Chapter 20 #2
The words sting because they're not entirely wrong. When was the last time I did something spontaneous? Something just for me?
“I don't know,” I say hesitantly.
“We don't have to go to the Hail Mary,” Jenni continues, sensing my wavering resolve. “We can go somewhere quieter. Just the two of us. No crowds, no drama. Just drinks and girl talk.”
“I really should study,” I say weakly, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice. I have to admit the offer is tempting. The thought of getting out of my head, away from case files and anonymous messages and the constant pressure to be perfect… it sounds almost revolutionary.
Jenni grins, knowing she's won, and takes my hand. “Come on. The books will still be there tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight we're going to remind you what fun feels like.”
“Cheers!” Jenni lifts her drink, and I tap mine against it with a soft clink.
“Thanks for dragging me out,” I admit, taking another sip of my whiskey, my third of the night, and sinking into the worn leather seat. “It’s been… nice.”
“Nice?” Jenni arches a brow, smirking into her own glass. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe I am.” I take in our quiet surroundings, content for what feels like the first time since I got here.
The Holy Oak isn’t like the Hail Mary. It’s quieter, more intimate.
There are no whispers here. The handful of customers sitting in mismatched chairs around vintage tables are mostly graduate students who aren’t even looking at me.
It’s exactly what I needed.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been out and felt so anonymous.”
Jenni hums but says nothing.
I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “I sound pathetic and arrogant.”
“Only a little,” she teases, grinning. “Is he back yet?”
“Should be arriving on campus soon.” I swirl the liquid in my glass, watching the amber cling to the sides. “I see him all the time, but sometimes it feels like we’re living completely separate lives, you know?” I admit.
Jenni reaches over and touches my arm. “I think that’s what happens when you date someone like Zach,” she says, her mouth curving into a small smile.
“He walks into a room, and every head turns. It must be… exhausting, trying to keep up with someone like that. Especially someone like you who just wants to blend in.”
The way she says it, so casual and admiring, the hair on the nape of my neck rises and the image of her and Zach at the hockey game comes front and center again.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, or the way she bites her lip to suppress a smile, but before I can stop myself, the words slip out:
“Sometimes I wonder if there really is something going on between you and Zach.”
Jenni freezes, clears her throat, then sits back, letting the words hang between us.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I know,” I rush, my cheeks burning. “I know he hates—” I stop myself. Even tipsy, I can’t say it out loud. I can’t let someone know Zach is anything less than the perfect quarterback he likes to portray. “—that he’s never exactly warm toward you.”
“That’s an understatement,” she says dryly, lifting her glass. “Zach barely tolerates me. The idea of him secretly pining after me is… hilarious.”
I want to believe her. I do, but the memory of that picture claws up my throat—Jenni leaning into Zach, his phone in her hand, their heads bent close like they were in on some private joke.
“Then why did I see a picture of you holding Zach’s phone? At the rink. You two looked…” My throat tightens. “Close.”
Jenni blinks, startled. “Photo?”
I nod, heat rising in my face. “Yeah. Someone sent it to me.”
For a second, something unreadable crosses her expression. Then she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “God, that. We were—” She pauses, her eyes flicking away before coming back. “He was showing me a picture of you. From your vacation. You looked cute.”
The fight drains out of me at once, leaving only embarrassment in its place. Of course. Of course Zach wouldn’t—
My stomach twists as guilt slides in to take the place of suspicion. I feel ridiculous, paranoid.
I force a laugh, weak and uneven. “Right. That makes sense.”
“Honestly,” Jenni adds with a smirk. “If anyone should be worried, I think it should be Zach.”
I nearly spill my whiskey at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
With furrowed brows, I try to think through any scenario, any guy that could even be misconstrued as something else, but I draw a blank.
“You don’t know?” Jenni leans back in her chair, studying me. “Come on, Honey. You can’t seriously think Chris doesn’t have feelings for you.”
“Chris?” My brows furrow in confusion. “No. We’re just friends.”
Jenni’s smile softens. It’s pitying and makes me feel pathetic. “How have you not noticed he’s always around you? How he’s always listening, watching, and laughing at your terrible jokes? He’s completely gone for you.”
I close my eyes, trying to process her words, but the whiskey is starting to get to my head. “He’s not,” I insist, but my voice wavers.
“You don’t see it, but everyone else does. Even Zach,” she says lightly, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “Even when we first met—you know he was staring at you from across the room? I felt so bad for him, I offered to help introduce him to you.”
“That’s not—” I shake my head. “You’re making that up.”
“I’m not. He’s been like this since day one. Always finding excuses to be near you, asking what you like, what makes you laugh… You should’ve seen him the day he found out you had a boyfriend. He was devastated and told me he wished he’d met you first.”
No. No. That makes no sense. Chris is in love with his ex. Not me.
“Chris is… He shouldn’t have said that.”
“Maybe not.” Her tone softens, and it’s almost pitying. “But I think he meant it. He talks about you like you’re… inevitable. Like you make it impossible for anyone to see past you once they’ve seen you.”
My pulse stutters, and Jenni studies me over her glass.
“Honestly, it’s not surprising. You clearly have a way of becoming someone’s whole world. Zach’s obsessed with making you happy, and sometimes… well, sometimes I wonder if you aren’t happy because you don’t know how to exist without being someone’s everything.”
“That’s not true.” The words leave my mouth, but even as I say them, I know I don’t believe them. She’s right—and it’s everything I’ve felt but never dared to admit.
Jenni bites her bottom lip and that pitying look returns. “Look, I’m just saying… Zach’s incredible. He’s going places, and there are so many girls who would kill to be with him. It wouldn’t hurt to think about what you want—outside of him.”
A quiet hum of panic rises under my skin.
“I do know what I want,” I say, too fast… because I don’t. I haven’t for the longest time and now that I’m starting to think about it, I feel like I can’t breathe.
“Do you?” she asks gently.
The whiskey sits sour in my stomach. I push my glass away and stand. “I should get home.”
Jenni doesn’t argue. She just signals for the check, her eyes flicking over me. “Okay, hun, but you’ll call me if you need me, right?”
“Yeah,” I squeak out, throwing enough money on the table to pay for my share.
Outside, the cool night air hits me hard, and I breathe it in like I’m trying to clear her words out of my lungs. Out of my body.
She’s wrong… but what if she’s not?
Who am I without him?
I—I don’t know.
I rifle through my bag, looking for my phone so I can call an Uber. When I find it, I freeze.
Right there on my screen is another message.
Unknown: Is Jenni protecting her own skin again? Don’t see why she bothers when she’s not the first and most certainly won’t be the last girl who fucks Zach. Wonder when you’re finally going to accept you aren’t the only one sucking his cock.
The words blur, then sharpen, branding themselves into me.
My throat goes tight. The air feels thinner. Colder.
Jenni’s voice slithers through my mind, cruel and echoing: “There are so many girls who would kill to be with him.”
What if he’s already let them? What if I’ve been walking around blind while he’s been busy proving her right?
The whiskey in my veins doesn’t help. It makes everything louder, meaner. My thoughts stumble, trip, crash, until all I hear is doubt.
My hand trembles as I lock my phone screen. I can’t go home. I can’t sit in the silence, choking on questions that sound too much like the truth.
By the time I realize I’m moving, I’m already halfway down the block, the concrete pounding beneath me, the alcohol buzzing in my blood.
I’m going to him.
Before the panic eats me alive.
And before the whiskey wears off and I lose the nerve.