CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #6
But then I saw my own face, fractured into a hundred broken pieces, and it hit me: I wasn't just smashing the mirror. I was smashing myself.
God, I hated her.
Hated me.
There were so many nights I almost gave up. Nights I sat on my bed staring at the ceiling, whispering to myself, Screw it. Just stay this way. This is who you are. Stop fighting it.
But every morning, I dragged myself up again. Told myself I wasn't a quitter, even if my body and brain screamed otherwise.
Honestly, the only reason I kept going was because of my coach. She wouldn't let me spiral too far. She reminded me this wasn't about punishment, it was about change — real, lasting change. That weight loss wasn't supposed to be instant, that my body wasn't a math problem to solve overnight.
And when I hated myself so much I couldn't even look in the mirror, she made me do the thing I hated most — face it.
Breathe.
Visualize who I wanted to be.
Say out loud the things I wanted to believe about myself until, slowly, I started to.
And somewhere along the way — after all the sweat, the tears, the nights I hated myself — the girl in the mirror started to look different.
Stronger.
Someone I could stand to look at.
"Caroline..."
His voice cuts through the memory like a blade, soft but sharp enough to slice straight through my chest.
I blink, dragged back into the present, back to the hallway, back to the way Zach's standing just a step behind me.
When I turn, there's guilt all over his face — raw and unguarded — and for a split second, it almost makes my chest ache.
"I'm sorry," he says — two simple words, but they sound heavy enough to drop between us and crack the floor.
The elevator dings, breaking the moment.
We step inside, the doors sliding shut with a soft hiss. He doesn't look up, just keeps staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole.
I let out a dry little laugh, shaking my head, trying to lighten the air between us. "Don't be. If anything, you should take the credit. What happened back then? It was the kick I needed to actually do something about it. I hated hearing it, but I needed it."
For a second, something flickers across his face — the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile, but it doesn't quite make it there. His shoulders are still tense, like even hearing me say this hurts him more than it helps.
And maybe that's okay.
Because as much as I don't want him to hurt... a part of me needs him to sit in this with me. Just for a little longer.
I really thought once we reached the lecture hall, he'd just leave me in peace.
But nope.
He's still here. Right behind me, matching my pace, hands shoved in his pockets like he had nowhere else in the world to be.
I shoot him a look over my shoulder. "Don't you have a class?"
"I do, at one o'clock." His grin is infuriatingly smug, like he's enjoying this way too much.
"Well, you should leave. My class starts in five minutes, and you can't be here."
"Oh yes, I can. I can sit through the lecture until it's over."
I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him. "What? Why?"
"Because I haven't seen you in over a week." He pouts — the jerk actually pouted!
"You keep saying no whenever I ask you out, which means you leave me no choice but to resort to desperate measures. So here I am. Desperate." His mouth tips into a slow, lopsided curve, silver eyes glinting with amusement as he winks.
I let out a disbelieving scoff, throwing my hands up. "You're insane. Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Nope. There's nothing better than spending a day with you, sugarplum."
The way he says it — so smooth, so utterly sure of himself — makes my stomach flip, which only annoys me more. I roll my eyes so hard it's a miracle I don't sprain something and turn toward the lecture hall door.
"Care! Up here!"
Lucy's voice snaps me out of my annoyance. I glance toward the front of the hall — and freeze when I realize every single pair of eyes is trained on me.
No. On us.
And of course, they're not really looking at me.
Every girl in the room is locked on Zach — Ridgewater's star forward — like he just walked straight out of a hockey calendar. I keep walking, spine stiff, pretending I don't notice the ridiculous fanfare — or Zach's presence at my back.
Girls wave at him as we pass, tossing out little "Hi, Zach!" greetings like it's the most normal thing in the world.
And of course, he waves back, smiling that easy, casual smile that makes half the class sigh.
It's ridiculous. The way their eyes light up, it's like there are cartoon hearts popping out of them.
It's not fair how good he looks either, all tall and broad-shouldered and stupidly gorgeous before ten in the morning.
God, I almost wish he'd trip or get coffee on that annoyingly perfect hoodie, just to wipe that satisfied grin off his face.
Something sharp curls in my gut, quick and mean.
Because how am I supposed to believe him? That whole speech last week — the one where he swore he'd never hooked up with anyone — replays in my head, and for a second, it feels... impossible.
I mean, look at him.
Six-foot-three of stupidly gorgeous, with shoulders that barely fit through a doorway and a smile that could probably convince a nun to break her vows. Girls flock to him like moths to a flame, and I'm supposed to believe he swatted them all away? For years?
Yeah, right.
It's like someone telling me fire doesn't burn. Or that gravity doesn't apply to him.
Because Zach Westbrook resisting them?
That's what feels impossible.
Universe-bending, law-of-physics–defying impossible.
He was a teenage boy once — hell, he's still a college guy with hormones and a fan club of pretty girls practically throwing themselves at him. And I'm supposed to believe he just... ignored all of that?
Please.
I fight back a sigh, shoving the thought away as we finally reach Lucy, who's sitting halfway down the row, clutching her tablet.
I slide into the aisle seat beside her — but before I can even get settled, Zach steps in, still standing in the row, and leans slightly toward her with that easy, practiced charm.
"Hi, I'm Zach."
Lucy blinks, then practically squeaks. "I— I know." Her cheeks go scarlet. "I mean— I'm Lucy."
Zach flashes her that signature grin — the one that should be illegal, "Nice to meet you, Lucy."
Then he gestures to the row with a polite nod. "Would you mind moving over a seat so I could sit next to Caroline?"
"O-of course!"
Zach slides into the newly vacated seat, flashing Lucy a grateful smile. "Thanks, Lucy."
Then he turns to me, that infuriatingly smug grin plastered on his face.
I lean toward him, lowering my voice. "Okay, you've seen me. Mission accomplished. Now go."
He just shakes his head, settling back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the backrest like he's planning to stay a while. "Nope."
"Zach..." I hiss, glancing around as I catch a few heads turning our way. The last thing I need is the entire class turning this into entertainment.
"Nope,"
"Don't you have practice or... something?"
"Not until the afternoon," he says easily, like he's got all the time in the world.
I drop my head into my hands with a dramatic sigh, muttering under my breath, "Unbelievable."
He shifts in his seat, leaning closer until his shoulder brushes mine. "So... lunch after class?"
"No," I say automatically, keeping my eyes glued to the front like maybe ignoring him will make him vanish. "I already have plans."
It's a lie, but no way am I about to tell him that.
"Plans?" He arches a brow, skeptical. "What plans?"
"The kind that don't involve you," I shoot back, fighting to keep a straight face.
"Ouch, you wound me, babe." He clutches his chest like I just stabbed him, his lips twisting into an over-the-top pout.
"And here I thought we were past the cold shoulders. You said you were giving me another chance."
I bite back a snort, "I didn't say I'd make it easy. Besides..." I turn just enough to look at him. "If I remember right, what I actually said was, 'I can't promise you anything.'"
"Semantics," he grumbles, crossing his arms like a sulky little kid before peeking at me from the corner of his eye.
I'm halfway through pulling out last week's notes when it hits me. "Wait... you haven't even asked about your sister. Don't you want to know if she's still in the dorm?"
Zach just shrugs, lazy grin tugging at his mouth. "I already know where she is."
I arch a brow. "Oh, do you?"
"Mm-hmm." His grin widens like he's letting me in on a secret. "She stayed at the pond last night. In my room. Pretty sure she's planning on moving in permanently at this point."
I snort, shaking my head. "That explains a lot. At this rate, I forget I even have a roommate. Her bed's always empty. I feel like I live alone."
We both smile at that, a quiet moment stretching between us.
Then he cocks his head, eyes gleaming. "You know..." His voice drops low, smooth as velvet. "I could fix that."
"What?"
"I could switch places with Sam." He leans in just a fraction, enough to make my pulse jump. "I can be your roommate."
"What...huh?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" His smirk deepens, his voice all teasing warmth. "I'd be the perfect roommate. Quiet. Respectful." His voice dips, lazy and smooth, and his thumb traces the back of my chair like he's imagining it's my skin.
He pauses just long enough to make my breath catch before adding, lower, rougher:
"Well—depends on how respectful you want me to be." His grin curves slow, wicked, his eyes dragging over my face. "I can be very... hands-on when needed."
The last line lands like a spark, the air between us going hot and charged.
"Hell, I'd even warm your bed for you if you asked... nicely."
His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers just long enough to make my pulse trip. "You'd never have to sleep cold again."