Chapter 12: Pieces of Us
It had been five days since the music room.
Five days since Jake kissed her like he didn't know if it was the last time.
Since Emma poured her heart out and waited, breathless, to see if he'd take it or leave it.
Now, she stood outside his house, hands in her jacket pockets, heart pounding like it didn't know how to beat normal anymore.
Jake opened the door in sweats and a black hoodie, his hair a mess, eyes tired.
But he smiled — just a little.
That alone almost broke her.
"Hey," he said, stepping aside. "You hungry?"
Emma blinked. "Are we... okay?"
Jake didn't answer right away. He just led her into the kitchen, where a pizza box was already open on the counter.
"I'm still figuring that out," he said finally. "But... I want to try."
Emma nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Trying sounds good."
They ate in silence for a while. Not awkward — just quiet, like their hearts needed space to breathe.
Jake picked at his crust, then looked up. "I keep going over everything in my head. Not just what you did. But why."
Emma stared at him. "And?"
"I think... you weren't the only one who messed up."
She blinked. "What?"
"I never really ended things with Maya. Not properly. I let it fizzle. I ghosted instead of closing the door. That left you in a gray area."
Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "So we were both broken."
Jake reached across the table, took her hand.
"And now we're trying to fix it. Together."
---
That night, they lay in his room, not touching — just sharing space again.
The TV played some indie movie neither of them was really watching. Emma rested her head on Jake's shoulder.
"Do you believe people can really start over?" she asked.
Jake thought for a moment. "I think... starting over isn't the point."
Emma looked up at him.
Jake turned his head. "I think we just learn to carry the past without letting it poison the future."
Emma's chest ached. "What if it still stings?"
"Then we carry it together."
---
The next few days passed like stitches sewing them back together — slow, careful, delicate.
Jake came to her art showcase at school and brought her flowers.
Emma met his mom again, for the first time as his real girlfriend, and not just "that girl who paints and makes him smile."
They kissed under the bleachers. Laughed too loud in the library. Walked to school holding hands, like nothing had ever broken.
But late at night, Emma still caught Jake staring into space, lost in thought.
And sometimes she wondered if he was remembering before. Or what if.
Still, they were rebuilding.
And that had to count for something.
---
One afternoon, Alina cornered Emma in the art room.
"Okay, Sinclair," she said. "Spill. Are you two still doomed or disgustingly in love again?"
Emma smiled, wiping her hands on her smock. "Somewhere in between."
Alina grinned. "That's the sweet spot."
Then her tone shifted. "But... Maya's back. Did you know?"
Emma froze. "Back? Where?"
"School board's letting her return for senior year. Starting Monday."
Emma's throat tightened. "She's here?"
Alina nodded slowly. "You okay?"
Emma nodded, but it was a lie.
Because Jake didn't know yet.
And part of her wasn't ready to see Maya again — not with everything still this fragile.
---
That night, Emma told Jake.
They sat in his car, parked outside her house, the radio low.
"She's coming back," Emma said quietly. "Maya. Monday."
Jake's jaw tensed. "Did you know?"
Emma shook her head. "Alina told me today."
He stared out the window. "How do you feel about it?"
Emma was silent. Then: "Terrified."
Jake nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
There was a pause.
Then Emma whispered, "I need you to promise me something."
Jake looked at her. "What?"
"That when you see her... and you remember what you had... you'll still choose me."
Jake didn't hesitate.
"I already did."