Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

Trent still has that rough-around-the-edges exterior, with silky, dark brown hair and striking blue eyes. Everything about him is angular and kind of disheveled, but perfectly disheveled. And I’m sure he’s just as much of an overt asshole as he was back in high school.

Reese was always the mischievous one, and I doubt that’s changed. His lopsided smile, light golden brown hair and green eyes got him out of trouble with female teachers more times than I can count.

The goddamn dimples in his cheeks flash as he chuckles at something Trent says, and the sight of them makes my heart squeeze even as my stomach clenches so hard it feels like I ate ten pounds of cement. Reese was always the charmer, but he has a cruel streak under that sweet exterior. Of the three of them, this man is the one who looks the most benign, but looks can be deceiving.

As I found out the extremely hard way.

West, the fucking asshole, looks just as sullen as ever. His hair seems even more jet-black than it was before, as if it’s started to actually repel light, and a memory of his transfixing gray eyes gives me chills. I found that dark, brooding quality irresistible when I was a young girl with fanciful dreams of saving a tortured bad boy, but as it turned out, I never got a chance to save him.

Instead, he tried to ruin me.

I can’t keep all the memories from flooding back as I remain crouched behind the hedge, my body not allowing me to move.

It still blows my fucking mind that one day we were best friends, and then the next, almost overnight, they came after me with no holds barred. I wasn’t exactly head of the cheer squad, but I’d never been bullied before, so when it started to happen, I didn’t even know what hit me.

It went so far that all three of them labeled me as the “school whore” and spread it all over social media. No one would speak to me unless it was to mock me, and over the course of a year, I watched as my world literally fell apart. Reese, West, and Trent were popular enough at Amundsen High that they had the power to destroy me, and they nearly did.

But I won’t let them do it again.

My entire body is buzzing with energy, and my hands have clenched into such tight fists that my nails are digging into my palms. When I got the offer from Clearwater, I promised my dad I would make the most of it, that I would take this opportunity to turn my life around after the disaster of high school and set myself up for a good future.

And nobody, not even the three gorgeous nightmares from my past, will stop me from doing that.

I can’t see them through the hedges anymore, and part of me is almost sad about that. If they’ve gone inside the building, that means I lost my chance to march up to them and scream in their faces, maybe punch them as hard as I can or knee them in the balls.

But maybe it’s just as well. I need to be smarter than that. I’m on a provisional admission at Clearwater, and I have a feeling getting into a fistfight on my first day wouldn’t do much for my standing at this school.

No, what I need to do is just keep my head down, focus on passing my classes, and avoid those three men at all costs.

Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I release it in a slow exhale. Then I uncurl my fists, rubbing absently at the crescent-shaped divots in my palms as I stand up. Training my gaze on the door to Davis Hall, I march forward, placing one foot in front of the next like I’m summiting a mountain instead of walking across a manicured lawn.

“Well, well, well. Emma Holloway.”

I’m almost halfway across the quad when a deep, silken voice from behind me makes me jump.

Motherfucker.

2

Trent

Holy fuck.

That’s Emma, alright. I could spot her from a mile away. It’s been years since I last saw her in high school, and from what I can tell, even from a distance, she looks more beautiful than ever. I feel a twinge in my chest—a warmth I can’t describe, and one I sure as hell don’t want to.

Goddammit. My hand rubs absently at my left pec. I remember feeling this sensation when I looked at her years ago. That warm pain is a kind of longing and need, and it’s all wrapped up in a shit-ton of anger and confusion.

What went down between us in high school is something I’ll never fucking forget. After falling in love with Emma, my life was never the same for about a dozen different reasons. For one thing, I told her in no uncertain terms that I wanted to be with her, and she turned me down.

No other girl has ever turned me down.

I’m hot, and I know it. And I’m not fucking ashamed of it either. I rock my badass persona, and chicks eat that shit up. But deep down, I could always sense that Emma is different. She can see past my surface; she’s not impressed by it or blinded by it, and that’s what drew me to her in a deep way.

It’s also what makes me hate her.

She’s seen me at my weakest, my most vulnerable. She held my heart in her fucking hands, and instead of protecting it, she put a knife through it.

Since her dad got that job in Seattle, and he and Emma moved away, I’ve had a lot of time to think about her and everything that happened. I’m still attracted to her, still drawn to her like the moon to the tide, which infuriates me to no end. Why do I still crave a girl who crushed my fucking heart?