CHAPTER forty-nine #3
The thing's a disgusting mix of spinach, kale, almond butter, banana, oats, protein powder, and—because Sam swears it's her secret weapon—a spoonful of beet powder and a dash of cinnamon. No one else would touch it, but Eli claims it makes him feel 'invincible.
I watch my sister brushing off the exhaustion she's too stubborn to admit.
She's barely been sleeping these past few days, and yet she still never forgets to make my idiot best friend his special drink.
He doesn't even know Sam's the one who makes it. She told me once that if he found out, he'd stop drinking it out of pure stubbornness. Typical Elijah.
I watch her slip out of the room, the faint sound of the front door closing a minute later. That uneasy feeling settles in again—the kind that doesn't go away no matter how many times she says she's fine.
CHAPTER forty-four
ZACH
Workout's done, and me and Elijah hop in my car to drive back to our dorm. I'm in too good a mood to care about how sore I am—whistling, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, the morning sun flashing off the hood.
Taylor Swift's We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together comes on, and yeah, I start singing along. Loudly. With feeling. Head bobbing, full performance mode.
"We are NEVER, EVER, EVER getting back together!" I bob my head as I belt, drumming the steering wheel like it's my drum kit.
Elijah snorts from the passenger seat. "Is this what being in love does to you, Z? Turns you into a Taylor Swift fanboy?"
"Oh, don't judge me," I smirk, glancing over at him. "I'm happy in love."
Elijah takes a long swig of that disgusting shake my sister makes him. The greenish-brown sludge clings to the sides of his bottle, but somehow he's actually enjoying it.
My face scrunches involuntarily—how can he drink that swamp water?
"Yeah, I can see that," Elijah chuckles, chugging more of his shake. "And considering you didn't come home last night, I have a wild guess you spent the night at Caroline's again?"
Heat crawls up my neck and I press my lips together.
I don't need to spell out how things have... progressed with Caroline. From Elijah's knowing smirk, he's already figured it out.
He pats my shoulder, looking genuinely happy for me. "Well, well. Look who finally won't die a virgin with blue balls."
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. "You're such an ass."
He smirks. "Maybe, but at least I get to witness history. My boy finally getting some."
"Shut up."
He chuckles again, taking another sip of his gross shake. "Relax, I'm just saying. You look... different lately. Happier."
"Maybe that's because I am," I say, keeping my eyes on the road but smiling anyway.
"Yeah," he says, leaning back. "That much is obvious."
Fifteen minutes later, I'm back in my room, tossing my duffel bag onto the floor. I'm halfway through pulling off my hoodie when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I fish it out and see Mom flashing on the screen.
"Hey, Mom. What's up?"
Her voice comes through warm and soft, the kind of tone that always makes me picture her smiling. "Oh, hi, sweetheart. Did I call at a bad time?"
"Nope," I say, sitting on the edge of my bed and raking a hand through my damp hair. "Just got back from workout. What are you up to?"
There's a faint clatter on the other end—metal against glass, maybe the hum of the mixer—and I can already picture it. She's in the kitchen again.
That's been her thing lately. Baking.
She bakes every day. Cupcakes, muffins, pies—stuff that could win awards if she ever bothered to sell them, which she won't.
Mom's not in it for the money. She doesn't really need it anyway.
Dad left us more than enough when he passed.
He was smart about it, even back then. Picked up multiple properties across Florida—condos near the beach, a few apartment complexes, even some commercial spaces—and turned them into rentals.
The man had a knack for real estate; every investment he made just kept growing.
Now the income from those places practically runs itself. We've been well-off for a long time, and Mom's never had to worry about finances.
So baking isn't about business for her. It's just what keeps her busy. What keeps her smiling.
She always says it makes the house feel less empty. And since she can't possibly eat everything she makes, she ends up sharing most of it—drops off a few trays next door at Caroline's parents' place and donates the rest to nearby shelters.
"Oh, you know," she says, voice light and distracted, "just prepping the ingredients for strawberry cheesecake cupcakes and some lemon poppyseed loaves."
I can almost smell it through the phone. "You really need to start a bakery, Mom. I'm serious."
She laughs softly. "Sweetheart, if I started selling them, it would stop being fun."
I smile, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that."
There's the faint sound of the mixer running in the background, followed by a soft clatter—probably her reaching for another bowl.
She hums softly on the other end.
"Anyway, I called just to remind you and your sister to come home next weekend. It's your father's death anniversary." Her voice catches at the end, faint and trembling, like she's trying to keep it together but can't quite hide the crack.
For a moment, I don't say anything. The words hit harder than I expect.
Five years.
Five years since Dad's gone, and it still feels unreal sometimes. The ache's duller now, but it's always there — this quiet, hollow spot that never really goes away. I miss him every damn day.
"Zach, sweetheart, are you still there?"
I drag in a slow breath, exhale, and clear my throat. "Yeah, Mom. Still here. And yeah, we didn't forget. We'll be there, I promise."
"Good," she says softly, but I can hear that faint wobble in her voice again.
"I was just thinking what we should do this year.
Maybe something simple. We can visit him in the morning, bring flowers, then have everyone over after for lunch?
I'll cook his favorites — lasagna, maybe that roast chicken he used to love. "
"Sounds perfect,"
She sighs. "It still feels strange, you know? The house gets so quiet around this time every year. I keep expecting him to walk through the door, asking where everyone is."
I close my eyes for a second, pressing my thumb against my temple. "Yeah," I murmur. "I know."
It's always like this when the date comes close — her voice gets smaller, softer. Like she's trying to hold her sadness down, but it seeps through anyway. And every time, it breaks something in me too.
"Hey, Mom," I say after a pause, trying to lighten her tone a little, "I was gonna tell you — Caroline's coming with me next weekend."
There's a beat of silence, and then her voice brightens instantly. "Oh, really? That's wonderful! It's been ages since I've seen her."
I can hear the smile in her voice now, and it eases something tight in my chest. "Yeah," I say, smiling faintly. "She wanted to come since she hasn't been able to the last three years."
"That makes me so happy, sweetheart," she says, the heaviness in her tone fading away. "It'll be good for you too. You always have such a hard time this time of year."
"Yeah," I admit quietly. "I know."
She hums softly, and for the first time in the call, she sounds genuinely light. "Oh, that sweet girl... I'm so glad you're bringing her."
I hesitate for a second, then say, "There's actually something I want to tell you when we come home."
"Oh?" she says, her voice turning curious and playful all at once. "Let me guess — you and Caroline are dating?"
I can't help but laugh. "You really don't miss a thing, do you?"
She giggles — an actual, full-on, teenage squeal that makes me grin despite myself. "Oh, Zach, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you, honey. I had a feeling something was going on between you two."
I laugh. "You had a feeling? Or did Sam tell you?"
She laughs—one of those genuine, belly laughs that makes me smile without meaning to.
"Oh, sweetheart, you know your sister. She can't keep a secret to save her life. The moment I asked how you were doing, she started giggling and spilling the tea before I even finished the question."
I groan. "Unbelievable."
"Don't be mad," Mom says, still laughing. "She's just happy for you. We all are. And honestly, I'm not surprised—it was only a matter of time."
"Yeah, yeah," I say, laughing softly. "I was gonna tell you in person, but I guess the surprise is ruined now."
"Well, I'm still thrilled," she says, smiling through the phone. "Your dad would've loved this news too, you know. He always said you and Caroline were perfect for each other."
My throat tightens again, but this time it's gentler — bittersweet. "Yeah," I whisper. "He did."
She takes a slow breath, her voice soft again. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll let you go. Don't work too hard, okay?"
"Yes, Mom," I say. "Love you."
"Love you too, my darling boy."
When the call ends, I just sit there, staring at the phone in my hand. The room feels quieter—heavier—not empty, just weighted with everything I wish I could say to my Dad.
So much has happened since he's been gone. Wins. Losses. Things he would've laughed at, things I know he would've been proud of. I keep catching myself wanting to tell him about them—about Caroline, about life, about how much I've changed.
The ache hits hard, sitting right under my ribs. Five years, and it still doesn't fade.
I miss him.
And God, I hope he'd be proud.
*****
The house is shaking. Someone downstairs just yelled that the stereo "needs more bass," which is insane because the floor's already vibrating like we're sitting on top of a jet engine.
We won.
Ridgewater 5, Hudson Valley 3.
The rivalry game — the one that defines the season.
And yeah, I pulled off a hat trick tonight.
Three goals. Three perfect shots.
And every single one of them were for her. For my girlfriend.