53-Zach
Simone and I clink our round.
It’s Kit.
We haven’t spoken since we got to the arena, and I get two words. Still, my heart does something stupid like skip a beat. I can’t resist the chance to type back and mess with him.
I’m gonna need some proof.
“Who’s got you smiling like that?” Simone asks, and I nearly choke on my maraschino cherry.
“What?”
“Uh hmm.” Her blackish eyes narrow as she sips her lager. The smell of hops drifts across the table, warm and bitter. “Whoever he is, you two definitely did it.”
“What? No—”
“Girl.” She tosses a handful of chest-long microbraids over her shoulder, the wood beads clicking softly.
“Okay, yes.” I groan and collapse into the tabletop. The laminate is the same checkered pattern from when we were in college, but it’s faded now, worn thin. “Ugh. He’s English—”
“Ooh, fancy.”
“Which means it’s temporary.” I twist the grenadine-stained straw between my fingers just to have something to do with my hands. “And he’s my job. I can’t put this at risk. I’m already on thin ice. I don’t need whatever this is jeopardizing either of our careers.”
The declaration tastes as flat as warm pop. My pulse thuds in my throat as Simone watches me over the rim of her glass, her expression softening. She knows me all too well, and I hate how easy it is for her to see through me when I’m trying so hard not to see through myself. My phone dings again.
I open it and burst out laughing despite myself.
It’s a photo of Kit in the passenger seat of our van, deeply unamused as Cooper unmistakably drives in the background. Seth’s leaning into frame from the backseat, grinning like a war-painted gremlin as he gives the ‘rock on’ sign. I save the picture.
That’s clearly fake. Bye, stalker.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone make you laugh like that besides Nicole.” Simone winces, nails tapping against her glass. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” I reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. “She was your friend, too. And she’d be pissed if we didn’t talk about her conceited ass.”
Simone chuckles, wiping a tear from her blush-brushed cheek. My phone pings again.
Pin your location.
Not a question or suggestion. A command.
Yeah, definitely not doing that—stalker, remember?
Simone snorts. Another ding.
Zachary…
I chuckle, then reply.
Get your ass back to the bus before Yensil has a stroke.
His response comes instantly.
I am officially a liability so we might as well reunite, for our jobs sake, of course.
Cooper drives like a bat out of hell, so they’ll be here soon. I groan, but my chest warms as I pin my location and send it.
“You’re right to want to be careful of your feelings for this guy.” Simone watches me with that perceptive lawyer stare. “But hey, I know she’d want you to be happy, too. Stop guarding your heart so much.”
“Steve said the same thing. But I’ve only been in one serious relationship,” I say quietly, using my straw to stir the cherries into the pop. “And unlike yours, it didn’t end well.”
She squeezes my hand this time. The night Carter put me in the hospital, Simone showed up. Nicole called her from L.A. frantic, begging her to stay with me until she could fly back. Even with a baby at home, Simone sat beside my bed the whole night, letting me cry, scream, shake, then go silent.
No judgment or unsolicited advice. Just a simple, safe presence.
“Speaking of the wife,” she says, rolling her eyes affectionately as her phone buzzes from her purse. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” I take a sip of pop. “Tell her I say hi.”
“Hey baby, Zach says hi,” she says upon answering.
Simone’s glossy lips dip into a frown as she straightens her spine.
“He what? Okay, okay, take a breath.” Pinching her eyes closed, she rubs her lid.
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Snapping her open gaze at me, she smirks. “Okay, yeah, yeah, I’ll let her know.”
She hangs up with a sigh, putting her phone away as she drags her purse to her lap.
“Lavelle broke the lamp in the living room. Keisha’s trying not to freak out, but she’s got a hunger craving, and dinner’s burned.
Apparently it’s a crisis. Oh, and she says hi and that you need to bring your flat ass to see her. ”
“Go,” I say with a chuckle, waving toward the door. “Seriously.”
“You sure you’ve got a ride?” she asks, looping her keys onto her pointer as she digs them out.
“Yeah. Kit’s on his way.”
“Ooh, Kit.” Her brows shoot up as she wiggles a finger at me. “I see that smile.”
“Shut up and get your pregnant wife some shrimp stir-fry.”
We hug and exchange I love yous as I walk her to her car. Simone waves, blowing a kiss as she drives off. I light a cigarette, watching her disappear down the road. Pulling out my phone, it illuminates with a new message from Kit.
See that wasn’t so hard, love.
My heart stops.
It’s just a word—a very common British word. Seth calls me that, Jericho calls me that, half of London calls me that.
But Kit never does.
Something warm and dizzying spreads through me; the horrible realization of the feeling I’ve avoided.
I’m not just attracted or infatuated with him.
Not only do I remember the night we shared, but I fantasize more to come.
The night’s dangerously tense as if my heart’s anticipating the inevitable break.
Because the truth is unmistakable; I’m falling for Kit.
Hard.
“Hey, Zach.” The sound of my name causes me to turn on my heel. “Long time, baby.”
Carter stands before me, gaunt and jittery, with sunken sockets, and clothes that hang from his skeletal frame. My phone clatters onto the pavement as it slips from my numb fingers.
He pulls something from his pocket, and my pulse spikes.
A picture of a lone Simone inside the bar sits on his phone screen, with the caption ‘feeling nostalgic,’ followed by a heart.
There’s no way he could’ve known it was me from that.
Simone has always been careful. She respects the fact that I don’t show my face on social media, not after everything that happened.
“Sad you didn’t invite me,” Carter says, pocketing the device as he shrugs, “thought we were closer than that, Zachy.”
He mirrors every step I take, herding me backward. Slowly and carefully, I try to move around him, keeping my hands visible, my breath steady. The alley yawns behind the corner, narrow and empty as the bar’s brick wall presses against my spine.
“I…I didn’t know you were still around,” I manage, but it sounds too thin to be convincing.
He coughs out a wet and congested laugh. “Yeah, well, hard to go anywhere when your dad fires you. After those bullshit charges you pressed, I couldn’t find work.” His sneer turns sinister, alcohol and cigarettes heavy on his foul breath as he presses his nose to mine. “You remember those, right?”
Guilt punches through me even though I know it shouldn’t. “I-I’m sorry.”
“If you were sorry,” he spits, gripping my wrist, “you wouldn’t have lied, you dumb bitch.”
It’s as searing as a slap. My vision tunnels, the bar lights blurring at the edges. The night stretches, every shadow a looming threat.
“How did you know I’d be here?” My voice comes out thin.
“Easy,” he says, smirk twitching like he’s proud of solving the puzzle. “The post about your little documentary. Checked the Somnium tour dates and saw that they were in town.” He taps his temple with a shaking finger. “Bit of deductive reasoning from there.”
I rip out of his grip and sprint. My shoes skid on the pavement as I bolt toward the street at the end of the abandoned alleyway, heart hammering so hard it hurts.
“Zach!” Behind me, Carter’s voice cracks open, wild and desperate. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Zach, wait!”
His footsteps pound after me. I don’t look back. I can’t. Every breath burns but the only thing that matters is forward.
Stopping isn’t an option.