Page 131 of The Golden Scoop

My legs twitch with the urge to run to my car and go find her, but I force myself to keep reading.

I studied every detail. Took notes. Waited for the mask to slip.

A small laugh escapes me. That’s Emma, alright. Glaring at me from behind her notebook, tapping her pen against her lips, looking suspicious every time I blurted out some random detail I’d memorized.

But the longer I spent with him, the harder it became to separate my previous thoughts from what was actually in front of me.

If I close my eyes, I can still see it happening in real time. The bookstore. Surfing. Hiking. Even a high-end event like the gala. Little by little, she stopped looking at me like I was a puzzle she needed to piece together and started looking at me like… me.

Emma’s smart. I always hoped she’d catch on quickly.

But I never accounted for the doubt that would creep in. Whether she was actually seeing the real me or collecting material for her assignment.

It’s clear now.

We consume simple narratives… Matt figured this out really early in life… Theater kid turned jock…

I stop breathing for a second.

No one knows that. No one’s been in my childhood bedroom before.

It doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind people knowing who I am. Not when it proves she remembered. Almost word for word. Without the need for a single note to get it right.

Emma was listening. Understanding. That night, she kissed Matt, the nerdy kid from New Jersey, not Matt, the Hollywood bachelor.

…just a man who loves what he does.

My phone slips from my hand, and I have to take a moment.

For years, I’ve been treated like an image, a brand, a product easily replaceable. I might not like it, but you get so used to it you stop expecting anything else. I can’t recall the last time I was ‘just a man.’

My heart clenches, picturing Emma sitting cross-legged on her living room floor, typing this.

I pick my phone back up and keep reading. Every memory, every kind word… all point to the same thing. She cares more than I gave her credit for—to put her life on the line, tell the truth about me, defend me. Even when I didn’t ask her to.

Goddamn.

I love her so much it hurts.

Then, to make matters worse, I read the sentence that confirms my suspicions: Emma didn’t write that headline.

I tried to fight for it. I lost. Got cornered into writing something I hadn’t experienced.

They forced her hand.

She delivered an honest piece and Golden pushed back. That’s what she was fighting with her boss about. Not whether it needed more drama, but rather that there wasn’t any to begin with.

Of course she picked a fight with an entire media company. Emma Miller would never compromise on something that serious.

I wish she should’ve told me. Jennifer would’ve figured it out without her needing to blow up her own life in the process.

All this time, she was trying to tell the truth. To me, to the world. Protecting the version of me she’d gotten to know.

And I left.

Didn’t even give her a chance to explain.

I reach the end. My eyes move over each word again, slower this time, and everything else disappears.