CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #2
"And you say you didn't tell me you liked me because you were afraid it would ruin our friendship? That you thought it was all one-sided?"
She scoffs, her voice cutting, disbelieving.
"Bullshit!" The word snaps between us like a whip, and my chest tightens.
"Don't stand there and lie to my face, Zach." Her voice shakes — not weak, but furious. "If anyone knew, it was you. My feelings weren't exactly subtle. I shoved them in your face every single damn day."
Her glare pins me where I stand, freezing me in place like a rookie standing under the arena lights with the whole rink watching him choke.
"I was the girl waiting for you to finish practice every single day — no matter how late it got — just so we could go home together, because I knew how exhausted you were to drive home."
She sucks in a sharp breath and shakes her head, anger flashing like a lit match. "I was that girl singing every Taylor Swift song like a lunatic — loud, off-key, dramatic — like they were my freaking love letters to you."
Her laugh comes out dry, brittle enough to snap in half.
"Do you really think I just enjoyed belting You Belong With Me on repeat? Right there in the car, every ounce of emotion I had poured into it, no matter how out of tune I was?"
She scoffs, eyes blazing hot enough to burn straight through me.
"No, Zach. That was me screaming at you — hey, asshole, I'm right here. Look at me. I'm the one who gets you. I'm the one who belongs with you."
She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling like she's been holding this in for years.
"I was the girl staring at you like you held the entire damn universe in your hands. And all it took was one look from you — one — and I was done for. I turned into a puddle right there, every single time."
Her voice cracks, anger battling with grief.
"And I was stupid enough to believe in little daydreams—pathetic, naive fantasies—that maybe you liked me too, you just hadn't figured it out yet.
That maybe you just needed to get your hookups and your parties out of your system, and when you were done playing around, you'd finally look at me. .. and choose me."
Her lip curls.
"Everyone saw it. Your teammates, your friends — hell, the entire town knew I was stupidly, pathetically in love with my hockey-golden-boy best friend. Everyone could see it but you?"
"I swear—" I can barely shake my head. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know." The words come out rough, but true.
Caroline just gapes at me, scoffing, an incredulous huff escaping her.
"Fine. Let's say you were that clueless, that blind. Whatever. Let's even pretend you really thought it was one-sided. I still don't get why— why didn't you just tell me? Why didn't you risk it? Because if you had told me you liked me, Zach, I would've told you 'me too' without even blinking."
Her chin lifts, eyes flashing with something between anger and heartbreak.
"But instead of telling me, instead of waiting or pining like a normal person, you decided—what? 'Guess I'll just hook up with every girl who blinks at me while I wait for my best friend to magically confess first'? Was that the plan?"
Her laugh this time is soft, bitter, final.
"If that's what love looks like to you, Zach, then screw your version of love. I don't want it."
I can't move. Can't breathe.
My brain goes dark, like someone yanked the power cord out — nothing but static and ringing, every thought scattering like shrapnel.
Fuck. Say something, idiot.
But I can't. This is the first time in my life I have absolutely nothing. No smooth comeback. No excuse.
How the hell do I get through to her? How do I make her believe me?
She's still standing there, arms crossed, glaring at me like I'm the villain of her story — and maybe I am. Her stare is sharp enough to cut me open, pinning me right where I stand.
I guess this is what people mean when they say if looks could kill. I'd be dead on the spot.
It takes Caroline throwing her arms in the air and stomping toward the door to finally knock me out of it. "It's not true. I... I didn't do that. The hookups, I mean."
She freezes, her hand hovering near the doorknob. Her head snaps back so fast I almost hear it.
"What?"
I exhale hard, squaring my shoulders before I take a slow step toward her. Confidence — or what's left of it — rolling off me like I'm walking into overtime.
Yeah, I wasn't planning on telling anyone this. Ever.
But if she's going to walk out of here still believing I was out screwing my way through the entire female population of Florida, then I've got no choice but to burn that lie down right here.
"I didn't hook up with anyone."
She stares at me. Blinks. And then—she laughs.
Not polite, not a little huff of disbelief — a full, head-thrown-back laugh that's so real it almost knocks me backward. It's warm and wild, the kind of laugh that makes the edges of my chest ache because I've missed it so much.
And hell, if it doesn't set off a riot in my stomach, butterflies going berserk like they just got called up for playoffs.
When she finally calms, she wipes at the corners of her eyes, still grinning. "You really expect me to believe you've been—what?—a saint? A monk? Celibate for the past three years?"
"No," I say, voice dropping to something rough, the corner of my mouth twitching into a grin as I rake a hand through my hair.
I guess this is how my legendary rep dies — the guy who never left a party without a girl in his arms, who could make a girl come better than her boyfriend ever could, and who never got a single complaint about his... performance.
Fine. Let it die. If it means she sees me differently, it's worth it.
I stop right in front of her, close enough that the door presses cold against her back, and brace one palm beside her head.
My grin kicks up slow, cocky, just this side of wicked.
"Three years?" I echo, a laugh rumbling low in my chest. "That's cute, babe. Try my whole damn life. I've basically been practicing celibacy since birth."
Her lips part, her breath catching, her eyes searching mine like she's not sure she heard me right.
Good. Let her wonder. Let her sit with it.
Because any moment now, she's going to know exactly what I meant.
And right on cue, her eyes go wide — comically wide — like I just dropped the world's biggest plot twist.
"What? You... you're still..." she stammers, then blurts in a whisper-shout, "A virgin?"
My finger landing lightly on her lips like punctuation. "Careful, babe. You want the entire house to hear you, or should we keep my lack of a body count between us?"
Her nose scrunches, her gaze darting anywhere but me, teeth catching on her bottom lip. "Well... sorry. It's just... kinda shocking," she mutters.
God, she looks so damn cute like that — cheeks pink, nose scrunched.
My lips curl, fighting to keep my grin from stretching wider. But hell, I can't help it. Her baffled little face is priceless, and I can tell I've got her. Really got her.
She peeks at me through her lashes, eyes narrowing as if she's trying to call my bluff. "I still don't believe that you're still," she says, voice so quiet it's almost swallowed by the music outside. Her throat bobs as she swallows, then she clears it and mumbles, "...a virgin."
The word sounds almost scandalous in her mouth.
If I told her the rest — that the reason I'm still a virgin is because I've been holding out for her, because I always wanted her to be my first — hell, I wanted us to be each other's first — would that make me sound pathetic?
Yeah. Probably.
And she might think I'm assuming too much. So, I swallow it back and just let her squirm a little longer.
She chews on her lip like she's thinking hard, then tilts her head at me. "Okay, then what about all the rumors? The girls in high school? I saw you with them, Zach."
I can't help it — I smirk. The fact that she's asking, that she even cares, sends this weird rush through me. Feels almost... normal. Like we're back to late-night drives, trading secrets like we used to.
"Most of it was for show," I admit, leaning back just enough to watch her reaction.
"For show?"
"Yeah." I drag a hand through my hair, sighing.
"Back in high school, the guys were starting to talk.
Tyler wouldn't shut up about how I'd never had a girlfriend, never went out with anyone.
He straight-up asked me if I was gay — and it turned into this running joke that wouldn't die.
And you know how high school is — once something sticks, it spreads. "
Caroline's frown deepens, but she doesn't say anything, so I keep going.
"So, I asked one of the girls in our class to go out with me. Totally fake — just so people would see us together and get off my back. In exchange, she got the social boost of being seen with the school's golden boy." My mouth quirks, humorless.
"Win-win, right? Word got around we were hooking up, which made her even more popular. And... yeah, a few more girls wanted the same deal. Before I knew it, boom — Zach Westbrook, ladies' man."
I shake my head, a low, humorless sound slipping out.
"Yeah, I know how it sounds now — lame, stupid.
But back then? High school was a freaking shark tank.
You either kept your image intact, or you gave people something to tear apart.
And if you were the guy in the hockey team — the guy everyone was watching — you didn't get to screw up quietly.
Every little thing became gossip, and once it stuck, it was game over. "
I shrug, but there's a tightness in my chest just remembering it. "So yeah, I played along. Built a reputation I didn't even want, because it was easier than dealing with the rumors and the whispers. It felt like survival at the time. Control the story, or let it control you."