CHAPTER TWENTY-seven
I told her once that she should only ever believe me — not the girls whispering behind her back, not the jerks calling her names. Me. I told her she was perfect the way she was.
And then I went and proved myself a liar.
So yeah, I can see it now, as clear as the day I ruined everything — the way that hurt still bleeds through her, even when she's trying so hard to hide it.
And it kills me.
Before I even think about it, I'm holding her hands, gripping them tighter than I should.
"I told you it was a mistake. A misunderstanding." My words come out rough, rushed, like I'm scared she'll cut me off before I can get them all out.
"I know how bad it was — hell, I think about it every damn day — but I need you to hear me when I say I didn't mean it. Any of it. You have to—"
"I hear you, Zach. I do."
Her voice is quiet, but it lands like a stone in my chest.
She exhales hard, slipping her hands free of mine. The loss of her touch is instant, sharp, and I stay frozen where I am — still crouched in front of the sofa — as I watch her stand.
She puts distance between us, crossing the room until her back is to me. My gaze follows every step like a magnet.
"I listened," she says finally, her tone softer now. "And I heard you. Maybe I don't understand all of it but I get that you weren't trying to hurt me. That you never expected me to hear it."
She lets out a dry little laugh. "People do stupid, messy things when they love someone, right? That was your thing. Making up lies to keep Jacob from asking me out because you were scared he might actually win me over."
Her shoulders rise and fall. "And maybe it even worked, because he never did ask me out. Your plan worked — you just didn't count on me overhearing it."
A breath leaves her like she's been holding it for years. "And if there's anyone who'd understand that," she says, this time with a softer, almost bittersweet chuckle, "it'd be me."
She glances over her shoulder, giving me a small, embarrassed smile.
"If you only knew how many ridiculous things I did just to get you to notice me.
How many nights I spent imagining us together — like full-on rom-com level delusion.
Every time you did something nice for me, I convinced myself it was a sign that you liked me too.
And then the next day, I'd catch you flirting with someone else and, poof, delusion gone. "
Her smile falters as she turns fully to face me, that thread of vulnerability still hanging in the air.
"But just because I get why you did it," she says quietly, "doesn't mean it didn't break me, Zach."
Her voice firms, even though her eyes shine. "You can't expect me to just erase the last three years. I can't snap my fingers and forget what you said. I was hurt. Betrayed. And I spent every single day of those three years either hating you or trying to."
Her voice wavers, but she doesn't stop. "Because even if you tell me now that you didn't mean any of it.
.. I can't erase how it felt hearing those words.
From you. God, Zach, you were my person.
The one who made me feel beautiful on the days I hated my own reflection.
And somehow, I believed you — every single time — because you said it like it was the truest thing in the world. "
Her throat works, and she presses her hand to her chest like she's trying to hold herself together.
"You made me believe I was perfect the way I was, and I did.
I stopped caring what the other kids called me — fat this, fat that — because you told me not to.
You gave me confidence, gave me something to stand on when everyone else was trying to knock me down. "
Her breath shudders, sharp. "And maybe that's why it cut so deep. Because when the person who built you up is the same person who tears you down, it's like having the ground ripped out from under you. Like freefalling with nothing to grab onto."
Her voice cracks, low and hoarse. "You didn't just hurt me, Zach.
You wrecked me. You left scars I'm still trying to smooth out three years later.
And the worst part? I let you. Because I loved you.
God, I've loved you since we were kids, since you were the boy who made me laugh until I cried and stayed up with me until I fell asleep.
I loved you so stupidly, so completely, that I never thought you could break my heart.
And then you did — in the worst way possible. "
My chest aches so hard it feels like someone's squeezing it in a vice. Every word out of her mouth lands like a punch, and I deserve every single one.
My throat works, tight, but no sound comes out. My hands curl into fists against my knees — not out of anger, but because if I don't do something with them, I'll grab her and pull her back to me, consequences be damned.
God, I hate that I'm the reason she feels this way. The reason she ever doubted herself. The reason her voice shakes when she says she loved me.
She... loved me?
Since we were kids?
The thought slams into me so hard it feels like my brain short-circuits.
What?
No, seriously — what?
Fuck.
Just how dense as shit was I back then? How did I miss this?
All this time, she loved me —me— and I was too blind to see it?
I feel like I've been sucker punched and handed a gift at the same time, my chest so tight it's hard to breathe.
And worse — or maybe better — is the sudden, gut-wrenching thought that if I'd just told her how I felt back then, she would've been mine. We could've been happy. Together. Dating. Still dating.
Not wasting three years apart, both of us pretending we were fine when we were both miserable.
I drag a hand down my face, slow, like I can wipe away the guilt choking me. It doesn't budge. It just sits heavy in my chest, hot and suffocating, until it feels like I can't breathe.
No more.
I shoot to my feet, legs tense, the motion sharp like it's fueled by something that's been coiled too tight for too long.
Every nerve in me is screaming to move — to close the space, to do something before this moment slips through my fingers.
I've already let three years slip away — three years I can't get back — because I kept my mouth shut when I should've told her how I felt.
And if I ever get another shot at a second chance, I have to take it — grab it with both hands — like now.
I march toward her, eating up the space between us.
Her lashes flutter, fast, like she can't keep up with how close I'm getting. Her breath stutters, chest rising and falling quicker with each step I take.
I don't stop. Can't. I'm done with all this distance between us. Done with letting it feel like a canyon I can't cross.
"Wha... what are you doing?" she asks, voice tripping over itself, soft and breathless — not scared, just caught completely off guard.
She takes a small step back, but I keep coming, until there's barely any space left at all.
I stop just close enough that her back nearly grazes the wall, close enough to feel her breath fan against my collarbone.
My hand comes up before I can second-guess it, and I cup her face — gently, like I'm holding something rare, fragile, breakable.
Like one wrong move might shatter her and me with her.
Her breath catches, eyes wide, like she can't decide if she wants to lean into my touch or run from it.
"Caroline..." My voice is rough, almost reverent. "I know I've said dumb shit in the past. I know you've got a voice in your head that sounds like me — and it hurts you."
Her lashes flutter. She blinks once. Twice.
"But baby," I whisper, thumb brushing along her cheekbone, "if I could, I'd go back in time and slap that stupid teenage version of myself for ever making you feel anything less than perfect. Because you are. You always were."
I swallow, my chest so tight it almost hurts. "And I swear — no one has ever come close to making me feel what I feel for you. What I still feel for you. No one. Because it's always been you."
Our eyes lock, the air between us thick and unmoving. Neither of us speaks.
"Say something," I murmur, almost afraid to breathe.
"It's always been me?"
"Yeah..." The word leaves me on a slow exhale. My mouth curves, the faintest, most fragile smile tugging at it as I nod. "I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. And nothing's changed."
My thumb keeps tracing her cheek, slow and reverent, like I could memorize every inch of her face by touch alone.
God, I missed this — missed her. Missed being this close, close enough to feel her warmth and pretend for just a second that nothing ever went wrong.
And then — I see it. The tiny flicker in her expression, the way her eyes soften just enough to make my lungs forget how to work.
She believes me. Holy shit, she actually believes me.
Hope explodes in my chest like a blown tire at full speed, leaving me dizzy and breathless.
For one wild, reckless heartbeat, I want to grab her and hold her so tight she'll never doubt me again, press my mouth to hers until the truth burns into her skin — that I love her, still, always.
But then it's gone.
Her face shutters, hardens, like someone slammed a door in my face. Those soft, shining eyes turn to ice, and the sudden chill spears through me so fast it's like being doused in liquid nitrogen — spine to soul, frozen solid.
"Do you really expect me to believe you've loved me all this time — when you've spent years screwing different girls every chance you got?"
It's like she swings a sledgehammer straight into my chest. My stomach bottoms out, the blood rushing from my face so fast I feel weightless, like I've just stepped off a cliff with no parachute.
Fuck.
"That's funny. That's hilarious, actually."
She lets out this sharp, bitter laugh and shakes her head. Then she pulls back — two steps, three — like she needs as much distance from me as she can get.