CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #17
I point at Cody like a preacher spotting salvation, jabbing my finger so hard my arm's about to cramp. "Yes! Exactly! Finally—someone gets it. Genius. Absolute genius."
"God help us," Liam mutters, shaking his head.
Luke barks out a laugh. "Yeah, or—and hear me out—you do this big public declaration thing, and boom. Your social suicide. Instant."
Liam doesn't even glance up from his dumbbell curls, just nods sagely like some prophet of doom.
"He's right. This will nuke your reputation.
You'll go from Zach Westbrook, campus legend, to Zach Westbrook, lovesick clown.
It's basically the same as grabbing a mic in the dining hall and announcing, 'Hi, I'm Zach, still a virgin. '"
They both grin at me, twins united in their smug-ass roast.
I drag a hand down my face. "You two are insufferable."
Damn if I give two shits about image or reputation. That's exactly what cost me her the first time. Over my dead, hot eight-pack body am I making that mistake twice.
They can call it social suicide all they want.
If it gets me Caroline back, then fine—bury me in the graveyard of reputations and carve "Gone but Swooned" on my tombstone.
Elijah gives me this look. "You're really gonna do it, aren't you?"
My grin spreads slow, crooked—half cocky, half already picturing it.
The perfect place.
The perfect moment.
I can practically see it now: Caroline in my jersey, drowning in it, looking better than I ever could. Front and center. Next home game.
"Let's just say..." I draw it out, real casual, "...she'd look damn good wearing my number on the ice."
Elijah freezes mid-set. "No..." Drawn out, suspicious.
The twins whip around, Cody drops his dumbbell onto the mat with a thud. All three give me that exact same you cannot be serious face.
My grin only widens.
Groans explode in stereo.
"Bro, no shot you're pulling that stunt," Liam groans.
"Dude..." Luke pinches the bridge of his nose like he's aged twenty years.
Cody mutters, "Bro's about to turn hockey night into a rom-com disaster."
I just laugh, grabbing my towel and slinging it over my shoulder. "Better get used to it, boys. Show time's coming."
Even Kentaro—who's been laser-focused on his bench reps this whole time—pauses mid-press, slowly lowering the bar back into place. He doesn't say a word at first, just tips his head my way with that unreadable stare.
Then, deadpan as ever, he says, "If you actually pull that off, you might earn my respect."
The room goes quiet for half a beat.
Then Liam barks out a laugh. "Damn, that's like... the holy grail of compliments coming from him."
"See? Even Kent believes in me."
Kentaro shrugs, smirk ghosting at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't say I believe in you. I said if you do it. Big if."
Another round of groans, louder this time.
And I walk out grinning like a lunatic, savoring the idea of blowing the whole campus to pieces in the next home game.
CHAPTER TWENTY-seven
ZACH
After workouts, we headed back to the Pond—and then straight out again. Taylor and I were supposed to hit Campus Safety alone, but surprise, the guys tagged along. Said it was "insurance."
Apparently, me telling them how Taylor had already tried filing for a restraining order before, only to get brushed off for lack of evidence, lit a fuse.
So their logic was simple: if Campus Safety tried that crap again, they'd have six pissed-off hockey players staring them down.
And honestly? That's the kind of loyalty that makes me love these idiots.
They might be reckless, foul-mouthed manwhores on and off the ice, but damn if they don't have a moral compass buried in there somewhere.
Which is how Taylor ended up rolling into Campus Safety with her own personal Secret Service detail. Six guys, all over six feet, crowding behind her like a wall of meat.
Safe to say, it worked.
The second we said we were there to report an incident, the officers scrambled like we'd just called in a SWAT team.
Normally, Campus Safety takes forever. Like, you file a report, and then you wait three to five business years while they "review the footage" and "open an investigation."
By the time they actually do anything, you're either graduated or dead—sometimes both.
This time? Whole different story.
Suddenly they were running, what, some VIP "expedite service"? Paperwork flying, surveillance footage queued up on the spot, officers nodding so fast I thought their necks would snap.
And I knew exactly why. The Archer twins.
They went full scorched-earth the second we walked in.
Luke dropped their family name like a nuke, casually reminding Campus Safety who basically funded half their shiny new offices. Liam backed it up with the not-so-subtle threat that jobs have a funny way of disappearing when the donors aren't happy.
And wow, did it work.
Suddenly, Campus Safety was bending over backward to make sure Taylor's case got handled ASAP.
By the time we left, Taylor's report was filed, the surveillance tape was reviewed, and the restraining order was already being processed. What usually drags on for days got wrapped up in less than two hours.
Customer satisfaction guaranteed. Five stars. Would recommend.
By the time I pull up in front of her apartment building, the sun's already high enough to cast everything in sharp daylight. It's late morning, traffic buzzing past, a couple of students hustling across the sidewalk with coffee cups in hand.
I ease into an open spot at the curb and kill the engine.
For a minute, neither of us moves. Just the hum of the cooling car and the muffled buzz of the city outside.
Taylor leans back in her seat, exhaling like she's finally letting go of a weight she's been hauling around for months.
When she turns to me, she actually smiles—soft, genuine.
Not the brittle mask she wore yesterday when fear had her by the throat.
Her eyes don't look haunted anymore. Relief's lit her face, and it's the first time she doesn't look like she's bracing for Kirk to come charging out of the shadows.
"Thank you, Zach." she says quietly. "And tell your friends thanks, too. They didn't have to do all that for me, but... it meant a lot."
I nod, a half-smile tugging at my mouth. "We're happy to help. All of us. Honestly..." I pause, scratching the back of my neck. "Are you really okay staying here all by yourself?"
She nods without hesitation. "Yeah. I'm good, Zach. Really."
"Campus Police said they're rotating patrols through this area while the paperwork's still in process," I remind her. "So you're not on your own. Kirk's getting served within three to five days—they promised."
"Three to five days." She repeats it like she's testing the weight of the words, then nods again. "That's enough. Just knowing something's happening—it's a huge relief."
"Good," I say softly. "That's what matters."
Silence stretches again, but this time it's comfortable.
She fiddles absently with the strap of her bag while I drum my fingers against the wheel.
"So... six massive hockey guys marching me into Campus Safety like I was under presidential protection? Gotta admit, that was a sight." She jokes and she lets out a little laugh.
I laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, you definitely looked like you were walking in with your own personal Secret Service detail. Pretty sure the officers didn't know whether to salute or shit their pants."
That gets her laughing again.
Taylor checks the time on her phone—10:26 a.m.—then slips it back into her bag. She gives me a quick glance. "I should go. Still need to get ready for my next class in an hour."
I nod with a small smile, but before she can reach for the passenger door, the words tumble out. "Oh—wait. Uh... I actually wanted to tell you something. It's kind of important."