CHAPTER thirty-five #16
"Wait—what do you mean you 'saw'? Were you at the stands last night too?"
He chuckles. "Nope. I've seen the videos."
"Videos?"
Adam grins wider, all mischief now. "Haven't you heard? Westbrook's little performance went viral. And no, I'm not talking about his game stats. Though, to be fair, he did play great last night. But I'm talking about him going full-on Swiftie for you."
Before I can even respond, he's already unlocking his phone and holding it up.
On the screen—there it is. Zach singing You Are In Love to me in front of hundreds of people. The video's sitting at over 1M views with thousands of comments flooding in.
I snatch the phone from Adam's hand, mortified, and tap one of the hashtags.
#SingItLikeWestbrook
My eyes widen as more videos load—different angles, fan edits, slow-mo clips, reaction stitches, captions like "find you a man who looks at you like Westbrook looks at her" and "proof that men do listen to Taylor Swift... when they're in love".
My cheeks flame so hard I could probably toast marshmallows with them.
Sure, I expected people to talk about it around campus—but not the entire internet.
Adam leans in a little closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Congrats," he says, grin widening. "You've officially become the most envied girl in town for stealing the golden boy's heart."
He gestures subtly with his beer bottle, pointing around us. I follow his gaze—and that's when I really see it.
Practically half the room is staring.
Groups of girls clustered together, whispering behind their drinks. Some giving me side-eyes sharp enough to slice through steel. Others just flat-out glaring, like I'm public enemy number one for daring to exist in their golden boy's orbit.
"So this is why they've been glaring at me since I got here..." I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. "Ugh."
"Yep," Adam says, popping the "p" with way too much satisfaction, clearly enjoying every second of my social nightmare.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face while Adam just keeps snickering beside me like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.
"Come on," he says, grinning. "Let's dance before another batch of bunnies comes sniffing your way."
"Adam—"
Too late. He's already grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the center of the living room, where the "dance floor" is basically just sticky hardwood and people shouting lyrics over each other.
"Espresso" by Sabrina Carpenter starts blasting, and Adam immediately breaks into the goofiest dance I've ever seen—something between a dad groove and a full-body shimmy. I lose it completely, laughing so hard.
Then "Dance The Night" by Dua Lipa takes over, and he somehow ups his game—twirling me dramatically like we're in a glittery music video. I'm cackling, cheeks hurting, completely forgetting about the people staring at me from earlier.
It's just music, laughter, and Adam being... Adam.
He spins me again—once, twice—maybe three times, and the room starts to blur around the edges. My head spins, a rush of dizziness bubbling up like I'm tipsy, even though I haven't had a single sip of beer.
I stumble, feet tripping over themselves, and before I can brace for impact—bam. I collide with something solid. Hard. Warm.
Strong arms wrap around my waist, steadying me before I can fall. My breath catches as that familiar, intoxicating scent hits me—fresh cedar, a hint of mint, and something that's just him.
My heart skips, then starts racing like it's trying to keep up with the music.
I look up—and of course, it's him.
Zach.
His lips curve into that smile—the one that could make my knees wobble, my lungs forget how to breathe, and my thoughts scatter like confetti in the wind. His eyes soften, full of warmth and something that sends a dizzy rush straight through me.
"Zach..." I whisper.
He tilts his head, grin widening just a touch. "Careful, sugarplum. I show up for five seconds, and you're already falling for me."
God, that was so lame.
And yet... my heart's doing backflips anyway.
CHAPTER thirty-five
ZACH
By the time I finish showering and pulling on fresh clothes, every muscle in my body is screaming like I just got hit by a Zamboni.
Coach Hopper went full dictator mode today.
Three straight hours of punishment practice. First, it was endless skating drills—laps until my lungs tried to secede. Then suicides. Then slapshot accuracy reps until my arms went numb.
After that? Line rushes. More line rushes. I think at one point he just started making things up.
And when I thought it was finally over—boom. "Grab the spray, Westbrook. You're cleaning the glass."
So there I was, wiping the damn rink walls like some overpaid janitor while my teammates "accidentally" skated by to fog it up again.
Yeah. Real funny, assholes.
But fine. I deserve it. I mean, I did turn last night's game into a public rom-com proposal. Everyone loved it—crowd went nuts, and then there was her smile.
Caroline's kind of smile. Soft, genuine, the kind that hits you right in the chest and makes everything else fade to static.
I swear I saw actual fireworks. If joy had a face, it'd be Caroline's right then—radiant, glowing, probably capable of curing depression.
I think my heart pulled a hamstring trying to keep up.
Yeah, that one smile made every stupid, reckless thing I did worth it.
Well... almost everyone thought so.
Except for Coach Hopper, apparently. The man nearly combusted in real time. Something about "lack of focus" and "showboating."
Which, okay, fair. But three goals and a victory should count for something, right?
I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I sling my bag over my shoulder and push out of the rink. The night air hits my face, cool and sharp. It's already dark—past seven.
I click the key fob, my car giving a low chirp across the parking lot.
Ten minutes ago, Caroline sent a text saying she and Sam had just arrived at the Pond.
And just like that, my pulse kicked up like I'd chugged three energy drinks in a row. I spent hours with her earlier, driving back from Naples to Miami, but apparently my brain doesn't care. I'm already itching to see her again.
And yeah, maybe there's another reason I'm hurrying. Because after that little stunt last night, I have no idea what those crazy hockey bunnies are planning to do to my girl. Half of them are probably ready to eat her alive by now.
That's why I put my sister on babysitting duty.
Sam's the only one they're actually scared of. I told her, "Use violence if necessary." She just cracked her knuckles and said, "Gladly."
So yeah. I'm safe knowing Caroline's under the watchful eye of my tiny, terrifying sister... for now.
I just hope I get there before the bunnies try anything stupid.
Ten minutes later, I'm pulling up in front of the Pond. The house looks like it's hosting half the damn campus again. The bass is thumping so hard the windows are practically vibrating.
A couple of guys are standing by the porch, red Solo cups in hand, talking way too loud over the noise. Someone's got a cigarette dangling from their lips, smoke curling lazily into the chilly night air.
Groups of students stream in and out of the house, laughing, shouting, clinging to each other for balance. A few are sitting on the hood of a car parked out front, passing around a beer like it's a holy relic.
Yeah. Just another Sunday night at Ridgewater's favorite zoo.
The Pond's chaos is kind of a given—music blasting, people yelling, half the campus crammed inside.
When the hockey guys throw a party, people just... show up. Doesn't matter what day it is; there's always a crowd.
I hop out, shut the door, and head toward the porch.
Guys nod at me as I pass, offering fist bumps or quick "Westbrook!" shout-outs. I give them a few nods back. Then come the girls—smiling, waving, calling my name like it's bait.
But I don't bite. I barely glance their way.
Because right now, I've only got one goal—find her.
It takes me all of three seconds to find her.
Which shouldn't even be possible with this crowd—people everywhere, bodies moving, lights flashing like a fever dream. But somehow, it's like there's this invisible thread between us, tugging me straight to her. My own personal compass.
And there she is.
Right in the middle of it all.
Hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes closed, a loose smile on her lips. She's laughing, swaying to the beat like the music runs through her veins. She doesn't notice me—and I don't even try to move closer.
I just stand there, taking her in.
There's something about seeing her like this—unguarded, unbothered, happy. The kind of happy that hits you right in the chest and stays there.
My pulse stumbles. My breath does that stupid hitch thing again.
And I swear, if hearts could short-circuit, mine would've fried on the spot. Because damn... I'm so gone for this girl. Like, completely, irreversibly gone.
"Omph—Jesus," I grunt as something heavy slams into my side.
Whatever calm, heart-eyed haze I was just in? Gone. Obliterated.
I stumble half a step before realizing it's Liam, grinning ear to ear, one arm slung around my shoulder and the other clutching a red cup filled with Jungle Juice—the mysterious everything-mixed-in-a-cooler classic.
"Man, you're finally back!" he says, voice a notch too loud. He takes a heroic sip—then winces like whatever he mixed is fighting for its life. "How was cleaning duty?"
"Yeah, it went great," I mutter, still steadying myself. "Thanks for not helping."
He waves me off, snickering. "Oh, come on, dude. You know we couldn't stay. Somebody had to make sure the party didn't die before it even started. You can't just trust the rookies to handle pregame—those kids think 'party mix' means trail mix."
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. "Right. My bad for thinking teamwork extends off the ice."
"Exactly," he says, completely missing the sarcasm. "Besides, Hopper didn't kill you, so I'd say you survived."
I arch a brow. "Barely. Where is everyone?"
Liam squints, scanning the chaos around us.
"Let's see... Cody's probably banging some chick in the bathroom—again.
Elijah's..." He points toward the patio, nearly spilling his drink.
"Right there. Surrounded by bunnies. I think the man's on a mission tonight.
Dude needs to get laid before he starts naming his hockey stick out of loneliness. "
I snort. "That's tragic."
"Tell me about it," he says, then lowers his voice in mock seriousness. "Kentaro? Locked in his room as usual, probably journaling about inner peace or whatever Zen crap he's into now."
"Sounds about right. And your brother?"
Liam's grin turns downright wicked. "Luke? Upstairs. Hot tub. Buck naked. With, like, three of his bunnies. You know how my twin likes to party."
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Of course he does."
Because of course he does. If there's an award for "Most Likely to Turn a Dorm into Vegas," Luke would win it every damn time.
He laughs, slinging his arm tighter around me. "Hey, don't act surprised, man. It's Sunday at The Pond—saints don't last long here."
I shake my head, still laughing because, yeah—Liam's right. Sunday nights here always get a little unhinged.
I turn back toward the dance floor, still chuckling—only to have it die in my throat.
There she is, still dancing... but not with just anyone. It's Adam fucking Klein. Again.
Are you kidding me?
When did that guy even get here? Has he been here the whole time? How long has that been going on? My eyes narrow like I've got a built-in jealousy microscope.
Where the hell is my sister? Wasn't she supposed to be watching Caroline?
A groan slips out.
Liam follows my dead-eye stare and snickers. "Oh shit, man. I think somebody's trying to steal your girl."
I cock my head at him, glowering. "You think?"
I roll my shoulders, crack my neck and knuckles. Time to move. I march down there on a mission—because yeah, it's a mission keeping this dumbass away from my girl, especially when he's looking at her like that.
Ugh. I want to give him a one-minute masterclass called Hands Off, Pal.
I cut through the crowd, doubling my pace. He twirls her—she laughs—and my jaw clenches so tight it could break a mouthguard.
Then she stumbles.
And before my brain even registers it, my body moves. One second she's spinning, the next she's crashing right into me.
My arms shoot out, catching her before she falls.
For a split second, the world goes quiet. Just her heartbeat against my chest, her breath catching, my hands steady on her waist.
She fits perfectly—like she always has. Like the universe keeps handing me these moments to remind me exactly what home feels like.
And yeah... my heart's gone full fireworks factory again.
Caroline tilts her head, and her eyes meet mine—those aquamarine eyes that never fail to wreck me. They're stunning tonight, catching the light like glass dipped in sunlight, blue with hints of green that shift every time she blinks.
I swear they could drown entire civilizations if they wanted to.
I smile, unable to help myself. My gaze trails down to her lips—soft, pink, and slightly parted—and I feel my throat go dry.
Those lips should come with a public safety warning. I've spent years imagining what they'd feel like against mine, and now they're right there, close enough to ruin me all over again.
"Zach..." she breathes.