Who Breaks First (Clearwater University)

He smiles cruelly, and I want to hurl my plate of fish at him. Somewhere in the midst of the anger burning through me, my heart is cracking open in my chest. The Trent I knew back in high school—the one that was my friend, the one I nurtured a secret crush on, the one who would do anything to protect me—doesn’t exist anymore. In fact, I don’t think he ever did exist. All of it must have been an illusion. The man sitting across from me right now is the real Trent.

And I can either let him take me down, or I can go down fighting.

“Maybe I should let you finish my dinner.” Forcing my lips into a smile that matches his, I lift up my plate to offer it to him. “You’ve gotten scrawny since high school. Maybe you can have West give you some pointers at the gym.”

“Emma!”

Dad looks scandalized, and I know I’m ruining this evening for him. But it was doomed the minute Trent and I locked gazes. Sitting quietly and letting myself be a punching bag for that fuckhead isn’t going to salvage this disaster of a dinner.

“What has gotten into everyone? This is getting out of hand.” Claire looks defeated and exhausted as she brings her hands up to rub her temples.

I arch a challenging brow at Trent, waggling the plate as I hold it out, and something fierce and hot flashes in his eyes for a half-second.

“Maybe I have lost a little weight.” His jaw clenches. “I guess that’s what happens when a leech feeds off your blood.”

I put down the plate, my brows pulling together. What the hell is he talking about? Am I the one who he thinks leeched his blood? If anything, he’s the one who’s done all the harm. Why does he make it seem like I did anything to hurt him? Okay, so I turned him down in high school. I didn’t want to. I was attracted to him deeply, and maybe even beginning to fall in love with him, but I had feelings for all three of the guys and didn’t want to lose any of them.

Sadly, the end result of my attempt to do the right thing was that I ended up losing all of them.

“That’s not fair.” I shake my head slowly, my nostrils flaring as the tension inside me builds to the snapping point.

“Life’s not fair,” Trent shoots back, his voice dull with rage.

“What is going on here?” Claire blinks helplessly, turning to my dad for support.

“Hey, folks. Can I get you anything else?”

Our poor waiter seems to realize even before the words are out of his mouth that he’s interrupted something he shouldn’t have. None of us have been yelling, we’ve barely even raised our voices, but the atmosphere around the entire table is toxic.

He looks like he wishes he could just flee, but instead, he turns to me and gestures to my nearly full plate. “May I box this up for you?”

“Yes, please,” I reply softly.

The waiter picks up the plate and looks around the table with a tight smile plastered to his face. “And would anyone care for dessert?”

Silence falls as all four of us look up at him, and he shifts uncomfortably as it grows longer and longer. He probably thinks we’ve all gone crazy or something.

Finally, Claire clears her throat, her face a mixture of forced happiness, anger, and determination.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll have the chocolate lava cake.” She reaches for her glass of wine and takes a sip, although it’s more like a heavy gulp.

“Ah. Your favorite.” Dad nudges her shoulder, no doubt try

ing to lighten the mood.

“Uh huh. It’s why I love coming here,” she says with a forced smile.

“Give Emma a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” Trent nods toward me, his gray-blue eyes glittering. “Someone so bitter needs a little sweetness.”

He’s still smiling at me like a fucking serial killer, and I can’t take it any longer. He’s been cruel to me before, more times than I can count, but this is somehow worse than all of those times. Because he’s doing it in front of our parents. In front of my dad.

I feel like I’m on the verge of tears, and I refuse to let Dad see me melt down. I grab my napkin off my lap and throw it onto the table. Then I run toward the bathroom, and it’s a very long, dark hallway that takes me there. My nails dig into my palms as I fight to keep my sobs contained in my chest. Once I’m hidden away in a bathroom stall, I can let the tears go.

At the end of the hallway, I shove open the door to the ladies’ room and throw myself into a stall just as the first wracking sob shakes my body. Emotions pour out of me along with the tears—things I haven’t felt or allowed myself to feel in years. Things I never processed after everything that happened in high school. Anger, bitter resentment, aching loss.

I let it all go, let it pour out of me in a torrent until I can’t cry anymore.

When I finally grab a wad of toilet paper and wipe my eyes and nose, it occurs to me that my dad, Claire, and Trent might think I’ve just bolted from the restaurant. Forcing my legs to bear my weight, I come out of the stall and take a good, hard look in the mirror.