10. Chapter 10
I step out of the lecture hall with my head spinning and my soul partially crushed. My new professor kept me fifteen minutes later than necessary. She claims it’s because I joined the class late, so I need to make up for it. I think it’s more likely that she hates me.
She knows I can't keep up, and more importantly, that I won’t be able to skate by on minimal effort and maximum charm.
Although, let's be clear. I've never had much charm.
Never needed it, but now, without any paid note-takers or my family connections, I'm going to have to actually work.
The thought is so foreign to me it nearly gives me vertigo.
“—and for those of you just joining us this semester,” she said, her tone dry as sandpaper, “I suggest doubling your study efforts to catch up. I don’t repeat myself. I don’t believe in second chances.”
Yeah. That tracks.
I check my watch. 3:47.
Shit.
I have thirteen minutes to make it across campus to the park and to the most important meeting of my life. It’s my first real shot with Tiff, and I’m about to blow it because Professor Williams thinks her class is the only thing that matters.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. The fifth time in an hour. I pull it out as I jog across the quad, narrowly avoiding a dog-walker, a skateboarder, and a group of students stretched across the lawn.
Every obstacle feels like it’s purposely trying to block me from my destiny, reminding me that I might not be enough here.
Father: Your accounts have been frozen. Your cards will stop working by end of business today. This is your last chance to come to your senses.
Great. Fucking great. Another vibration.
Asher: Dude, you need to call me ASAP.
I shove the phone back in my pocket, my pace quickening. I'd known this was coming, and had been waiting for it since I hit submit on that transfer application and my mom called me, but the reality still hits like a sucker punch.
I'm broke. Or at least I will be, soon enough.
The money I’ve managed to hide away will last me about six months, less if I’m stuck in a hotel for longer, but none of that matters right now. What matters is getting to that park, on time, looking like I have my shit together for once in my sorry life.
Zach Evans' face leers at me from every goddamn corner. He's on posters, banners, even a fucking cardboard cutout in the campus bookstore window I rush past, and in every single photo, he's grinning at me, taunting me over the mess I've gotten myself into.
“Look who's begging for attention now, dime dick.”
It's all I hear when I see his photo, and I'm surprised I haven't seen him yet.
I don't hate the guy. Not really. Sure, I was a monumental asshole to him in high school, and to Honey, for that matter, but I hated myself more. Finding out I was adopted wasn’t the thing that killed me the most. It was the way it was hidden.
The way I was never supposed to know, and my father just expected me to bounce back from it.
Do I regret the way I behaved in high school?
Don't we all? But regret doesn't change anything.
Doesn't change the fact I cheated on the one person who actually seemed to like me.
Doesn't change the fact that Zach Evans probably wanted me dead before I got his cousin pregnant.
Who knows what the hell he wants to do to me now that I've willingly walked into her life again.
Another text vibrates in my pocket. I don't need to look to know it's either my father threatening to disown me or Asher trying to talk sense into me. Neither is going to work. Not when I'm this close.
I cut across the grass, taking a shortcut through the humanities building, when a hulking figure steps directly into my path, blocking the sunlight like a human eclipse.
“Nicks? What the fuck?!”
Zach Evans stands frozen ten feet away, looking like he's seen a ghost, or worse…me. Time stops as our eyes lock. His jaw clenches so hard I can practically hear his teeth grinding from here as his hands ball into fists at his sides.
For a split second, I consider running, but I'm through with that. I'm done hiding behind my name and letting other people feel the pain and consequences of my actions. I'm manning up for once.
“Evans,” I say with the unfortunate need to clear my throat at the end. “Been a while.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He takes a step forward.
I give him a tight smile. “Wow, Scholarship Kid, your vocabulary has vastly reduced since coming to college. I guess that's what happens when you go to a place like St. Michael's.”
His teeth grind as his hands clench at his sides.
Admittedly, in high school, Zach and I were much more evenly matched in size and stature.
Now? Well, even I can admit that Evans has clearly been eating a lot of protein.
The guy is stacked, and as much as I shouldn’t say anything to poke the bear, I just can't help myself.
It's the kind of relationship we have.
“I'm going to ask you one more time. What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is tight, and his face is red.
I take the executive decision to step back, because while I wouldn’t call my face perfect, I happen to like it the way it looks now, post-nose-job, courtesy of one of our delightful little high school interactions.
I glance at my watch. 3:52. Shit.
“Look, Evans, I'd love to catch up, but I'm running late for something important.”
“The only place you're running is back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
I spread my arms, gesturing to the campus around us. “I’m just here getting an education. Same as you.”
His eyes narrow, suspicion creeping across his features. “You transferred. To St. Michael's.”
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. “Just started this week.”
“Why?” The single word carries the weight of years of hostility.
For a heartbeat, I consider lying. Making up some bullshit about football programs or academic excellence.
You know? To tease him a little. Make him think that my sorry ass has somehow been able to buy my way back into his team.
But why would I do that now? He hates me, and that little fact isn't going to help me get into Tiff's good graces.
She is the only person who matters to me at this point because she's the one who holds my daughter in her hands.
So, instead, I opt for the truth, thinking that might open up the lines of communication.
“I'm pretty sure you can guess why I'm here.”
He growls. Okay, maybe I should've led with an apology and a fruit basket. I hear he likes strawberries.
“Stay the FUCK away from her.”
Oh, we're back to this Zach. The one that uses the F-word in every sentence like it’s punctuation.
“From who?” I say, my mouth moving before my brain signs off on it. “Your girlfriend? Or your cousin?”
The smirk slides onto my face without permission, my default setting when cornered. Say something shitty, act like I don’t care, pretend like the guilt hasn’t been eating me alive for years.
Zach takes a menacing step forward, his muscles tensing like he's about to put me through the nearest wall, but then he stops himself. His jaw flexes, and he shakes his head, reining himself in.
“You have no idea how badly I want to rearrange your face right now,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. “But unlike you, I actually have something to lose.”
He gestures vaguely to a nearby banner with his face plastered across it with some sports drink logo hovering beside his perfect smile. Oh, and did I forget to mention he's shirtless? Yeah, always shirtless.
“NIL deals. Sponsorships. A future.” His eyes narrow. “Things I won't throw away for the satisfaction of knocking your fucking teeth in.”
And I hate how that stings. Not the threat. The fact that he won’t follow through, because maybe I want him to hit me. Maybe I need it. Because maybe if he did it, I could pretend we’re the same. Just two guys trying to survive the ruin we were born into, and that somehow, I’d be redeemable.
But we’re not the same.
He’s the better man. Always has been.
He’s the hero of this story. I’m just the sorry excuse for a villain.
He took care of a kid, my kid, when he had no money or resources to do so. Protected Tiff from my father.
I had the money and options and did absolutely nothing.
No, Zach Evans is everything I should’ve been.
3:56. Fuck. I'm going to be late.
“You've got some fucking nerve showing up here.” His voice is quiet but threatening. “Stalking my cousin after what you put our family through.”
Our family.
It hits harder than I expect—this quiet truth I’ve been sidestepping for months. Zach. Honey. Tiff. Ella. They are a family. One by one, I failed them all. And my father? He didn’t just light the match, he made sure I burned in the wreckage.
I rub the back of my neck. “I'm not stalking her.” I totally am, but is it stalking if she knows I'm here and I gave her a sparkly pink envelope with my hotel and phone number inside it? That’s just—aggressive sincerity. At worst, mildly unhinged romance.
“Really? Because from where I'm standing, it sounds a lot like stalking. You flew across the goddamn country. Transferred schools, and now you’re just strolling around campus like you didn’t nuke her entire life by sleeping with her.
” His laugh is harsh. “So, if it's not stalking, then what would you call it?”
“Trying to make things right.”
“Four. Years. Too. Late.”
The words land harder than a fist. Sharp. Precise. The kind of hit you don’t brace for, because you didn’t realize you deserved it until it connected.
“I didn't know, Evans. About Tiff getting pregnant. About the lawsuit. Any of it.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.”
“It’s not.” My voice cracks, and fuck, I hate how weak it sounds. I used to be a master at playing it cool, but lately, I can't even manage a coherent lie. “I only found out six months ago when I found the files in my father’s office.”