CHAPTER 7
They decided to meet at the library. Neutral ground. Safe.
Emma suggested it — half-hoping Lucas might decline. But he'd only given that lazy, lopsided smile of his and said, "Sure. Library works."
Now here they were.
They sat in the back, near a wide window where sunlight spilled onto the table, turning dust motes to gold. The table was scattered with books — Macbeth, modern plays, articles Emma had printed out.
Lucas sat across from her, leaned back in his chair, a pencil spinning between his fingers. His posture was relaxed, but Emma kept catching him staring at nothing, as if his mind had wandered miles away.
"Are you even listening?" she teased gently, nudging a book toward him.
Lucas blinked, like he'd forgotten where he was. "Yeah. Of course."
Emma tilted her head, studying him.
It wasn't just that he was distracted. It was the shadows under his eyes. The way his smile never quite reached them.
There's something about him, she thought, heart squeezing. Something he's trying so hard to hide.
They left the library as the last rays of sun spilled across the pavement, stretching shadows long and thin.
Emma felt lighter somehow — like working with Lucas had chipped away at the tension she usually carried in her shoulders. He hadn't been what she expected. Smarter. Quieter. And when he did speak, his ideas were good.
Maybe this project wouldn't be so bad.
Lucas walked beside her, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, head tilted slightly toward the fading sky. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable.
They crossed the parking lot, the quiet hum of the town settling around them — the faint drone of cars, the soft bark of a dog in the distance, the cool evening breeze lifting Emma's hair.
Emma's phone buzzed. She glanced down — a message from one of the classmates who'd teased her earlier. "Good luck with your charity case 😂"
She rolled her eyes and typed back a sharp reply.
And that's when it happened.
---
It was just a moment — just enough time for her to stop watching where she was going.
She stepped off the curb.
Out of nowhere, a dark sedan rounded the corner too fast, tires hissing against the wet street. The driver didn't see her.
But Lucas did.
"Emma!"
The shout snapped her head up, but it was too late for her to react.
Lucas lunged.
His hand closed around her arm, yanking her back hard. They stumbled — Emma into his chest, Lucas twisting to shield her, his body between hers and the oncoming car.
The sedan clipped the side of his leg as it swerved, throwing him sideways. The horn blared, and the car sped off without stopping.
Lucas hit the ground, breath knocked out of him, arm still tight around Emma as if to make sure she was safe.
Emma stared, heart racing, mind struggling to catch up to what just happened.
"Lucas!"
He gritted his teeth, trying to sit up. "I'm fine."
"You're not—"
She knelt beside him, seeing the scrape down his arm, blood welling where his jacket had torn. His jeans were ripped at the knee, the skin beneath raw and bleeding.
Lucas tried to laugh it off, but it came out shaky. "Guess I should've let you get hit instead."
Emma ignored the joke. "You're hurt. Come on — my house is close. You need to clean that up."
He started to protest, but she was already helping him up, looping his arm over her shoulder, supporting more of his weight than she probably should have been able to.
Lucas let her — maybe because it hurt too much to argue, maybe because part of him didn't want to.
---
The quiet walk — and the weight of unspoken things
They walked the few blocks to her house slowly.
The adrenaline had worn off, leaving Lucas pale and tight-lipped. Every few steps he'd hiss under his breath when his leg twinged.
Emma kept glancing at him, worry flickering behind her eyes.
"You didn't have to do that," she said softly.
Lucas shook his head. "Yeah, I did."
The way he said it made something twist inside her.
---
Her house was warm and full of soft light when they reached it — the kind of place that smelled faintly of books and cinnamon and home.
She led him to the kitchen, pulled out the first-aid kit without asking.
"Sit," she said firmly.
Lucas dropped into the chair, watching her with an unreadable expression as she knelt in front of him, dabbing at the scrape on his knee with warm water and a cloth.
"You really didn't have to," she murmured again, voice barely above a whisper.
"I wasn't going to let you get hit," Lucas said, eyes fixed on her hands.
Emma worked quietly for a minute, cleaning the wound, the sting of antiseptic making him flinch.
She hesitated, then said, "You always act like nothing gets to you. But it does, doesn't it?"
Lucas tensed, and for a heartbeat, he didn't answer.
"I'm fine, Emma."
But his voice was too soft, too tired, and she wasn't fooled.
She looked up at him, really looked. The dark circles under his eyes. The guarded way he held himself. The tension in his jaw like he was holding back a storm.
"You're not fine," she said quietly.
Lucas dropped his gaze. "You don't know me."
"Then let me."
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and for a moment, the room felt too still.
Lucas stared at her, like he didn't know what to say. Like no one had ever offered before.
---
After the storm — the calm, for now
Emma finished bandaging his knee, her fingers light, gentle.
"Thanks," he said finally, voice rough.
"You saved me," she said. "I think I owe you more than a bandage."
Lucas smiled then — not his usual easy grin, but something smaller, realer.
"Maybe just don't walk into traffic again," he said.
Emma laughed, and the sound felt like it cleared the air between them.
---
The night draws in — and the pull between them grows stronger
Her mom called from the other room, breaking the spell.
Lucas stood, testing his weight on the leg. It hurt, but he'd survive.
"I should go."
Emma hesitated, then said, "You don't have to. Not yet."
But he was already backing toward the door, that mask slipping into place again.
"See you tomorrow, Moore."
And then he was gone, leaving Emma standing in the doorway, heart racing for reasons she didn't want to admit yet.