CHAPTER NINETEEN #14
"And when he did show up, it was half-assed. He played like an amateur out there, not the guy everyone called a hockey prodigy in high school. Like... imagine watching Superman forget how to fly. It was embarrassing." She huffs out a little laugh, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
My chest tightens, the air turning sharp in my lungs.
"What really pushed the coach over the edge was when Zach went AWOL for days. Didn't tell anyone where he was, just vanished. I only found out later from Mom that he actually went to New York... to look for you."
"What?"
"Yeah. I don't know what exactly happened after that trip.
.. or how he even managed to keep his spot on the team.
All I know is when he came back, he was different.
Back to his old self. He started showing up again, actually taking hockey seriously.
Probably figured if he kept going the way he was—kept screwing up—he'd lose something else important. "
She gives a small shrug, almost sheepish.
"And after losing you? He couldn't afford that."
The words slam into me, harder than I want them to.
Zach went to New York. To look for me.
It echoes in my head, again and again, until it's all I can hear. My pulse stumbles, my grip on the manuscript tightening like it's the only thing keeping me grounded.
Zach went to New York... for me?
My throat works, but no words come out.
Sam's hand reaches out, her fingers brushing against my arm. When I glance at her, her eyes are wide, almost pleading.
"I know Zach is probably the last person you want to deal with right now—after what he did, after he broke your heart. And I get it. Believe me, I do. I'm still mad at him for making you feel so small, like you weren't enough... like you weren't beautiful."
The words hit harder than I want them to. My chest tightens, but I hold her gaze.
"If he wasn't my brother," she goes on, her voice steady but soft, "I'd tell you to forget him. Don't give him another chance. Because he doesn't deserve you. Not the way he hurt you."
She sighs, and I can feel her thumb pressing gently against my arm.
"But the truth is... he is my brother. And I know him better than anyone.
Yeah, he can be stupid—dense as a brick, honestly—and sometimes, he never thinks before he opens his mouth.
But he's not like those other guys, Care.
He's not a piece of shit who'd play with you just to prove something.
He would never hurt you. Not unless he was too blind to realize he was doing it. "
I let out an exasperated sigh. "I know what I heard, Sam."
"I don't doubt that," she replies. "But don't you ever wonder if what you heard was the whole truth? If maybe... there's more to it than you realize?"
My brows twitch. Ugh, don't do this to me, Sam.
Because part of me knows she's right. I don't know the whole story. I don't want to know the whole story.
But another part of me—the reckless, stupid part—pauses anyway. What if there is more? What if I got it wrong?
Nope. Don't go there, Caroline. Don't you dare go there.
I can't let myself be that girl again. The girl who hands Zach Westbrook her heart on a silver platter, just so he can smash it to pieces.
"You and Zach have known each other your whole lives. You've been practically attached at the hip."
She pauses, letting that hang between us before continuing.
"Doesn't that kind of friendship deserve one more chance? At least enough of a chance to let him explain himself? To try and make things right?"
Her voice softens. "If you can't give him that chance for him... then do it for the eighteen years of friendship you two built together. That has to mean something. That has to count for something."
God, why does she have to make it sound so reasonable?
Her words sink in, no matter how much I want to shove them away. And that's the problem—I don't know if I want them to sink in or not.
I stay quiet. My mind's too busy spinning, reeling with every word she just dropped on me. It's like my brain is a pinball machine, her voice bouncing around.
"Go to the party tomorrow," she says gently.
"Just... hear him out. Let him sit you down and tell you everything.
Because I promise you—there's more to the story than what you heard.
And knowing the full truth? It might not fix things, but it might finally give you the closure you need. .. that you both need."
Her words press against the walls I've built, and I hate how part of me wants to believe her.
"And if, after that, nothing changes for you?
" she goes on. "If you still don't want to be his friend, if you still don't want him in your life—then tell him that.
Make him understand that you've grown apart, that there's no way to go back to what you were before.
It'll probably break his heart, but at least this time.
.." She trails off, eyes steady on mine.
I bite the inside of my cheek, still not trusting my voice.
"At least this time you'll know the truth. You'll know why he said what he said. And you won't be left wondering why."
Her words hang there, and for some reason, they sting more than I expect.
The thought slices deeper than I want to admit. Because for all the hurt, for all the ways he broke me... we were good once. Better than good.
He was my person. My best friend.
And yeah, I wanted more than that—I always wanted more—but even the friendship alone had been everything.
Is that really what I want? To never have that again?
My throat tightens. My chest aches. And before the tears can spill over, I snap my gaze back to Sam, glowering at her through the burn in my eyes.
Since when did she become all grown-up and wise? Where the hell is she pulling all this big-sister TED Talk wisdom from? She's younger than me, for crying out loud.
I blink fast, swallowing hard.
Seriously, who even let her get this good at giving advice?
I noticed the twitch at the corner of Sam's mouth. She's fighting back a grin. Like she knows she's won me over.
I narrow my eyes at her. "I know what you're thinking."
She shrugs, all innocence. "Don't know what you're talking about, Care."
"Right. Uh-huh." I roll my eyes.
Her grin breaks through as her brows wiggle, her usual mischief sliding back into place. "So... you're going, right?"
I don't answer. My face stays unreadable, though inside my chest there's a storm tearing me apart.
Instead, I shift on the bed, carefully setting the manuscript aside before sliding down under the duvet. I tug it up around me and mumble, "Goodnight."
Sam huffs, her voice pitching into a whine. "Oh, come on..."
I ignore her. I just close my eyes, tugging the duvet higher like maybe it can block her out.
But of course, it doesn't block out my brain.
I want to go. God, part of me really wants to go.
Then another voice cuts in. No. Don't be stupid. There's no point. He already showed you who he is—why let him do it again?
But what if Sam's right?
Does it even matter?
My mind won't stop. Yes. No. Go. Don't go. Over and over until it makes me dizzy.
In the end, I tell myself it's better if I don't go.
The words taste bitter, but I hold onto them anyway. And only then, exhausted from fighting myself, do I finally let sleep drag me under.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CAROLINE
The Pond looked ridiculous. Ostentatious, even. Like, who needed a hockey house this flashy just to crash, drink, and party?
God, what the hell am I doing here?
I told myself I wasn't going to come. I swore up and down last night that I was staying home, that the safest choice was staying far away.
And yet—here I am. Standing outside the door like an idiot, debating whether I should knock... or just turn around and bolt.
Seriously, Caroline, why? Why did you think this was such a great idea? Because newsflash—it's not. It's a terrible idea. Worst idea of the year.
The music inside rattles the front windows—bass thumping so hard it feels like it's shaking the ground beneath my shoes.
I can hear the shouting and laughter too, the kind of chaos only a college party can brew.
Cups clinking, someone screaming "chug, chug, chug," and the unmistakable shriek of girls way too drunk already.
Not that I'm unfamiliar with the scene. Please. I went to NYU. I've seen plenty of parties, most of them wilder than this one. But tonight? I'm not here for the keg stands or the beer pong or the fake-ID freshmen puking in the bushes.
No. Tonight I'm here for one thing only. To stop running. To face my former best friend and act like the actual adult I keep pretending to be.
And it's all Sam's fault.
Damn her and her stupid wisdom, with her wide eyes and her calm voice and her "closure, Care, you need closure."
If she hadn't filled my head with all that big-sister-sage crap, I wouldn't be standing here now, contemplating whether to knock or sprint back to my car like a coward.
I never even told her I was coming. She texted earlier, asking if I'd changed my mind. I ignored it. Of course I ignored it.
And yet somehow, after leaving Naples and checking on Mom, I found myself driving straight here.
At least Mom's doing better. Still stuck in that cast, but the doctor said she can finally ditch it next month.
She looked good, really good—smiling, cracking jokes, bossing me around like usual.
She kept insisting I go back early, that I should stop hovering and go have fun with my friends instead of babysitting her.
So, I did. I packed up earlier than I planned, drove back to Miami, and now—God help me—I'm here.
And honestly? Sam wasn't the only culprit.
The drive back to Miami didn't help. I stupidly queued up Taylor Swift's new Life of a Showgirl album—because apparently I enjoy emotional self-harm—and right when I hit the turnpike, Track 6 starts playing.
Ruin the Friendship.
Of course it did.