CHAPTER forty-nine #13
He talked to me. Listened to me. Waited for me to let him in again.
He earned back my trust — not just the trust I lost in him, but the trust I lost in myself.
And the whole time, he kept showing me—softly, patiently—what it feels like to treat myself with kindness again, even on the days I didn't think I deserved it.
When did the voice in my head get softer?
When did it stop barking at me?
When did I stop believing it altogether?
I didn't even notice it fading.
I didn't even notice me coming back.
A tear slips out before I can stop it.
"Oh..." I whisper again, but this time it's full of breath and shock and something like joy. "Zach... I didn't even realize."
He pulls me back into his arms, holding me so tightly it almost hurts—but in the best, safest way.
"That's why I'm proud," he murmurs into my hair. "Because you didn't have to fight with yourself to buy a damn dessert. You just let yourself have something you wanted."
His arms squeeze around me.
"And baby... that's huge."
I close my eyes, swallow the ache in my chest, and let myself melt into him.
Because for the first time in a long time...
I'm proud of me, too.
A laugh-sob slips out of me, messy and breathy, and before I know it I'm smiling through the tears gathering in my lashes.
God, it's probably a tiny thing to anyone else.
But to me? To him?
To us?
It's huge.
I sniff hard, wipe under my eye, and mumble into his chest, "It's just too bad we can't eat it now." My voice comes out watery and small. "It was supposed to be comfort food... to cheer you up."
Zach pulls back just enough to see my face—his hands still warm and steady on my waist. His eyes soften in that way he only ever looks at me.
"I already got all the comfort I need," he says quietly, like it's the easiest truth in the world.
My heart does a ridiculous flip.
He doesn't look at the melted Italian ice. He looks right at me.
Like I'm the thing that matters. Like I'm the thing that helped him breathe again.
Heat crawls up my cheeks. I try to play it off, peeking up at him through my lashes.
"Well... good. Make the most of your comfort then."
His lips twitch—then he leans in and kisses me.
It starts soft. Just a gentle press of warm lips and shaky breath. But then I kiss him back—arms sliding around his neck—and it's like something breaks open between us.
The kiss deepens, slow but hungry, like he's pouring every ounce of grief and relief and gratitude into me.
My fingers curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, and his hands pull me closer, like he's terrified I'll slip away if he doesn't hold tight enough.
When he finally pulls back, it's only far enough for his forehead to rest against mine, our breaths mixing.
"Stay with me tonight?"
God. The way he asks it—pleading, hopeful, like it's the only thing he wants in the world—my heart can't take it.
I nod immediately. "For as long as you want me to."
His breath shudders, relief flooding his face.
Then he's kissing me again— it's deeper, hotter, full of heat and longing and something that feels dangerously close to devotion.
CHAPTER forty-eight
ZACH
I'm sitting on the bench in front of my locker, half-dressed for practice—pads on, socks on, skates half-laced, but my practice jersey is still hanging untouched on the hook.
My phone's in my hand again. I've been staring at the screen so long the brightness burned into my eyeballs.
Still nothing from Sam.
Her appointment was two hours ago.
Two hours.
Shouldn't they be done by now? Bloodwork doesn't take that long. The ultrasound should've been quick. Even the stupid vitals and physical exam — she should've texted already. Something. Anything.
I run both hands through my hair, elbows on my knees. My stomach's been twisted since noon. I nearly followed her when she left campus earlier — like some overbearing idiot — even knowing she'd kill me for it.
And I tried. God knows I tried.
I was halfway across the quad when she caught me. She hit me with that glare. The same lethal, soul-snatching look she uses on puck bunnies who keeps eyeing Elijah.
"Take one more step," she said, "and I'm not going."
One second I was moving, the next I was rooted to the floor.
Geez, that little spitfire is terrifying when she wants to be.
Now here I am, stuck in the locker room, getting more paranoid by the minute instead of getting ready for practice.
"You good, man?"
I look up. Kentaro is standing in front of my stall, already in full gear, mask in his hand, brows pinched.
"Yeah," I lie quickly. "Just waiting for a call."
He squints at me like he doesn't buy it. Before he can ask more, Cody leans in from the row behind us.
"Ohhh," Cody drawls, smirking. "Waiting for a call. Say no more."
I glare. "It's not—"
"Bro," he continues, wiggling his eyebrows, "you literally saw Caroline during lunch. She breathing the same air on campus wasn't enough? You need hourly updates now?"
A few other guys laugh.
"Shut up," I mutter, shoving Cody's shoulder. "Dumbass."
"That yes?" he teases.
"That get lost," I shoot back.
They keep laughing and chirping. I force a laugh too, even though it dies halfway out of my throat the moment I see Elijah walks in.
Everything just... drops into silence.
He's fully dressed already, helmet tucked under his arm, jaw tight like it's locked in place. His eyes flick around the room, landing on me for half a second.
I don't give him a chance to hold it. I shoot him a scowl and look away.
I hate this. I hate the cold war between us.
I hate that the one person who used to read me without me speaking a word... and now we're basically strangers.
The team senses it—the tension, the space between us that used to be easy, automatic, a decade of knowing each other on and off the ice.
Now it feels like standing on two separate cliffs.
Elijah clears his throat. "Coach wants us on the ice. Let's go."
Everyone starts moving, grabbing sticks, helmets, gloves. Loud chatter picks up again as guys leave the locker room one by one.
In less than a minute, I'm one of the last ones still sitting there.
I finally pull my practice jersey over my pads, the fabric dragging over my wrists. My phone lights up—just the screen waking, no notifications.
My stomach twists.
I type another message.
ME
Heading to the ice. Call me the second you're done. Please.
It's been a week since Sam went to see Dr. Wilcott and get herself checked to find out if her cancer is back or not.
A whole damn week. And still nothing.
Sam told me the tests would take time — that some results come back in a day or two, but the bigger stuff, the scans, the labs they send out? Those can take five to seven business days, sometimes longer.
I know that.
Didn't stop me from losing my mind anyway.
I did everything I could to distract myself — practiced like I had something to prove, lifted twice a day, and basically drowned myself in Caroline every chance I got.
But let's not fucking sugarcoat it.
I didn't just drown in her; I fucking submerged myself, devoured her, worshipped her like a goddamn altar built for sin. And she wasn't just wet—she was a fucking flood, a tsunami of slick, dripping desire that left me gasping for air and begging for more.
Every moment with her was a fucking blur.
Her body was my religion, her moans my scripture, and the way she arched her back when I buried myself inside her? That was my fucking benediction.
Her breasts bounced like they were begging for attention, her nipples hard as fucking diamonds, and when I dragged my tongue across them, she'd groan like I'd just unlocked the gates of heaven with my teeth.
And her pussy? Fuck, her pussy was a goddamn masterpiece. Tight, wet, and so fucking hungry it felt like she could suck the soul right out of me. I'd spread her legs wide, my cock throbbing impatiently, and when I finally sank into her, it was like drowning in molten fucking lava.
Every thrust was electric, every inch of her gripping me like a vice, and when she came—when she came—she'd scream my name like it was the only word she knew.
We'd fuck until the sun came up, until our bodies were slick with sweat and our minds were too fucked out to remember what day it was. She'd ride me like her life depended on it, her hips grinding against mine, her ass clenching with every desperate, needy thrust.
And when I finally came—because, Christ, I always fucking came—it was like the world fucking exploded.
So yeah, I drowned myself in her. Every. Fucking. Day.
And I'll do it again in a heartbeat, because Caroline isn't just a distraction—she's my damn addiction. The only thing that keeps me from spiraling while waiting for answers, keeps me from calling Sam every hour like some overbearing, helicopter brother on crack.
And Caroline? She knows exactly what I need.
She's the one who prescribes it actually... preferably twice a day.
And, well—what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't follow medical advice?
Very obedient. Very committed. Five stars. Highly recommend.
When I'm not with my girlfriend though, I'm hovering.
Dropping by Sam's classes.
Then pretending I "just happened to be on this side of campus."
Showing up at the library with a textbook I definitely wasn't going to open.
Then pretending I was there to "get some studying done," even though Sam knows damn well I hate studying in the library and haven't voluntarily cracked a book in that building since freshman year.
She saw through me every damn time.
She kept giving me that dead-eyed, soul-snatching glare and muttering,
"Zachy, if you ask me one more time if the doctor called, I'm throwing your phone in the lake."
I shut up... for maybe three hours.
But underneath all the jokes, the hovering, the pretending I'm not coming apart?
Yeah.
I'm terrified.
Because the longer these results take... the more my brain starts sprinting to the worst possible place.
And I'm trying so damn hard not to lose it.