CHAPTER thirty-five
She eases back into her seat, "What is it?"
"So, uh..." My fingers drag along my jaw like I'm trying to scratch off nerves that won't quit. My lips press into a thin line as I stare down at the steering wheel like it's suddenly the most fascinating thing on Earth. "Not sure this is the right time to say it, but... I hope you'll understand."
"Okay?" she says slowly, leaning a little toward me. "Go on."
I swallow, pulse kicking, words tangling in my throat.
"Well, I know we never really specified how long our deal was supposed to last—like, the timeline or whatever.
But ever since Caroline came back... it's like—I don't know—it feels like it's my do-over.
And I'd be an idiot to mess it up. Which means. .." I trail off, exhaling.
"You want to end our arrangement, is that it?" Taylor says, cutting me off.
She doesn't sound upset—just chirpy, like she's pointing out something obvious.
My head snaps toward her so fast it's a miracle I don't get whiplash. I bob my head up and down, frantic, like one of those dashboard bobblehead dolls you can't turn off.
Taylor chuckles, shaking her head at me, amused rather than bothered.
"I can't keep showing people that we're a thing—or keeping up the act that there's, uh.
.. something between us—if I want Caroline to even consider giving me another shot.
" I tell her, "I need to show her exactly where I stand.
I don't ever want to give her another reason to doubt me because I already have enough to make up for to last a lifetime. "
Taylor's lips twitch. "Knew that was coming."
I give her an apologetic smile. "I'm so—"
"Stop." She cuts me off with a raised finger. "Don't finish that sentence, Zach. Totally unnecessary."
Then she laughs, light and chirpy. "You really thought I was gonna be upset about that?"
"I mean... maybe a little?" I admit, dragging a hand down my face.
She shakes her head, smirking. "Not even close. We both knew what this was from the start—purely transactional. Just selling an act in public so people we didn't like stayed out of our business. Basically our own PG-13 version of friends with benefits." Her grin widens.
"Except, you know... without the benefits. Which is honestly the worst bargain ever, now that I think about it."
I can't help but chuckle. That's Taylor—sharp and funny.
She cocks her head, studying me. "Besides, I knew our deal was toast the second time I met her."
My brows knit. "What do you mean?"
"You looked at Caroline like she was fresh oxygen after being underwater too long. Like Christmas morning just walked into the room. And I thought, yep—this man is cooked." She winks. "Totally whipped. Kidding. Well... mostly."
Heat creeps up my neck. "Really? Was I that transparent?"
Taylor laughs. "When it comes to her? Yeah. You're the most transparent person alive. You could try to play it cool, but your eyes give you away every single time."
And damn it—my face actually burns. Great.
Zach Westbrook, blushing like some middle schooler. Fantastic. Yeah, real smooth, idiot. Maybe bang your head against the steering wheel while you're at it.
Her expression softens, the playful edge giving way to something more genuine. "You're serious about her, right?"
"As serious as it gets," I say, voice rough, honest.
"Good."
"I've got a lot of groveling ahead of me if I want her to believe I'm the guy she deserves. And truth? Caroline does deserve better. Half the time I wonder how she ever put up with me back then. But I still want to try. I need to try."
Taylor leans back, thoughtful, nodding.
"And with your ex being handled now—the restraining order's gonna keep him out of your hair—there's no point in keeping this charade alive anyway.
" I glance at her, hesitant. "But honestly?
Even if that wasn't resolved, I still would've ended it.
Because it wouldn't be fair—to her, or to what I'm trying to build with her. So... yeah. Sorry."
She waves it off easily. "It's alright. Really."
Her hand lands lightly on my shoulder, her smile genuine. "I'm happy for you, Zach. You finally get another shot with her."
"Thanks." My chest tightens, but in a way that feels good this time.
"I've waited for this chance longer than I want to admit. Thought I'd blown it for good. But now that she's back?" I shake my head, half-smiling.
"I don't want fake anything with anyone else anymore. Not a pretend relationship, not a situationship, not any ship out there. I want the real thing. I want to have a real relationship with the woman I've been in love with my whole life... With her."
Taylor smirks, leaning back against the seat. "Well, guess this is it then. End of an era. We were Ridgewater's most convincing fake hook-up buddies. It was good while it lasted."
I slap a hand over my chest. "Wow. That's all I was to you? A glorified decoy with abs?"
She bites back a laugh. "Pretty much. Ten out of ten performance, though. You really sold the part."
"Sold the part?" I groan. "Unbelievable. I feel so... used."
Taylor pats my arm, all mock sympathy. "Don't worry, Zach. You were the best fake fling I never actually had."
"Glad I could be of service."
"All joking aside, though—your Caroline? She's really beautiful. And she seems like a good person."
Your Caroline.
The words echo in my head, and holy hell, do they sound good.
Your Caroline. Like a title. A brand. A freaking Grammy-winning song. If I could bottle that phrase, I'd drink it every morning instead of coffee.
My cheeks hurt from holding back the dumb grin threatening to take over.
"I know, right?" I manage, trying not to sound like an idiot. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. The sweetest, kindest soul. I'm... insanely lucky to have her in my life. Luckier than hell to have her back in my life."
"Definitely. So, don't screw it up again."
I smirk, leaning back in my seat. "Not a chance."
Taylor smile at me one more time as she grabs the door handle. "You're a good person, Zach. I really hope you get your Caroline. And I hope both of you get the happy ending you deserve."
I manage a crooked grin. "Thanks, T. That means a lot."
"Good luck."
She gives me one last teasing wink, and slips out of the car, leaving me grinning like an idiot at the steering wheel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-eight
CAROLINE
I'm sprawled out on my stomach, legs bent at the knees and crossed in the air, highlighter in one hand, manuscript pages in the other.
Supposedly "working." Really? Just trying to survive the apocalypse outside my window.
Blank Space is screaming in my ears at full blast — pray for my eardrums — but even Tay Tay at max volume can't drown out the thunder completely.
Every boom rattles the walls like the dorm's trying to shake me out of bed. The kind of thunder that feels like it crawls under your skin and sets up camp in your bones.
So yeah, here I am, pretending I care about fixing dialogue in Act III when in reality I'm just stalling until sleep sucker-punches me. Distraction therapy, courtesy of Ms. Swift.
And no, I don't dare look toward the window.
I know what's waiting there — lightning flashing like a paparazzi camera I never agreed to pose for. I keep my eyes firmly on my manuscript and silently thank the gods of architecture that my dorm came with blackout curtains.
Call me dramatic, but thunderstorms? They're my personal horror genre.
I can deal with slasher movies, clowns, even exam weeks. But Mother Nature banging on the sky like it's a busted drum kit? Hard pass.
The clock on my desk reads 10:17 p.m. I've checked it five times in the last ten minutes. Mostly because every time thunder cracks, I jump and pretend I needed to "check the time."
I glance at the clock again, and it finally hits me how late it's gotten... and how Sam still isn't back.
She texted earlier saying she was going out with friends tonight — shocking, honestly, considering she usually spends all her free time orbiting the hockey house and mooning over Elijah. But good for her, I guess. She deserves a social life that doesn't revolve around one boy with a stick.
Not that I'm one to talk.
Still... it's been pouring buckets for hours now. Two straight hours of rain pounding like the sky sprung a leak. I just hope she's safe on the drive back.
I glance at the clock again, chew my lip, and sigh. It's late. Way too late.
And Sam still isn't back.
Should I call her? Text her?
Track her down like a clingy mom with Find My iPhone? Probably.
I'm just about to grab my phone when the door creaks open, making me nearly jump out of my skin.
"Hey... was just about to call you," I blurt, tugging my headphones down around my neck.
Sam shuffles in, mumbling a flat, "Hey..." The word drags out of her mouth like she's pulling it through mud. Definitely not her usual chirpy self.
Her books and bag hit the floor right by the door with zero ceremony. Like—boom, goodbye belongings, nice knowing you. She doesn't even care if her iPad cracks in half.
Then she lumbers forward, shoulders slumped, feet barely lifting off the ground. It's less walking, more... zombie audition.
She belly-flops onto her bed face-first and, at the speed of a dying snail, claws the duvet over herself.
Uh. Okay. Something is definitely wrong.
I yank my headphones off and toss them onto my bed before hurrying over. "Everything okay?"
Sam doesn't even open her eyes. She just makes a noise—kind of like a "yeah," but so quiet and mangled it could also be the death rattle of a dying mouse.
I perch on the edge of her bed, tugging the duvet higher over her shoulder.
Her face is pale, eyes shut tight, lips parted like she just finished a marathon. Or maybe a triathlon. Hell, maybe both back-to-back.
"How was girls' night?"
Her voice is slurred, barely hanging onto the words. "I... didn't get to... go."
"Why not?"
"Didn't feel good earlier and..." she sighs, long and shaky, "went to the clinic. Slept... and I overslept."