CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #13
Caroline's eyes flick away, like she doesn't even want to look at me.
I push on. "He's been stalking her for months. He's violent. And today..." I swallow hard. "Today he cornered her. Jumped her. Assaulted her."
That gets her. Her head snaps back to me, eyes wide.
"What? Assaulted?"
I nod grimly. "Yeah. He didn't get further because some people came down the hall and spooked him, but I'm sure he would've. She barely managed to elbow him and run. And she came straight to me—because I'm the only one who knew what she's been dealing with."
Her gaze locks onto mine now, sharp and searching, like she's peeling me apart to find the truth. I hold steady, praying she can see I'm not making this up.
"She was distraught, Caroline. Shaking, crying. I was just trying to calm her down, and then I was gonna drive her to Campus Safety to file the report. That's what you saw. Nothing else."
Her hand flies to her mouth, horror flashing across her face. "Oh my God... that's terrible."
"I know," I say quietly. "Her situation's fucked up. Way more than people realize."
Her hand drops from her mouth, and then she shoots me a look like I've just sprouted three heads.
"Then why are you here?" she demands.
"Huh?"
"You just said you were going to drive her to Campus Safety. So why are you standing here instead of helping her?" Her stance shifts in an instant—hands on her hips now, glowering at me like I'm the world's dumbest human.
And God help me, I almost laugh.
I really try to bite it back, but... nope. She's too damn cute. One second she's looking like she's jealous out of her mind, the next she's pissed that I chose her over Taylor.
I swear, this girl could tell me to jump off a bridge and I'd be halfway down before realizing she didn't mean it.
"She told me to come here," I explain, still fighting a grin. "Said you'd be overthinking it already, and... well, turns out she was right."
Caroline's eyes narrow.
I lean in a little, lowering my voice. "And honestly? You're kind of adorable pretending you weren't jealous two minutes ago."
Her mouth falls open, indignant. "I wasn't."
"Right..." I drawl.
"I wasn't."
I smirk, shameless. "If you say so."
I let the smirk linger for a beat, then soften it, tipping my head. "So... do you believe me now? That there's nothing between me and Taylor. That it's just friendship."
She hesitates, lips pressing together, eyes flicking away like she's weighing whether to trust me or not. For a second, I think she's about to shoot me down.
But then—finally—she gives the smallest nod.
And just like that, the pressure in my chest eases. One second I was bracing for a nuclear fallout, the next it's like someone hit the big red disarm button.
Honestly, it feels like I just cleared a sink before it could flood the whole damn kitchen. Messy, smelly disasters if you let them sit too long.
So, note to self: no more letting this stuff pile up. If there's even a whiff of confusion, I'm clearing it right away. For her? For us? I'll plunge through every ugly mix-up the second it bubbles up.
Because damn, walking around with that dread gnawing at me? Never again.
The room settles into this comfortable silence, the kind that doesn't need filling. For the first time all day, it doesn't feel heavy between us. And sitting in that quiet, all I can think is... maybe this is the moment.
We're already in the mood of clearing the air, right? So why not go all in?
If there's anything she's curious about, anything she's been holding back or second-guessing about me—I want it out now.
No hiding, no dancing around it.
Let her fire every question, every doubt, and I'll put it to bed right here, right now.
Because if there's one thing I've learned? Silence doesn't protect anything. It just breeds more of the crap that almost blew us up today.
I shift my weight, take a few slow steps closer towards her.
"So... anything else you've been wondering about?" I ask, keeping my tone light, almost teasing. "Stuff you've been dying to ask me but haven't yet?"
An internal debate plays out on her face, probably debating whether to say anything at all.
I smirk faintly. "C'mon, Caroline. You've got that look. Just spit it out. Better now than later."
"Why didn't you... ask me?"
My brows pull together. "Ask you what?"
She bites the corner of her lip, eyes flicking anywhere but me.
"About the deal. The arrangement you made with the other girls at school.
" Her voice wavers. "I thought... it probably would've been the perfect chance to tell me you liked me.
Or—even if you weren't ready to say it out loud—" her voice cracks, the words catching in her throat, "—you still could've made that deal with me instead. "
Her foot shifts, toe pointed down, tapping nervously against the floor in this restless little stomp.
She looks so unsure.
"You know... pretend we were hooking up. Pretend we were dating. Everyone would've believed it. Hell, we were already practically glued to each other back then." She forces a shaky laugh, sheepish and sad all at once. "We could've made them believe we ended up falling in love."
The air whooshes right out of me, caught completely off guard by her question.
Then it hits me... God, she's right. She's so damn right.
I could've asked Caroline—my best friend—for that deal instead of wasting time with some rando I didn't even give a shit about.
Seriously, what the hell was I thinking? Biggest choke of my life. Like, Hall of Fame dumbass move right there.
It would've been so damn easy. Painfully easy. All I had to do was reach across that tiny space between us, grab her hand, and boom—the whole school would've seen what I'd been dying to scream out loud for years.
We could've played the part, sure—let everyone think it was just for show—but every second of it would've been my shot to prove it wasn't. That it was real.
Every second would've been my chance to show her what it really meant to be mine.
I could've made her feel it—how good we would've been together.
How natural, how inevitable it would've felt, like gravity itself pulling us closer no matter how much we tried to fight it.
And if I'd had half a brain, I would've used every trick in the playbook to charm her, to make her fall in love with me.
And when the moment finally came—when I knew for sure she felt it too—I could've told her everything. That I wasn't pretending. Not for a single damn second. That every look, every brush of my hand, every stupid excuse to be near her was the truest thing I've ever given anyone.
God, I'm an idiot. A certified, walking, talking, face-palming idiot.
"When you first told me about it last week, I thought you didn't ask me because..." She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"Deep down, you knew no one would believe you. Not your teammates, not anyone. No one would've believed that someone like you could ever want someone like me."
The words hit like a slap across the face.
I actually step back, my chest stinging, this slow burn spreading under my skin.
"You think I was that guy? Some shallow asshole who only cared about what people thought? Who couldn't be with the girl he wanted because she didn't fit their so-called standards?"
She just shrugs one shoulder, like the answer doesn't matter. "You tell me."
I shake my head hard, throat tight. The words taste bitter as I force them out.
"I was stupid back then, I admit that. Immature- sure. Being the star player probably got in my head more than I want to admit. But not like that. I wasn't that guy, Caroline. I'm not that kind of guy."
For a second, I hold her stare, waiting.
Hoping she'll shake her head, call me an idiot for even asking.
God, don't let that be how you've always seen me.
I don't think I could stomach it.
"You said it yourself—high school was a shark tank. You either kept your image intact or gave people something to rip apart. And God forbid the king of the in-crowd got caught dating his fat, ugly best friend. That would've been social suicide, wouldn't it?"
Her words feel like they're flaying me alive, leaving me speechless.
"I think, this is why I'm having a difficult time letting you back in, trusting you again," she whispers, and it's somehow worse than if she screamed.
"What do you mean?"
"How am I supposed to believe you liked me back then, when you didn't have the guts to say it? And now—now that I finally look like I meet everyone's definition of your standard—you suddenly find the courage? Just like that?"
She snaps her fingers, and the sound ricochets in my chest.
"Your reputation has always been everything to you," she says, huffing out a breath, eyes glistening.
She tips her head back, staring at the ceiling like sheer force of will can keep the tears from falling, then drops her gaze to me again. "You always chose the girls who looked the part. The ones who matched what everyone thought was the Zach Westbrook standard."
Her arms fold tight across her chest, a shield she clearly needs. "The ones who made sense standing next to you. Just like...Taylor."
Her mouth twists into something caught between a smirk and a wince. "With your face, your popularity, it had to be believable, right? Had to look like a perfect picture." She lets out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but it's empty.
Then her eyes pin mine, steady and unblinking. "And I didn't. Not back then."
As she says it, I catch something in her eyes — insecurity, self-doubt. A ghost that's been living there for years, whispering that she'll never measure up. And maybe she still believes it, even now.
And I can't stop wondering if I'm the one who put that there.
If it started the day she overheard me run my mouth, calling her fat and not worth it.
If I was the one who carved that wound into her and then left it to fester, feeding it every damn day by pretending I wanted someone — anyone — but her.
Was I really that guy to her? That shallow? That obsessed with keeping some perfect image?