Chapter 10 #2
“Zach.” I push forward before he can make it easy again. “You are the first overall pick. Your coach is looking for you. Your agent is panicking. You have a playbook to learn and a team that drafted you to lead them, and you are on a boat—”
“Ship.”
“—in the Bahamas, and none of this is going to matter if you show up to preseason three steps behind everyone else because you spent two weeks chasing someone who doesn't—” I stop.
The room goes quiet.
He watches me finish the sentence in my head, and I watch him watch me, waiting for me to say the words I don’t want to.
“Someone who doesn't what?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer immediately. I don’t know how to.
He nods slowly and looks at the floor, then back up at me, sadness deep in his eyes.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re wasting your time on a cruise when you should be out building a life in Rome—”
“What life?” he says, louder now. “The life I want to build,” he continues, steadier, “is with you.”
“That's not fair,” I say, trying to sound calm when my heart is anything but. It’s beating so fast I can barely hear myself think.
“No,” he agrees. “It's not.”
He says it so simply that it stops me. I was ready for him to push, to charm his way around it the way he usually does, and instead he's just standing there in his sweatpants looking at me like the unfairness of it is something he made his peace with a long time ago.
“You can't put your entire career on hold and then make that my problem,” I say.
“I'm not making it your problem. I'm telling you the truth.” He tilts his head. “You're the one who came and knocked on my door, Honeycomb.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right. He was trying to give me space, but I couldn’t let this lie.
“What do you want from me, Zach?” I finally ask. “Honestly.”
“Honestly?” He looks almost surprised that I asked. “I just want you to stop running long enough to notice you haven’t gone anywhere.”
You haven’t gone anywhere.
My knees buckle, and I open my mouth to talk, but I can’t.
How dare he.
How dare he have the courage to point that out?
“Do you think I don’t lie awake thinking about that? That I don’t know exactly how pathetic it is that six months after leaving St. Michael’s, after all this effort, I’m still—” I break off, furious tears stinging behind my eyes.
I hate crying. I especially hate crying in front of him.
“I came on this trip because I needed to figure out who I am without you,” I say, louder now. “Because somewhere along the way, I stopped knowing where I ended and you began, and everyone acts like that’s romantic, but it’s terrifying, Zach.”
I’m shaking now, and Zach’s expression shifts. I can’t look at him, so I draw my gaze down, noticing him stopping himself from reaching out to me. That stupid honeycomb tattoo taunts me again. Flaunting the fact that this perfect man is so sure about us, he’s marked his skin with me.
Why would he want to be marked with a girl who can’t figure out what she wants?
My breathing is shaky. My dignity is gone. My heart is somewhere on the floor between us, and I don’t have the courage to stick around and hear his response.
“I need to go,” I say. “I have a spa appointment.”
He follows me to the door, holding it open when I reach it. He’s not asking me to stay; he never has.
I step through it without looking back, because if I do, I won’t go.
You haven’t gone anywhere.
My fists clench as I march through the hallway, avoiding anyone who looks remotely calm right now. Hard to do when you’re walking toward a damn spa.
I burst through the heavy glass doors, my body still on high alert from everything I said to Zach, but then I stop.
Everyone turns to look at my dramatic entrance. Guests in their spa robes look shocked. The girl behind the desk is calling for help, and I look like I’m about to either demand a hostage negotiator or start flipping massage tables. Neither one is the vibe I’m going for.
“Um, hi there, can I check you in?” the girl behind the desk asks.
I drop my hands and tie the knot in my robe a little tighter. “Um, yes,” I say, clearing my throat, offering her a more pleasant smile this time. Then I take several steps toward her. “I’m Honey Sanderson. I have a full spa day booked.”
As she taps on her computer to find my reservation, I look over my shoulder, and thankfully, the calm I interrupted has slowly returned to normal.
Relax, Honey.
“Fantastic, Miss Sanderson. I have your reservation right here, and I just wanted to say congratulations.”
Her smile is bright and genuine.
“For?”
“Your baby.” She looks down at my stomach before pushing a clipboard with a pen in my direction. “Since you’re pregnant, we’ll need to go through a waiver with you.”
“Pregnant? I’m not—” I swallow down my pride. “I think the booking is incorrect. My friend Olivia is pregnant, but she couldn’t make the journey. I’m not pregnant. I’m not even dating—” I don’t finish that sentence.
Her smile doesn’t waver. She just nods and makes a small note on her tablet.
“Of course, my apologies for the confusion. Let me update the booking.” She taps away. “You're all set, Miss Sanderson. Your therapist will be ready in about thirty minutes. Please help yourself to the pretreatment lounge.” She gestures toward the open doors. “Can I get you anything? Water, tea?”
“Water,” I say. “Please. Thank you.”
I take the glass and turn away from the desk before I can say anything else embarrassing.
Not pregnant.
No, that’s just my best friend, Olivia. The one who has her life together. She’s married, glowing, and currently growing an actual human being with the man she loves.
Meanwhile, I’m here.
Alone.
Not that I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself about it. The man I just stormed into and yelled at would have given me all of that years ago if I’d said yes to even one of his countless proposals.
A husband. A home. A future.
Zach would have handed it to me with both hands.
So no, I can’t pretend life happened to me.
I built this.
I am the architect of every single thing I don’t have, and I’m still not sure whether that makes me proud or miserable.
I settle into the lounger nearest the door, put the book in my lap, and make a genuine attempt to read my book while I wait for the spa day to commence.
The writer’s job is not to close that gap too quickly.
Let your character sit in the discomfort of knowing exactly what they want and choosing, again and again, not to take it.
The reader will stay for that. What they won’t forgive is a character who never had to fight themselves to get there.
That’s not a story. That’s just a series of things that happened.
“Hey, it’s Honey, right?”
I look up and see a familiar face from last night.
Bella? I think that’s her name. She’s standing beside the empty chair with a towel over her arm, and her blonde hair in a high ponytail.
“Sorry for bothering you, but I didn’t want to sit down, and have it be weird.” She holds her hand to her chest. “I’m Bella. Drew’s girlfriend from last night.”
I swallow, forcing out a smile even though my anxiety feels like it’s going into overdrive.
What did Zach tell her over dinner?
Does she think I’m the villain because I haven’t just fallen into his arms?
Has she seen his tattoo?
The air feels a little thinner, so I ping my bracelet, the snap of pain bringing me back into the room.
‘Anxiety is just misplaced fear. You can’t control what other people think about you. The only thing you can control is how you respond.’
Dr. Reeves once again.
I take in a deep breath and unclench my jaw. What other people say about me when I’m not around is not my business, and she’s looking at me earnestly with a wide smile, so it couldn’t have been that bad anyway.
“Hi. Yes, I remember. Do you want to sit down?” I offer the seat, feeling a little foolish considering I don’t own the place. She can sit down wherever she likes.
“Thanks.”
She relaxes back in the lounger, crossing one leg over the other.
That’s when the awkward silence starts to settle in, because what the hell am I supposed to talk about with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on? Just like Olivia, she’s got her life together, and I’m just a mess.
“So, uh, where’s Drew?” I ask. It’s literally all I’ve got.
She lets out a short laugh. “Not here. Spa days are not in that man’s vocabulary.
” She shakes her head, but the smile she’s trying to hide shows the affection she has for him.
“Knowing him, he’s probably on a treadmill right now.
It’s his favorite thing in the world. The gym, I mean.
He’d live there if I let him.” She rolls her eyes. “But I’m sure you understand that.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, and leave it there.
So, it sounds like Zach told them we were together. Did I really think he’d do anything different?
The life I want to build is with you.
The words feel heavy every time I think about them.
Bella glances at me over the top of her book with a tiny smile on her face.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, dropping her book to her lap.
The question immediately makes me nervous. “That depends entirely on the question.”
She laughs softly. “Okay, well, Zach told us you were his girlfriend last night...” She pauses, taking in my face. “Should I assume that was true, or should I assume he was just a little overeager?”
“Definitely the second one,” I mutter. “Very much the second one.”
Bella’s brows raise. “I get it. Dinner with him was...eye opening.”
“He’s a lot, isn’t he?”
She smiles, relaxing a little.
“My dad coached him, and between him and Drew, I’ve basically had secondhand Zach Evans updates for years. Mostly football. Occasionally stories about how stubborn he is.”
“Wait—your dad, what?”
“My dad is Coach Summers. I guess Zach forgot to mention that.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.” Coach Summers was Zach’s coach at St. Michael’s. I didn’t even know he had a daughter. Let alone one who’s dating a franchise quarterback in the NFL.
Bella laughs softly. “Yeah, not surprised. My dad doesn’t like to advertise that I forced his favorite player to leave his team.”
Woah, if that’s not a loaded sentence. I have so many questions. None that feel appropriate for this conversation.
I shake my head. “That feels like important information Zach should’ve shared before letting me embarrass myself in front of you.”
“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” she says easily. “And I get why he didn’t mention it. The second he saw you at the hostess stand, everything else kind of stopped existing for him.”
Bella smiles and folds her hands over her book.
“That’s the problem with Zach,” I mutter.
She lets out a small laugh.
“Oh, believe me. I get it. Bad men are simple. They leave and move on. Good men are... inconvenient. They wait. They pine. Even when you’re thousands of miles apart, they are still right there in the back of your mind, making it very hard to pretend someone else could ever feel the same.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” I ask with a brow raised as I hold back my smirk.
She nods once. “Maybe it’s a quarterback thing. They’re trained to commit to a play and see it through, no matter how messy it gets. Turns out they do that with people too.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it.
“Yeah... he’s not exactly subtle about it.”
“No,” she agrees. “He’s not.”
“Honey Sanderson?” The spa attendant appears in the doorway. “We’re ready for you.”
I close the book and stand. Bella waves me off.
“Have a good treatment,” she says. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”
“Uh, yeah,” I say, surprised to find that I think I would be okay with it.
I follow the attendant down the hallway, clutching my towel close to my chest, hoping this massage will get my mind off everything.