CHAPTER TEN #14
Sam and Mom both turn their heads at me, wide-eyed, like I just confessed to murder.
Sam swallows. "Uh, yeah? She just came back, like, twenty minutes ago?"
That's it. I'm up before I even realize I moved, chair screeching against the tile.
My heart's sprinting. My brain's all over the place—eager, nervous, a little terrified. Three years is a long time.
Do best friends even stay best friends after radio silence that long? Or is there some unspoken expiration date? Especially when it wasn't me who cut things off.
She ghosted me. She disappeared on me.
Still, my feet stalk toward the back door, heavy, fast. My whole body feels coiled, ready to bolt straight into her room, like I'm eighteen again.
"Where are you going?" Sam asks, voice high and suspicious.
"Next door," I throw over my shoulder. "To see Caroline."
I don't even bother hiding the edge in my voice. I want to run. I want to see her, now. My sugarplum. My best—whatever the hell she is now.
"Caroline?" Mom's voice cuts through, laced with confusion. She looks from me to Sam, brows pinched. "She's home?"
"That's what she says," I reply, pointing at my sister like she's my damn alibi.
Sam blinks. And then that guilty little grin creeps up, tugging her mouth sideways. She scratches at her temple like she's stalling. "Ooooh. You meant Caroline? My bad."
My stomach drops.
Sam shrugs, still grinning awkwardly. "I thought you were asking about the nurse. Caroline's not there."
For a second, I just stand there, hand still hovering over the back door handle like an idiot. My pulse had been sprinting a marathon and now it just... slams into a wall.
Not there.
The air rushes out of me in one long, sharp exhale. It's not anger, not even close. It's worse. It's disappointment—the kind that knots in your gut and makes you feel stupid for even letting yourself hope.
I let go of the door handle and drag a hand down my face, muttering, "Great. Just great."
My chest still buzzes with the leftover adrenaline, but now it's got nowhere to go. Eagerness collapses into this heavy, sour frustration. I'd already pictured walking into her room, seeing her again, hearing her voice.
And now? Nothing.
Mom's watching me too closely, like she can see straight through me. "Is everything okay with you, honey?"
I avoid her eyes, shove my hands into my pockets, and mumble, "Yeah, it's... uh, nothing. Doesn't matter."
Lie. It matters. It always does when it's Caroline.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZACH
I've crammed Sam's suitcases into the back of my car—if you can even call them that. More like she packed up half of Naples. Three rolling bags, two duffels, a box of Dorm Essentials heavy enough to kill a man, and what looks suspiciously like her entire shoe rack.
My trunk's crying. The suspension's begging for mercy. She's moving into a dorm for one semester, not relocating to Mars.
Women, man.
We have to hit the road before three or else we'll get buried alive in I-75 traffic, and Miami will feel like another continent away. I already hate leaving Mom behind in Naples. The house feels too big without us, too quiet without Dad.
The thought gnaws at me—her being alone now, just echoes and memories for company. We'll visit. We'll make it work. We have to.
Upstairs, I peel off my sweat-drenched henley—thanks to Sam's "I can't live without twelve pairs of boots" luggage—and swap it for something lighter. A navy short-sleeved polo, snug across the shoulders, paired with beige pants and fresh white sneakers. Simple, clean. Breathable.
I'm halfway out the door when it hits me—loud, raw, familiar. Music, spilling from the house next door. Caroline's house.
Taylor Swift.
My pulse stutters.
And the air is thick with loss and indecision
I know my pain is such an imposition
Now, you're runnin' down the hallway
And you know what they all say
My chest caves, all air ripped from me in an instant. That song, those lyrics—I know it.
God, how could I not?
For years, I was her captive audience, trapped in the driver's seat while she sang along at full volume. Annoying, relentless, off-key...
Caroline.
Her name claws its way out of me in a whisper, cracked and hungry. My body moves before my brain catches up. I lunge toward the balcony doors, fling them open with enough force to rattle the glass, heart thundering so hard it hurts.
I knew it! She's back. She has to be.
My Sugarplum is finally back, and for the first time in three years, I can— I freeze.
My feet slam to a stop.
Because I'm standing here now, staring at the empty gap between our balconies.
Because the bridge—our bridge—was long gone.
The music keeps blaring through her walls, every lyric taunting me like salt ground into a wound.
You don't know what you got until it's gone...
Stop, you're losin' me.
Stop, you're losin' me.
Stop, you're losin' me.
No shit.
Because that's exactly what she did.
She was gone. And I never knew why.
I've gone over it a thousand times, rewinding every memory, every word, every look—trying to find the exact second she decided I wasn't worth keeping around.
And the only thing I ever land on is the night before prom.
That night I gave her the necklace. The one I blew all my savings on. First piece of jewelry I'd ever bought for anyone. From my own pocket.
From my...heart.
Can't believe I even had that side in me.
Me, Zach Westbrook. Turning into Mr. Sentimental.
But she deserved it.
Caroline deserved something that showed her how much she meant to me.
For putting up with my crap. For standing by me even when half the school treated her like garbage just because she was my best friend. I wanted her to have something beautiful. Something that said you're special to me.
Because she was.
Hell, she still is—judging by the fact I'm standing here three years later, still hung up like a complete idiot.
And then... that almost-kiss. Jesus.
My heart was pounding like it was trying to break free from my chest that night. Hands shaking, palms sweaty—straight out of an Eminem song. Except it wasn't nerves about a game, it was her. Caroline. My best friend. My Sugarplum.
She was right there, straddling me, looking down at me like maybe—maybe—she wanted me too.
So yeah, I went for it. Slid my hands on her waist, pulled her closer.
And yeah, I was hard. I'm a guy, sue me.
If she noticed, she didn't let on. Just stared up at me with those beautiful aquamarine eyes that made me forget how to breathe.
I swear to God, I thought she wanted it too. The kiss. Us. Everything.
But maybe I read it wrong. Wouldn't be the first time my dumbass brain got carried away. Maybe that's when I screwed it all up.
Because the next day—prom day—I was tugging on that ridiculous Nutcracker outfit, excited and nervous as hell, when her text came through. Can't go to prom. Stomach bug.
And instead of feeling crushed about missing prom, I just panicked.
I ran straight to her room, ready to play nurse, to take care of her. But her balcony door was locked.
Freaking locked!
It was never locked to me. Not ever.
I knocked. Over and over until my knuckles hurt. Called, texted—nothing. Just silence.
And it didn't stop there. She kept avoiding me the rest of senior year. No more driving to school together. No more inside jokes. She stopped showing up at all after finals.
I thought—okay, graduation. I'll see her there. She has to be there with her parents. We'll fix this. We'll talk. We'll fix whatever needs fixing.
But she wasn't there either.
I came home that night with my chest so tight I could barely breathe. Something heavy pressed down on me, like I was choking on air that wouldn't go down.
And I told myself, fine, enough. I'll go to her. I'll make her talk to me even if I have to break her balcony door open.
So, I stepped onto my balcony.
And that's when I saw it.
The bridge. Our bridge. Gone.
The ropes cut clean, the planks ripped away. Like she'd taken a knife to eighteen years of friendship and sawed straight through the middle.
I just stood there, staring at the empty space between our balconies, like maybe if I blinked hard enough it would magically snap back into place. But it didn't. It was gone.
And it felt like more than wood and rope. That bridge was us. Every midnight sneak-out, every secret, every laugh we weren't supposed to share past curfew—it all lived on those planks. That stupid bridge was our lifeline. And she cut it.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
It was like waking up one morning and finding out gravity quit. Like the sun decided it was done rising. Nothing made sense. Just this hole in my chest I couldn't name. Anger. Panic. Sadness. All of it twisting together until I felt hollow and heavy at the same time.
Confused doesn't even cover it. It was like getting sucker punched by someone you'd never thought would swing at you.
And I couldn't stop thinking: why?
Why did she cut it? Why did she cut me off?
And it wasn't just me she cut off.
It was Ridgewater U, too. Our dream university.
She didn't show up on campus that fall like we'd planned since we were kids. She went to NYU instead.
And I never heard from her again.
I grip the balcony rail, knuckles white. Movement flickers in the room next door. My head jerks up, pulse hammering.
For a split second—just one—I swear it's her.
I squint, leaning closer, heart racing stupid fast.
But then the figure shifts. My shoulders drop. Another punch to the gut.
Not her.
She's taller. Thinner. Skinny in that brittle, birdlike way. Doesn't hold a candle to Caroline's shape.
My Caroline has curves. Real. Gorgeous. Soft in all the right places.
The figure moves again, turning just enough for the light to catch her gray hair, twisted up in a messy bun.
Right. Must be the nurse Sam mentioned. The live-in, around-the-clock type. Makes sense.
The music cuts. The room goes dark.
And I'm left standing here like an idiot.