Chapter 22
I groan, burying my face in the pillow as my brain tries to split itself in half. Every throb feels like claws digging into my skull, and the only thing dulling it is the low rumble of Zach’s voice drifting up from downstairs.
I’m in Zach’s house, but how did I get here?
Every time I try to remember, it feels like I’m getting sucker-punched from the inside.
What the hell did I drink last night?
Memories come back in broken waves. The photo. The bar. Jenni… Chris… Zach’s front door, and me showing up here, drunk and desperate.
“Oh my God.” I drag the comforter over my head, wishing I could disappear into the mattress forever. “What have I done?”
I can still hear Zach’s voice below, and pathetically, I try to hear his tone. Is he angry at me? Because if the roles were reversed—if he showed up wasted and shoved his dick in my face, begging me to suck it—I’d be furious.
Humiliation scorches my skin because that’s literally all I remember.
No words. No feelings… just his mouth on me.
I don’t know what I said, or why I even came here, and the more I reach for it, the more my mind slams the door shut.
The warm scent of coffee drifts upstairs, and as much as I want to hide in his bed, caffeine might be the only thing keeping me alive right now.
Reluctantly, I throw off the covers and sit up slowly. Wincing, my head shrieks in protest.
“I’m never drinking again,” I mutter to myself, annoyed that I ever thought going out for a drink would help solve any of my problems.
I grab one of Zach’s shirts, shrug it on and push off the bed, heading for the hallway, my legs barely cooperating.
As soon as I crack open the door, I can hear Zach’s voice much more clearly.
“Yes. Tell Ellie-bear that I’ve got some Iced Out sheets on her bed already waiting.”
Tiff. He’s talking to Tiff, and suddenly I feel even worse showing up at his door with what feels like my life in pieces. Zach has enough on his plate—football, college, family—he doesn’t need to add crumbling girlfriend to the list.
“Stop it. It’s not a lot. It’s what family does,” Zach says. “Besides, the house is huge, and it feels so empty without people in it.”
Empty.
He’s not directly talking about me, but I can’t stop hearing it that way.
Here he is, building a life, earning a living before he’s even left college, and I’m too busy drowning in my own failure, grasping at anything to make my life feel like it has meaning.
“Yeah, she’s excited too. Can’t wait to see you both. She’s upstairs sleeping.”
Holding the banister, I freeze. They’re talking about me.
“I’m letting her,” Zach says softly. “She was pretty upset last night.”
I press closer to the banister, desperate, hoping this conversation will fill in the gaps the whiskey left behind.
“I don’t know. She’s been drinking.” There’s a pause, then—”Yeah, I know. I know. I don’t know who she was with or what happened, but she showed up completely broken.”
My breath hitches, and I sink onto the top step.
“I’m worried about her, Tiff.”
My throat constricts as embarrassment takes over. He sees right through me. He always has, but why does that fact make me feel even more like a failure?
“I’ve tried, T,” he sighs. “I’ve tried so damn hard to get her to see what I see, but she either can’t or doesn’t want to.”
Tears start to blur my vision as I cross my arms, folding myself forward.
“You know her. She finds it really hard to accept help and doesn’t want anyone to feel like they owe her anything.”
“Wait, he told you?” Zach asks, shocked.
My breath catches. He? Who’s he?
“No. No. Don’t talk to her about it. Let me figure it out. All she wants is for you and Ella to be here and safe.”
I press my hand to my mouth, muffling a sob.
I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I can guess.
My father told her what I did, and I’m sure they think it’s too much, but it’s not.
It’s all I have to offer and maybe if I do something good enough with the privilege I was handed, it’ll finally fill this aching feeling in my chest.
“Yeah, I should probably go check on her.”
Swallowing hard, panic grips me.
After last night, I can’t let him find me here, eavesdropping like some desperate and paranoid girlfriend. I made a fool of myself enough last night. I scramble to my feet and head back to the bedroom, diving under the covers just as his footsteps start up the stairs.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to slow, and when the door creaks open, I stretch like I’m just waking up—praying it reads as sleepiness rather than my hangover misery.
“Morning, Buttercup,” he says gently, taking me in with a slow smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I made a fool of myself last night,” I admit, pressing a hand to my throbbing temple, and offering him the best smile I can muster. The move sends a sharp pain through my head, and I immediately regret trying to sound so casual about it all.
“You didn’t make a fool of yourself,” he assures me, moving toward the bed with a glass of water and what I can only assume are a couple of painkillers in his hand.
I take the glass gratefully, avoiding eye contact as I do. Him being in the room is bringing back things I’d gladly forget. Like the real reason I was spiraling was because of anonymous text messages, and Jenni avoiding my questions even though I knew there was nothing to answer to.
He takes a seat beside me with enough distance to not make the bed shake and aggravate my headache more.
“As happy as I am to wake up with you here… what happened, Honey? What made you show up like that?”
I keep my eyes down, avoiding his. The truth feels too raw to admit right now. “I just missed you,” I say, which isn't entirely a lie.
“I missed you too,” he says, and the warmth in his voice makes my chest ache. “Want some breakfast? I can make pancakes.”
My stomach churns at the thought. “God, no. Just coffee, please.”
“I'll get your coffee,” he says, disappearing back downstairs.
He comes back a few minutes later with a steaming mug of coffee.
“Careful,” he murmurs, passing it to me.
I curl my hands around the heat and breathe it in before taking a small sip. The caffeine scalds its way down my throat, grounding me, if only a little.
Zach leans against the dresser instead of the bed this time, giving me space as he watches me.
“Is this… about something your dad and Jamie’s dad said?” he asks quietly.
I lift my gaze to his, the embarrassment building in my chest. “You… you know about that?”
He gives me a small, sympathetic smile. “Jenni told me.”
Jenni.
Just the mention of her name makes me nervous and paranoid.
I glare at him. “Since when do you and Jenni talk about me like that?”
His brow furrows. “She brought it up at the hockey game. Said she was worried about you. Thought I should know.”
Something ugly twists low in my stomach. Jenni, confiding in him, filling him in on the parts that I try to hide. I thought they were just looking at vacation pictures at the rink. That’s what she said they were doing.
I push aside the uneasiness in my stomach because I know I’m wrong. I know there’s nothing going on between them.
“Right,” I say, my voice thin and frail. “Of course she did.”
Zach studies me for a beat. “So… it’s true? What he said to you?”
I shrug, focusing on my coffee instead of looking him in the eyes. I can’t. How do I explain that I didn’t want to tell him what happened because I was embarrassed? That I worry if he sees me for who I really am, he won’t want me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“I’m still going to keep working with him,” I say before I can stop myself. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s… it’s important.”
Zach’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence between us stretches.
Finally, I break it. “I didn’t say I don’t like it.”
“Maybe not.” His mouth twitches and something unreadable flashes across his face. “I just… don’t like what it does to you.”
I have no answer for that because I feel it. I know it’s making me distant, and nothing seems to help how I feel about who I am right now, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t fix it, and living with it clearly isn’t working either.
Instead of talking, I sip my coffee, trying not to flinch under the weight of his gaze. The room feels too still, too quiet—just the heavy beat of his concern pressing in and around me.
Zach pushes off the dresser, crosses the room, and gently brushes his fingers through my hair before tucking a strand behind my ear. “Okay,” he says softly, as though I said anything that would make him promise not to fight me on it. “If it matters to you, then I’ll find a way to be okay with it.”
I nod, though I don’t feel steady enough to mean it.
He hesitates, then reaches for his phone on the nightstand.
“Actually... there's something I wanted to show you.” He pulls up a photo and sits back down beside me, angling the screen so I can see.
“I know you've been worried. About me keeping things from you, but I'm not. Remember that note you found in my sock drawer a few weeks ago?”
“Yeah?”
“This is what it’s about.” I stare at the intricate honeycomb design on his screen. It's beautiful, the pattern delicately woven together with a small bee tucked into one corner.
“What is it?”
“A tattoo. I’ve been working with the artist, Hailey, to come up with the perfect design for you.”
“For me?” I sputter out. “You’re not actually going to get this, are you?”
He shrugs, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I wanted to. Wanted to commemorate your birthday. Thought it'd be nice to always have you with me, you know?” He gestures vaguely toward his left forearm. “Right here.”
The gesture is so sweet it makes my heart hurt, but all I can think about is how permanent that is. How much it means. “Zach...”
“I know.” He locks his phone and sets it aside. “Maybe it's too much. I just—I wanted you to know I'm not hiding anything from you. That's all it was.”
The knot in my throat tightens because he's trying so hard to reassure me, to prove something I should already believe, and here I am, making him feel like he has to.
He bends to press a kiss on the top of my head, lingering there for a second, then he pulls back.
“I’ll let you get dressed,” he says quietly, heading for the door. “Come down when you’re ready. I’ll drive you to campus so you don’t miss your classes.”
When he disappears down the hall, I stare at the mug between my hands and try to convince myself that it will be alright.
Because it will be… right?