CHAPTER NINETEEN #13
My voice scrapes out low, cracked. "I can't play with this hanging over me. Can't do anything until I tell her the truth. Until I beg her to hear me out. If I don't? I'm done. Completely fucking done."
"Zach, stop." Sam's voice cuts sharp, firmer than I expect. She pushes off the bed, planting herself right in my pacing path so I nearly collide with her. "Stop beating yourself up like this."
I open my mouth to argue, but she doesn't give me the chance.
"I get it. I do. You want to fix this. You want to explain yourself and maybe get your best friend back.
But you can't do that today. Not right this second.
Caroline's tied up with her audition—one she's been killing herself to prepare for—and you've got a game in less than eight hours.
Heavy conversations like this? They take time. And neither of you has that today."
I clench my jaw, frustration clawing up my throat, but I know she's right.
"So here's what you can do: stop trying to fight two battles at once. Focus on the one in front of you. Tonight, win your opener. Tomorrow, lock in for the second game. Give the guys everything you've got. And once that's done?" She softens, a small, determined smile tugging at her lips.
"Leave the rest to me. I'll do everything I can to get Caroline to the Pond on Sunday.
If we win, there's gonna be a party—call it a post-game bash, whatever.
Everyone'll be there, and I'll make sure she comes too.
And when she does? I'll help you get her alone.
Even if I have to lock the two of you in your room until you hash it out. "
Her eyes flash with that little-sister mischief, but the seriousness in her voice doesn't waver. "You'll have time. Privacy. A real shot to explain everything. Just... trust me on this."
I exhale hard, shoulders sagging as I drop back onto the edge of her bed.
Do I feel better? Not exactly.
The knot in my chest is still there, tight and choking. But there's something in her voice—solid, certain—that digs through the noise just enough to steady me.
Sam studies my face like she's reading every thought I don't say out loud. Doubt. Restlessness. Desperation. It's all there, clear as day.
But she just smiles that small, determined smile. The one that says I've got you, even when you're a disaster.
"You've always been the best wingman for me, Zachy," she says softly, nudging my shoulder with hers. "So this time? Let me be the best damn wingman you'll ever have."
I let out a rough laugh, dragging a hand through my already-messy hair. "Fine," I grumble. "I'll trust you."
And for the first time all morning, something in my chest eases.
Not gone. Not fixed.
But it takes the edge off, just a little.
And right now, I'll take whatever scrap of hope I can get.
*****
CAROLINE
"No, Sam. I'm not going,"
I tell my pesky, annoying roommate for the hundredth time. She's been at it all night—relentless, like a mosquito that just won't quit.
The Pond—that's where she's trying to drag me to.
Ridgewater's not-so-humble hockey palace, where all the players live and apparently throw parties whenever they win.
And since yesterday's season opener ended with the Warriors stomping Lakeview State 7–4, the campus is already hyped about tonight's rematch.
Everyone's predicting a repeat win. Which means tomorrow—Sunday night—there'll be a party at the Pond. Because apparently, it's tradition: Sunday after a win, the boys celebrate.
Too bad tomorrow is also the day I go home to Naples like I always do, to check on my mom and make sure her recovery's on track.
I was supposed to leave today, but Professor Callahan hijacked my schedule with a last-minute meeting—announcing the final Nutcracker casting and handing out the manuscript so we could start prepping before Monday's table read.
Not to brag (okay, maybe a little), but guess who snagged Clara? Yep. Me. After totally crushing that audition yesterday with Adam. And of course, Adam landed the Nutcracker—because the universe apparently loves symmetry and good casting decisions.
The whole lineup feels like Callahan handpicked it straight out of a casting wish list. Perfect fit, perfect pairing.
So yeah, between the role of a lifetime and having to memorize lines over the weekend, I've got zero time to waste on hockey parties.
I stretch out on my bed, the Nutcracker manuscript spread open across my lap, pencil in hand. Highlighter already bleeding neon streaks across Clara's lines because Type-A-me can't help it.
Across the room, Sam's perched cross-legged on her mattress, facing me, all restless energy like she's physically incapable of letting the subject go.
"Why not? Everyone's going," she whines, bouncing a little where she sits.
"I told you, I need to go home to Naples tomorrow. I need to check in on Mom, you know that."
And then there's the other reason. Zach. Of course he's gonna be there—he's one of the Warriors' star players, fresh off scoring four goals yesterday.
"Oh, come on, Care." She flops dramatically on her bed, legs kicking like a toddler mid-tantrum.
"I'm sure Esther's gonna understand if you skip tomorrow.
Honestly, she'd probably prefer you go to the party and actually have fun for once.
" Her grin is so bright it could probably power the dorm lights if the electricity went out.
"I can't, Sam. Besides, Zach's gonna be at the party, and I'm trying to keep our paths as far apart as humanly possible."
After our run-in the other night... God, I still cringe every time I think about it. Me. Crying in front of him. Freaking crying. Ugh.
It still makes my skin crawl, and I haven't stopped scolding myself since.
"You're not going there for Zach. You're going to celebrate the team. Our team. Your school spirit is basically on life support—don't you want to resuscitate it?"
I glare. "School spirit is overrated."
She gasps, clutching her chest like I stabbed her. "How dare you. This is Ridgewater. Hockey is literally the only thing half the campus talks about. Going to the Pond tomorrow isn't about Zach. It's about... camaraderie."
"Camaraderie?" I arch a brow.
"Yes. Camaraderie. Unity. Brotherhood. Sisterhood. Okay, mostly beer-hood. But still."
I snort. "Wow. You should go into politics."
She points a finger at me, eyes gleaming. "You don't even have to stay long! Just show up, wave, clap for a few minutes, grab a soda—then leave. You can even wear your resting bitch face if it makes you feel better."
"Tempting," I deadpan.
Sam groans, throwing her pillow over her face. "You are impossible."
I smirk, flipping a page of the manuscript like I just scored a point in our never-ending roommate battle. "Takes one to know one, Sammy." I pause just long enough for her to peek at me from under the pillow.
"And hey, don't think for a second that means I've forgiven you for lying to me the other night—for using our sacred code."
Sam lowers the pillow, her face half-hidden but her grin totally busted. She looks at me sheepishly, like a kid caught stealing cookies. "Come on, I already apologized," she whines.
"It was only out of pure desperation and the noble duty of helping my poor, pathetic big brother." Sam presses both hands dramatically over her chest, lips pushed into the saddest pout imaginable.
I scoff, rolling my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't stick.
"Please. You sure it was out of pity for your brother? Or because he threatened to cut off your endless supply of Elijah's thirst trap photos if you didn't help?"
That does it. Sam breaks into a wider grin, both hands shooting up in surrender. "Fine, fine—you got me there. You know when he dangles my Eli in front of me, I'm helpless. Blackmail of the cruelest kind."
I shake my head, trying to bite back the smile tugging at my mouth, but it's useless. The corners give way, and before I know it, I'm grinning too. Sam's shameless, utterly unapologetic obsession with Elijah is ridiculous... but damn if it isn't contagious.
Her grin fades, softening into something a little more thoughtful. She pushes off her bed, padding across the small space until she perches on the edge of mine.
"All joking aside though," she says, "I know it wasn't right to use our emergency code like that. And I am sorry, Care. Really. I just... saw how badly Zach wanted to talk to you. To make things right."
Her hands knot in her lap, fingers picking at her nails.
"When you left without saying goodbye, it really did a number on him.
It was like you took all the light out of his eyes when you walked away.
" She shakes her head, remembering. "He tried calling, texting—but you blocked him.
For months he looked like... I don't know, the walking dead version of himself.
Gloomy cloud over his head, dragging through every day like he couldn't figure out how to keep going. "
I give her a look, skeptical. This has Sam's usual flair for exaggeration written all over it.
She catches it instantly and lets out a humorless laugh, one shoulder lifting. "I know that face. But I'm not exaggerating, Care. Zach really went full emo era after you left. You should've seen him—mopey, broody, and listening to music that made me want to gag. It was honestly pathetic."
I don't say anything right away. My eyes drop to the crumpled sheet still in my lap, though the words blur uselessly on the page. Silence stretches, heavy, contemplative, while Sam studies me like she's waiting for the wall to crack.
"Did you know," she says softly, "that he almost got kicked off the team freshman year?"
My head snaps up. "What? Why?"
Sam's lips tilt into a sad smile. "I told you... you leaving did a number on him. When he realized you weren't at Ridgewater U like you were supposed to be—that you'd really gone—it just... broke something in him. He kept skipping practice, and you know Zach never misses a practice."
Really? That doesn't sound like the Zach I know.