14. Zane
Chapter 14
Zane
I 'm staring at the half-empty whiskey glass in my hand, our text conversation still glowing on my phone screen. Her words burn into my consciousness.
"Being scared is okay. Pushing me away because you're scared isn't."
She's right. Of course, she's right. When did I become so cynical? When did I start assuming everyone had an angle, a motive, a reason to get close beyond genuine feelings?
Setting down the glass, I walk to my windows. The city sprawls below, a maze of lights and shadows. Somewhere out there, Tessa's probably still reading my last message, weighing whether to believe I'm really ready to try. To believe I'm ready to let her in completely.
"Fuck," I mutter, pressing my forehead to the cool glass.
My phone buzzes, it’s Asher.
How the fuck does he always seem to have perfect goddamn timing?
"What?" I answer roughly.
"Just got off the phone with Ivy." His tone suggests he knows everything. "Want to tell me why you're questioning her feelings for me?"
I sink onto my couch, exhausted. "I was trying to protect you."
"From what? A woman who genuinely cares about me? Who challenges me, supports me, makes me better?"
"People aren't always what they seem and I wanted to be sure."
"No," he agrees quietly. "Sometimes they're better than we expect. Sometimes they surprise us by being exactly what they appear to be—genuine and honest. But if you’re always so negative about it all, Zane, you’re never going to see it."
"You’re the younger brother,” I groan, dragging my hand over my face. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be making stupid mistakes and coming to me for advice. When did you get so wise?" I ask, but we both know I'm deflecting.
"Around the same time you got so jaded." He sighs. "What happened to you, Zane? When did you stop believing in good things?"
"I don't know." But that's a lie. I know exactly when. It was three years ago when Kendra Teerson, the one relationship I thought was going somewhere, ended so abruptly and coldly it left even me shocked. A man who was once dubbed the Ice King of Chicago after being the only local single “celebrity” who refused to participate in a Valentine’s Day bachelor auction.
“So that’s it? You didn’t even have the decency to tell me you were leaving me before I left for London?” I chuckle bitterly, looking around our now half-empty apartment.
“Yes, that’s it and no, you didn’t deserve that, Zane. You don’t even deserve to have me giving you this postmortem on our relationship after the way you’ve—” She coughs and I know it’s to choke down the tears that she’s fighting back. “I gave you three years, Zane. I gave you all of me, and then I sat around and waited. Waited for you to want more, to propose, to tell me you saw me as the mother of your children, to actually spend time with me, but then once again, our anniversary comes up and you’re in London.”
“Fuck.” My head drops and I realize that once again, I’ve dropped the ball. Not even intentionally… but clearly that’s the problem. I don’t even realize how much I push away the people I supposedly love. “Kendra, I’m so sorry.”
“No, Zane—no, it’s too late. I’m done trying. I’m done waiting… I’m done hoping. Goodbye.”
My hand slowly drops from where it was holding my phone to my face. The seriousness of her tone was final. This wasn’t just a threat or a game to make me chase her. I close my eyes, rage starting to burn in my chest. Rage against myself, against her, against everyone.
"I just…” I say, bringing myself out of the past, “I've seen too many people use feelings as weapons. Use trust as a tool to get what they want."
"Not everyone is out to hurt you," he says softly. "Not everyone has an agenda."
"Don't they?" I stand, restless. "In our world, doesn't everyone want something? Nothing is ever free or done out of the goodness of anyone’s heart."
"Yeah, they do, but Ivy and Tessa aren’t from our world; that’s the difference. They’re from the world we grew up in. Where people want connection. Love. Genuine feelings." He pauses. "The same things you want but are too scared to admit."
"I'm not scared."
"No? Then why are you pushing away the one person who sees past all your walls? Who's loved you since before she was sixteen but grew into a woman who loves you even more deeply now?”
My chest tightens at his words. "I know she’s all those things, Ash. The problem is I’m not. I let work consume me even when I don’t realize it. It's not that simple."
"It could be. If you'd stop looking for reasons why it won't work and start seeing all the reasons it could. She’s not Kendra and you’ve learned your lesson from that, Zane. You need to forgive yourself and move on from it. Let yourself love again."
I glance at my phone once more, at Tessa's words about feelings being real, about being grown-up and terrifying in their intensity. About how she sees me, really sees me, and stays anyway.
"I fucked up," I admit.
"Yeah, you did. But at least you're trying to fix it. Ivy said Tessa showed her your texts."
"Of course she did."
"Hey, at least you're being honest for once. About being scared, about wanting to try."
"I meant it," I say quietly. "Every word."
"I know you did. That's what scares you, isn't it? That this is real?"
I close my eyes, the truth of his words hitting hard. "Maybe. But I also thought it was real with Kendra. I thought?—”
"Well, here's what I think," he says, interrupting me. "I think you've spent so long expecting the worst that you've forgotten how to hope for the best. But Zane? Tessa Marlow is the best thing that's ever happened to you. And Ivy is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Kendra was great; I’m not saying she wasn’t or what you two had wasn’t real, but it wasn’t— this is. "
"I know."
"Do you? Because it sounds like you're finally starting to believe you deserve something good, but I also know how you are. Don't sabotage it now."
The words echo in my head long after we hang up. Because he's right. I've spent so long building walls, expecting betrayal, looking for ulterior motives, that I've forgotten how to simply accept good things when they come.
I pick up my phone again, looking at Tessa's contact photo. She's laughing in it, head thrown back, sunshine catching her hair. I took it last weekend when she wasn't looking. When she was just being herself—bright and bubbly just like she was in high school.
Tomorrow night, I think. Tomorrow night I'll show her I'm ready. Really ready. To believe in something good because it's time to stop expecting the worst. It's time to believe that sometimes, the best things in life are exactly what they appear to be.
And Tessa Marlow? She's worth everything.
After my call with Asher, I find myself pacing my penthouse, mind racing with possibilities for tomorrow night. I need it to be perfect. Need to show her I'm ready to be vulnerable, to let her see all of me.
My eyes land on the keys to my old Corvette, hanging unused by the door. I haven't driven it in years—too many memories of high school, of trying to outrun expectations and responsibilities. Of watching Tessa pretend not to watch me from behind her pom-poms while I leaned against that car, playing at being untouchable.
But maybe that's exactly why it's perfect.
Because Tessa doesn't just want the polished CEO version of me. She wants all of me—including the parts I try to hide. Including the boy I used to be, before suits and boardrooms and carefully constructed walls.
I grab my phone, making a few calls. By the time I hang up with the last one, a plan is forming. One that will show her I'm ready to share everything—even the parts of myself I've kept hidden for so long.
The old, run-down warehouse I plan to take her to was my first real investment. It was almost to the point of needing demolished, but with an extra amount of attention, money, and love, it’s slowly becoming what I always envisioned it to be.
I spend the next hour making arrangements, ignoring the voice in my head that says I'm moving too fast, being too vulnerable, risking too much. Because maybe that's exactly what I need to do—risk everything.
My phone buzzes with a text from the event planner I hired, confirming everything will be ready by tomorrow evening. It's extravagant, maybe over the top, but Tessa deserves grand gestures. Deserves to know how serious I am about this. About us.
Another text comes through—this time from Harold Matthews.
Harold
The board meeting's been moved to tomorrow night. Seven p.m. sharp. Don't be late.
I stare at the message, feeling that familiar tug of obligation mixed with the general annoyance of how he communicates. That’s Harold, old, demanding, and very on top of every dime he’s ever invested. But the feeling of expectations, of the constant push-pull between who I am and who I'm supposed to be comes rushing back.
But for once, the choice is easy.
Me
Can't make it. Personal commitment.
His response is immediate.
Harold
Since when do you have personal commitments?
Me
Since now.
I turn off my phone before he can respond. Because this—Tessa, us, tomorrow night—it matters more than any board meeting. More than my biggest investor’s disapproval. More than the careful image I've spent years cultivating.
Walking to my garage, I run my hand along the sleek black paint of the Corvette. It's been meticulously maintained, though rarely driven. Asher has taken it now and then to make sure it stays in working order. Like so many parts of myself I've kept preserved but hidden.
I slide behind the wheel, the leather seat familiar yet strange. The man in the rearview mirror looks both familiar and different—part CEO, part rebel, all the pieces of me I've kept separate for so long finally merging into something real.
My mind drifts to the warehouse, to the plans I've set in motion. The lights, the table, the way I want to transform that space into something magical. Something worthy of the moment when I finally tell her I love her.
Because I do. God help me, I love her with an intensity that terrifies me. I’ve loved her since I was eighteen and too scared to admit it. I love her even more now that she's this incredible woman who challenges me, believes in me, and makes me want to be better.
I start the engine, the deep rumble awakening memories of high school parking lots and stolen glances. Of a girl who saw past my carefully constructed facade even then. Who still sees me, even now.
I pick up my phone again, sending one last text.
Me
Wear something warm tomorrow. And comfortable shoes.
Her response comes quickly.
Tessa
Hmmm, something warm? As in taking me out in the middle of the woods? Should I be worried?
I smile, typing.
Me
Always, darling, but isn’t that what you like? But trust me?
Because that's what tomorrow is really about—trust. Showing her I trust her with all of me, hoping she'll trust me with her heart in return.
I spend the rest of the night unable to sleep, too wired on possibilities. On the thought of her in my car, just like all those fantasies I had in high school but never acted on. On showing her the warehouse, my secret place that's about to become ours. On finally letting those walls crumble completely.
When dawn breaks, I'm already awake, still planning, still hoping. Because maybe Asher's right. Maybe I've spent too long expecting the worst, forgetting how to hope for the best.
But Tessa Marlow makes me want to hope again. And tonight, I'm going to show her exactly how ready I am to fight for us. To believe in us. To love her the way she deserves to be loved—completely, honestly, without walls or doubt or fear.