in silence.

I didn’t look at her again.

Didn’t trust myself to.

When we finally pulled up to the house, the pulsing bass of music hit before we even stepped out.

I parked at the curb, engine still running.

Emery unbuckled her seatbelt, then turned to me with that signature annoyed-but-glowing look.

“Don’t bother looking for me later,” she said flatly. “I’ll be going home with Laila and Kev.”

I shrugged. “Wasn’t planning on babysitting.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped out, slamming the door with more drama than necessary.

I watched her walk off, her long legs disappearing into the swarm of partygoers as she was immediately greeted by Laila and Kevin.

A cheer went up somewhere near the porch. Someone already had a red Solo cup on their head.

Typical Crescent Hill party chaos.

I exhaled and got out, hoodie-less, cold air biting at my skin.

“LAWSON!”

Nash waved from the driveway, already halfway through his second beer. “Get your ass over here, man!”

I caught the beer Nash tossed me midair and handed it right back.

“I’m driving, asshole. Can’t get drunk.”

“Boohoo,” he muttered, cracking open his own.

It wasn’t like I was playing designated driver or anything.

Not officially.

But let’s be honest, I already knew I’d be the one driving Emery home.

Even if she didn’t want me to.

Even if she’d rather ride a damn bicycle blindfolded through traffic than admit it.

I didn’t trust Kevin. Not with her. Not when she was drunk and smiling and letting her guard down.

I wandered inside, dodging beer spills and grinding bodies, and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge.

Cold. Unopened. Uncomplicated.

I found a spot at the end of the room, and leaned back against the wall.

That’s when I noticed her.

Short brunette hair. Tight black crop top. Confidence in her walk.

She was eyeing me like I was something worth unwrapping.

She finally approached.

“Mind if I join you?”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I see you’re not drinking,” she said, eyeing the soda in my hand.

“Driving.”

She smiled. “Very noble of you.”

Her voice was soft. Flirty.

She said her name was Kara…I think.

She talked about college, hockey, asked if I had a girlfriend. Basic stuff.

She was cute.

Funny.

Nice.

But my eyes kept drifting.

Across the room, Emery was dancing.

Red Solo cup in one hand. Laughter spilled out of her mouth as she moved with Laila.

Then Kevin stepped in, pulling her closer.

Hands on her waist.

Their bodies swaying.

She smiled up at him, loose and golden and tipsy.

I looked away.

Back to Kara.

Right. Focus.

“So,” she said casually, sipping her drink, “you and Emery, huh? I heard your parents are dating.”

“Yeah.”

I looked at her now.

She grinned. “Wow. That’s nice. Who knows, maybe you guys could become siblings. That’d be epic.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

She laughed, clearly not catching the tightness in my voice.

Truth?

I could handle Emery’s stubbornness. Her sarcasm. Her eye rolls.

All of it.

If it meant my mom was finally happy, I’d deal with it a thousand times over.

Kara kept talking. I kept nodding.

But then…

I glanced toward the dance floor again.

No Emery.

The spot she had been dancing in was empty.

Kevin? Gone.

That weird, sinking feeling crept in.

Low in my gut.

I stood up, cutting Kara off mid-sentence.

“Hey…sorry. I need to check something.”

I made my way toward Nash, who was now trying to stack empty cups into a pyramid.

“Yo,” I said, stepping in. “You seen Kev or Emery?”

Before he could answer, Dallas stumbled over, red-faced and reeking of beer.

“Probably fucking Emery,” he slurred with a laugh. “Been talking non-stop about it all week.”

Nash shoved him. “You asshole, shut up.”

My jaw clenched.

Something sharp flickered under my skin.

“Where is he?”

My voice was low.

Too calm.

I swear, if Kevin had her somewhere alone, drunk, vulnerable, and laid even one wrong finger on her?

I’d break every single one of his fingers.

Chapter 5

Emery

After dinner, I went straight up to my room and closed the door behind me like it was a secret.

Because tonight?

It was the night.

I slipped into the short black flowery dress I’d picked out days ago. It hugged my curves just right, the tiny white flowers scattered across the fabric like stars. The thin straps tied neatly over my shoulders, and the neckline dipped just low enough to whisper I'm ready, but not scream it.

I curled my hair, letting it fall in soft waves over my back, and did a light swipe of makeup, just enough blush to make me look glowy, just enough mascara to make my eyes pop.

A spritz of my favorite perfume behind my ears.

Then, with a small smile, I pulled open my drawer.

Condoms.

Because I wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

This was my night. My decision.

I loved Kevin. I was sure of that.

And tonight, I was ready to give him something I’d held onto for so long.

I tucked them into my small purse, did one final spin in front of the mirror, and headed downstairs.

Confident.

Excited.

Slightly nervous.

Until I saw him.

Atlas freaking Lawson.

Still here. Still looking like a walking punch to my mood.

Seriously? I thought he’d left already.

The second my dad spotted me, I just knew it.

“Atlas can drop you off,” he said.

I smiled like it didn’t murder me inside.

“Great,” I muttered. Way to ruin the moment.

We barely spoke in the car.

The silence was loud, like always.

But as we slowed at a red light, a shiver ran through me. I should’ve brought a jacket, but I’d been too focused on… well, not that.

Now I was freezing.

And worse?

No bra.

My nipples had chosen violence tonight and were practically waving hello to Atlas.

Please don’t look. Please don’t look. Please don’t…

A jacket hit my lap.

His.

“I…I’m fine,” I said, even though I was probably a few seconds from hypothermia.

He didn’t even blink.

“You’re practically shivering, Collins. Wear the damn jacket.”

Ugh.

I hated that he was right.

I hated even more that his stupid hoodie was warm and smelled like cedar and soap and him.

I tugged it on. The sleeves hung way past my wrists, and the hem hit my thighs. He was 6’2. I was 5’5.

I looked like I was playing dress-up in the some giant’s closet.

But damn it, I was warm.

When we pulled up in front of Nash’s house, I didn’t even wait for the car to stop fully.

I turned to him.

“Don’t bother looking for me later. I’ll be going home with Laila and Kev.”

“Wasn’t planning on babysitting.”

Good.

I slammed the door and walked up the driveway, where Laila was already waving at me.

“You look so beautiful!” she said, pulling me into a hug.

I grinned. “You look hot!”

And she did.

Her hair was braided into a sleek ponytail with two strands framing her face, her outfit perfectly Laila fitted jeans, a cropped tank top, and a cropped denim jacket.

“I try my best,” she said with a wink. “Hoping Atlas might notice me tonight.”

“Eweeh,” I fake gagged, laughing. “I totally forgot about your massive, delusional crush on him.”

“Delusional?! Excuse me, that man is walking sin.”

I rolled my eyes, giggling. “Where’s Kev?”

“He stepped out for a bit, should be back soon.”

I nodded, pretending my heart didn’t just speed up a little.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s dance.”

“Hell yes.”

The music pulsed through the room, bass vibrating in my chest, lights flickering between purple and gold as Laila and I moved with the crowd.

We danced like we always did laughing, spinning, letting go of everything that didn’t matter.

But then I felt it.

A shift.

A pull.

Like someone had hooked a string to the back of my neck.

I paused, breath catching slightly, and glanced up.

Atlas.

Leaning against the wall like he wasn’t part of the chaos.

His arms were crossed, and some brunette girl with glossy lips and a low-cut top was talking to him.

She was smiling, leaning in, laughing like she was the main character in some romcom.

But he wasn’t even looking at her.

He was looking at me.

What the hell.

He didn’t even bother to glance away. Didn’t pretend he wasn’t watching me.

Just stood there, all dark eyes and quiet judgment, like I was a movie he’d seen before and still didn’t understand.

My skin prickled, heat rising up my neck.

Why was he staring?

And why did my stomach twist because of it?

I forced myself to ignore him.

Definitely just the lighting. Or the heat. Or the fact that his stare felt way too intense for a guy who hated my guts.

“Hey, baby,” a voice murmured behind me.

Warm hands slid around my waist, pulling me close.

Kevin.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my neck, his breath sending a little shiver down my spine.

Laila grinned and backed away. “I’m gonna leave you lovebirds alone.”

I laughed as I waved her bye.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing my collarbone as we swayed together.

“I always look beautiful,” I teased, grinning.

He chuckled, hands gripping my waist a little tighter. Our bodies pressed together, moving with the beat.

But even as we danced, I could still feel Atlas’s eyes on me.

Heavy. Watching.

I didn’t look up.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

If he wanted to stare like some judgmental gargoyle, fine. Be my guest. I had other things on my mind.

Kevin’s breath hitched slightly, and I felt him press closer and that’s when I felt it poking my back.

He was hard.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” he asked, voice husky.

I hesitated for half a second.

Then smiled.

“Yes.”

He laced our fingers together and pulled me through the crowd, leading me upstairs, one step at a time.

My heart was racing.

But I told myself it was excitement.

Just excitement.

Not nerves.

Not hesitation.

***

The moment Kevin closed the door behind us, his hands were on me.

Lips crashing against mine, breaths shallow and uneven as he walked us backward until I fell onto the bed with a soft thud.

He followed, kissing down my neck, warm and eager.

“Wait…” I said between kisses, head turning slightly. “We shouldn’t be here… Nash would…”

He kissed me again, deeper. “Nash is cool with this,” he mumbled against my skin, voice low and hot.

Our foreheads pressed together, both of us breathing like we’d just run a marathon.

“Can I… do you… I don’t…” Kevin stammered, his hands braced on either side of me.

I reached up, touching his cheek, smiling softly. “Yes.”

His shoulders relaxed as I leaned to the side, opening my purse. I pulled out the little silver packet and held it up between two fingers.

His eyes widened.

He chuckled, his grin boyish. “I see you came prepared.”

“Always.”

We laughed, nerves softening into something warmer, gentler.

Then he kissed me again slower this time, hands gentler, like he was savoring every second.

He shifted above me, pulling off his shirt before leaning down.

His fingers moved to the tied straps of my dress, carefully untying each one.

The fabric fell from my shoulders, slipping down to reveal my breasts—round, flushed, and bare.

Kevin’s breath caught.

His mouth parted slightly as his gaze drank me in like I was something sacred.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

He lowered himself again, lips tracing the curve of my neck, moving down, down…

Just as his mouth was about to capture my breast…

The door flew open.

“What the hell…?!”

I gasped, arms moving on instinct to cover myself.

Atlas.

Furious. Storm-eyed.

Standing in the doorway like an avenging angel with a personal vendetta and a death wish.

Before I could even react, he moved.

In one breath, he snatched his jacket off the floor and threw it over me, shielding my chest.

In the next, he had flung Kevin off me, shoving him back so hard the bed creaked.

“What the fuck, Atlas?!” I screamed.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

“You can’t just…”

“Actually,” he snapped, eyes burning into mine, “I can. Or would you rather I call your dad and let him know what his little golden locks is up to in Nash’s guest room?”

My mouth fell open.

I was shaking part rage, part humiliation as I grabbed the stupid jacket around me.

His scent was all over it.

I stood, fire in my chest, and flipped him off with both hands. “Screw you.”

Then I stormed out.

And in that moment, if I had hated Atlas Lawson before?

Now?

I fucking despised him.

Chapter 6

Emery

I hadn’t spoken to Atlas in weeks.

I was furious with him…livid…after what he pulled at Nash’s party. Storming in like he was some self-appointed morality police, throwing a jacket over me like I was five, dragging me out like I hadn’t just made a choice for myself.

It was humiliating.

Infuriating.

And so, typically, Atlas.

So I did what any rational person would do: I ignored him.

Kev and I kept seeing having our cute dates and all but that was all for some weird reason Kev never went further at first I thought atlas had sacred the poor guy but then…

The truth came out.

Kev.

That lying, cheating, slimeball of a boyfriend.

A video leaked someone’s drunk Snap, reshared a thousand times within hours.

And there he was, in a dark room, pants down, moaning over a girl who definitely wasn’t me.

I stared at the screen like it was glitching.

But it wasn’t.

It was real.

Raw.

Stupidly loud.

And worst of all? He was wearing the hoodie I’d gotten him for his birthday.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t rage.

I didn’t even scream.

I just grabbed my phone, blocked his number, and made a plan.

***

The next morning, I stood outside his house holding a white pastry box and the most satisfying level of petty rage I’d ever felt.

Laila sat in the passenger seat of her car behind me, phone at the ready, eyes glinting like it was premiere night.

Kev came out with a duffel bag over his shoulder, about to head to the airport. His parents were already in Canada, and he was leaving for school there too.

Perfect timing.

No emotional closure.

No goodbye kiss.

No final “I still love you.”

Just this.

When he saw me, his entire face shifted.

“Babe…Emery…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…It was a…”

“Mistake?” I said flatly, raising one brow. “Yeah. Figured you’d say that.”

Then I held out the box.

His dumbass actually took it, opening it slowly like I might’ve baked him some heartfelt sorry-we’re-over brownies.

Inside was a cake.

Not just any cake.

A two-layer, perfectly frosted, anatomically accurate dick cake complete with sprinkles.

He blinked. “What the fu…”

SPLAT.

I slammed the cake into his face, frosting smashing against his nose and cheeks, bits of sprinkle flying into the air like confetti at a breakup party.

“Bon voyage, douchebag,” I said sweetly, brushing off my hands.

I turned and strutted back to Laila’s car.

She was practically vibrating with joy.

As soon as I got in, she let out a scream.

“That. Was. EPIC.”

I grinned. “I aim to please.”

We peeled off down the street as Kev stood there, frosted and stunned, looking like the literal clown he was.

And honestly?

I felt amazing.

I may have hated Atlas for as long as I could remember …

But now?

I hated Kevin a whole lot more.

Chapter 7

Emery

Laila and I sat at our favorite corner booth in Bean & Bloom, sipping on iced matcha and trying to act like the past week hadn’t been an emotional train wreck wrapped in glittery rage.

The place smelled like vanilla, cinnamon, and healing.

“I still can’t believe that asshole,” I said, leaning back in my seat, swirling my straw aggressively. “He was acting like he was a damn virgin or something talking all soft like we were going to be each other’s first.”

Laila shook her head, eyes wide with disgust. “Men have the audacity and the nerve. I’m honestly so disappointed in him, Em. But I’m glad you found out before it went any further. He doesn’t deserve your virginity.”

I raised my drink like a toast. “Say that again.”

She clinked her cup against mine. “To never wasting your first time on lying jerks with weak jawlines and floppy hair.”

We both sipped, and for a second, I actually smiled.

Until she tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at me.

“You know,” she said slowly, “if it wasn’t for Atlas stepping in that night… it could’ve been a different story.”

I blinked. “True. But…wait, how did he even know?”

Laila shrugged. “That’s what I was going to ask you.”

I went quiet, fingers tapping the cup.

Truth was, I had no idea.

I hadn’t talked to him.

Not once since that night.

And the last thing I said to him?

Something along the lines of:

“You’re a self-absorbed, jacket-throwing control freak with the emotional range of a teaspoon,”

plus some other less graceful words I was trying to mentally scrub from the record.

Laila gave me that look. The one that said she was about to hit me with the moral high ground.

“I get that you hate him,” she said gently, “but I think… maybe you owe him an apology.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Sighed.

“As much as I hate to admit it…” I muttered. “You might be right.”

Because deep down, underneath all the annoyance and spite and chaos…

Atlas Lawson didn’t have to do what he did that night.

But he did.

And whether I liked it or not…

He might’ve just saved me from a mistake I would’ve never forgiven myself for.

***

The next day, I found myself standing in front of Atlas Lawson’s front door with way too much pride stuffed in my throat and not nearly enough of an apology prepared.

Daisy opened the door with that warm, sunbeam-of-a-smile she always wore. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Daisy,” I said, returning her smile.

“He’s in his room,” she said, stepping aside to let me in.

I nodded, taking a breath as I walked through the familiar hallway and up the stairs. His door was cracked, and I knocked once.

“Come in.”

His voice was calm. Unbothered.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside—and froze for a second.

His room was almost completely packed up.

Boxes were stacked by the window, posters taken down, drawers empty. It looked like a ghost of itself.

He was sitting on the floor, folding a hoodie into a duffel bag, eyes flicking up to meet mine.

“Hey,” he said simply.

I crossed my arms. “I can see you’re busy. I’ll just—”

“It’s fine,” he cut in, standing. “I’ve already packed everything.”

I walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath me.

The silence that settled between us was thick with awkward tension.

I cleared my throat. “Congratulations on Linchester.”

“Thanks,” he said, leaning against the desk. “And… I’m sorry about Braymont.”

My smile was tight. “Yeah. Bummer.”

I acted like I hadn’t cried into my pillow for three nights straight, like my heart hadn’t cracked a little when that rejection email came in. But I still had hope I was waitlisted. There was still a sliver of a chance.

Still, the idea of going to Linchester, the same school as Atlas, was enough to make me want to crawl into a sock drawer and live there forever.

“I got into Linchester,” I said casually. “But I’m not going. I mean, who wants to go to school with their dad’s girlfriend’s son?”

Atlas chuckled. “It’s not so bad. Besides, even if you did go, you wouldn’t see me much. The campus is huge.”

I shot him a look. “I’m not trying to avoid you, Lawson.”

“Right,” he said, teasing. “You just hate the idea of being around me 24/7.”

“Well,” I smirked. “You’re not wrong. But Braymont’s my dream school. Always has been.”

He nodded, surprisingly sincere. “I get that.”

The silence stretched again, and this time it felt like it had edges. I took a breath, fingers twisting in the hem of my skirt.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

His brow lifted. “For what?”

I looked at him. “For everything I said that night.”

He tilted his head. “Which part? The one where you called me a… what was it? Oh right a self-absorbed, jacket-throwing control freak with the emotional range of a teaspoon?”

I winced. “Ugggh. I swear I was drunk and didn’t mean that.”

He folded his arms, grinning. “You sure?”

I cracked a smile. “Okay. Maybe I meant it. Just a little.”

We both laughed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the air between us didn’t feel like it wanted to kill me.

He shrugged. “It’s cool. I shouldn’t have barged in like that anyway.”

“How did you even know?”

His jaw tensed a little. “Someone sent the video to the hockey team group chat.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Of course. The asshat had to have a record of him pumping into her. Disgusting.”

Atlas looked at me for a long second. “How are you feeling?”

I dropped my hands. “Oh, I’m fine. Totally over it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…Okay. Maybe not completely over it,” I admitted with a sigh. “But for what it’s worth—I’m glad I didn’t give him my virginity.”

Atlas nodded. “Yeah. There are way better guys out there. Ones who’d actually cherish it.”

I looked at him.

And he looked at me.

And in that moment… I saw what Laila had been fuming about for years.

He was handsome.

Ridiculously so.

Tousled brown hair, strong jawline, lashes too long for someone so emotionally unavailable.

And those eyes deep, hazel, intense like he saw too much and said too little.

We just stared at each other for a second longer than we should’ve.

Then my phone rang.

The spell broke instantly.

I grabbed it, reading the screen. “That’s my ride.”

I stood, smoothing my dress. “Thanks, Atlas. And… I hope you have fun in college.”

He smiled, hands shoved into his pockets. “Wish you the same, Golden.”

***

A few months had passed and… well… Braymont never called.

My name wasn’t pulled from the waitlist.

No last-minute miracle email.

No dramatic envelope in the mail.

Just silence.

And eventually, silence became reality.

So, guess where I ended up?

Linchester University.

The one school I said I wouldn’t go to.

The one place that guaranteed awkward hallway run-ins, sarcastic eye rolls, and oh yeah Atlas Lawson.

But it gets better.

Because somehow, my dad the eternal optimist and king of “It’ll be fun!”…convinced me to share an apartment with Atlas.

Honestly? I wanted to say no.

I really did.

But the campus hostels were all full. Off-campus housing was either a moldy shoebox or thirty minutes away.

And I was not about to board a 6 a.m. bus every morning just to make it to swim practice.

Atlas, of course, landed the best student athlete housing two-bedroom apartment, close to everything, probably had a private parking spot and a magical coffee machine.

With a sigh, I stared at the silver numbers on the door.

305.

I stood there, bags in hand, seriously debating whether I should just turn around, live out of my car, and risk chronic sleep deprivation for the next semester.

But then I remembered morning practice.

And cardio.

“Ugggh,” I groaned, dragging myself inside.

The door was unlocked of course it was. Atlas probably knew I was coming and very maturely didn’t bother to greet me. Fine by me.

The apartment wasn’t bad, though. Clean. Minimal.

Grey walls, dark wood floors, black barstools at the breakfast counter.

I had my headphones in, music playing, as I made my way down the short hallway. There were two doors he told me which one was mine but of course I forgot.

Was it the left? Or right?

Eeeny, meeny, miney…

I opened the door.

And froze.

My heart jumped to my throat and my brain immediately tried to self-destruct.

Because there, in full view, was Atlas.

Naked.

And very much on top of a girl who was equally naked and beneath him, arms wrapped around his shoulders as they…

I screamed, slamming the door shut so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

My headphones clattered to the floor, music still playing faintly as I stumbled backward, eyes wide and soul scarred.

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” I shouted at the ceiling, burying my burning face in my hands.

Why.

Why me.

This was supposed to be my fresh start.

My clean slate.

Not a front-row seat to Atlas Lawson’s private after-hours Olympics.

I was going to need bleach.

For my brain.

Immediately.