Unbroken

like all those nights I tried not to think about him, but wound up replaying every moment and every kiss all the same.
    Emerson. In front of me. At last.
    My eyes drink him in, greedy. He’s older now, of course he is. I’ve been remembering the young man he used to be, but the boyish glint in his eye is gone now: he’s all grown up. All man. His features are etched deeper, dark stubble shading across his jaw. His dark hair is cropped short, showing the strong curve of his skull, and that body that was always slim and taut is stronger now—arm muscles pressing at the fabric on his black T-shirt, his whole torso radiating power and animal rage.
    “Jules.” He says it hoarsely, still breathing heavily from the fight. Not that it was a fight, not really, it was annihilation.
    My eyes meet his again. We’re standing three feet apart, but the connection between us is like a surge of electricity, surging from his dark gaze to mine.
    “I…I… ” I stutter, gasping for air, but no words come. Seeing him is more than I ever imagined: his presence fills my world, overwhelming, like there’s nothing else in the room. Like the room doesn’t even exist—it’s only him, and me, and the storm of emotions crashing through me I thought I’d never feel again.
    It’s too much. God, it’s all too much.
    “I’m sorry,” I blurt, and turn on my heel and flee. I push past the other people crowding round, and out of the doors. My footsteps echo in the dark parking lot as I sprint for my car.
    Tears sting in the back of my throat. I don’t know what happened back there, how I could just fall apart with one look from him, but suddenly, it’s like I’m eighteen all over again, feeling everything so fresh and fierce, as if for the first time.
    How could I be so stupid to think I’d ever be over him?
    “Jules! Juliet, wait!”
    He’s coming after me.
    I don’t slow, fumbling in my bag for my keys. I have to get away, before he can see me, see what a wreck I’m reduced to with just one glance.
    “What, I don’t even get a thank you?”
    Emerson’s voice echoes, sarcastic, in the empty lot.
    I stop. Suddenly I’m mad as hell—furious at myself for falling apart so easily after all this time, but more than that, I’m angry at him. Hot, spitting, fists-clenched furious.
    I whirl around. “Thank you?” I spit back at him, my voice high and fevered. “What the hell was that in there? You could have killed him!”
    Emerson folds his arms, lips set in a thin, determined line. He’s standing in the shadows, his body coiled, dark and forbidding. “He deserved it.”
    I feel the anger boil up in me. Now I remember it: the dark side to Emerson’s passion. The jealous streak, the possessive arm around my shoulder. I used to feel safe in it, treasured, like I was the most important girl in the world, but this is different. He has no right to act like I belong to him, not anymore.
    “I can take care of myself!” I insist angrily.
    “Didn’t look like it to me.” Emerson’s voice is a low drawl.
    I bridle at the ownership in his tone. “I had it all under control. You just don’t know me anymore!”
    Something flickers across his face even in the dark, and I feel a stab of regret slice through me. Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that. Then his harsh look fades away, and for a moment, Emerson’s eyes meet mine: naked and vulnerable.
    “You came back,” he says softly. He takes a half-step towards me, and despite all my anger, I find my body frozen in place, yearning for him to touch me—sweep me in his arms, like before.
    Closer, my mind cries out. Close the distance between us.
    “You came back.” He says again, like he can’t believe it himself. There’s wonder in his eyes, fierce and breathless. “All this time, I kept watching the door, like you might walk through it. And now, here you are.”
    I inhale in a sharp rush, hating myself even as I feel the surge of delight course through me at the words.
    He was watching for me? He wanted to see me again?
    After the way we ended things, I figured for sure beyond any doubt that I was the last person on earth he’d ever want to see again. He told me that he never wanted to hear from me: no emails, no calls, nothing. That he would rather cut me from his life completely than pretend we could ever be just friends.
    It’s hurt me more than anything, imagining that he was out there somewhere, hating me. Regretting me.
    But now…?
    My heart catches in my