Chapter 27
ZACH
Weeks passed with Zach stuck in limbo. Despite the acceptance from his brother, fear paralyzed him whenever he thought of his family—heart rate spiking, palms sweating, thoughts scattered. He felt fragile, unsteady, like a Jenga tower about to come crashing down from one wrong touch.
He still reflexively blocked any number with a Montana area code.
Even the two that definitely weren’t telemarketers—the ones that texted, asking him to please call.
Some would call that kind of avoidance cowardly and unhealthy, but Zach never claimed to be well-adjusted.
All he wanted was to go one day without low-grade panic thrumming under his skin.
A perfectly reasonable goal that seemed completely out of reach.
Joel tried dragging him out to the club, and Zach went along once, spending the whole night nursing a single drink and watching people dance. No amount of internal pep talks or Joel’s cheerful prodding could get him to loosen up.
He just wasn’t in the mood.
Still, he had to hand it to Joel—most people would have given up by now, but his friend remained stubbornly determined to help.
These days, that help boiled down to hanging out at the library after class.
Theoretically, they were supposed to be studying, though that had never been one of Joel’s strong suits.
“Officially the worst elective in the history of all electives,” Joel grumbled, flipping through the textbook.
They were supposed to be picking three topics to explore in their final paper, which Zach had done in the first ten minutes and Joel refused to do on principle.
“I should’ve taken Social Media Marketing instead. I know all the apps.”
Zach snorted. “You know the apps you like. I’m sure the high schoolers are using stuff we’ve never heard of.
Besides, you only hate this class because it’s making you confront your inner consumer.
” Zach made air quotes and smirked. “You’re just feeling defensive about your predictable and shallow consumer ways. ”
“Whatever.” Joel pouted. “I’m a great consumer. I help the economy.”
“Yes, sweetie, your addiction to alcohol and skinny jeans is single-handedly keeping our country afloat.”
Joel glared at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side. Not on the”—he gestured to the textbook—“judgy-people side. Besides, you always buy chips from the center of the vending machine.”
“That’s proof that vending machine people understand their customers.”
Joel made an indignant noise and went back to flipping through the pages.
It was amusing to watch him take everything about this class personally.
Zach still had to suppress a smile whenever he remembered the day they learned about commodity fetishism and the scandalized look on Joel’s face as he argued that his love for designer T-shirts was not a fetish.
It took Zach Googling non-sexual fetish and forcing Joel to read it for him to calm down.
After another half an hour had passed—as unproductively as expected—Zach checked the time. “I think I’m gonna head out.”
Joel’s gaze snapped toward him, a flicker of worry crossing his face. “Want me to come?”
The concern warmed his heart. He hadn’t been too much fun lately, and he wouldn’t blame Joel if he pulled back, but his friend was intent on making sure Zach was okay.
Did they make a gift basket that said Thanks for sticking by me through my mental breakdown? Depressed twenty-somethings were such an underrated consumer base.
“Nah, I’m good. Gonna go home, inhale some ramen, and get started on the final paper.”
Joel scrunched his face in distaste. “I can’t believe we have to write an essay on our own consumer habits. Like…is this marketing or therapy?”
Zach slung his bag across his shoulder with a grunt and patted Joel’s perfectly-arranged messy hair. “Let’s go out this weekend. We’ll drink until you forget how easily sexy commercials can manipulate us.”
Joel perked up at the prospect, and they walked out of the library together, splitting up in the parking lot.
Zach’s bike had gotten a flat tire last week, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it, so Joel offered him a ride home.
Zach waved him off. He was in no hurry to get back to his lonely apartment, and a leisurely walk on a sunny summer afternoon sounded perfect.
The tree-lined sidewalk was wide enough that Zach didn’t feel bad about blocking anyone as he ambled along. Joggers and power walkers flashed past him with bright smiles, making exercise look easy and fun, and he wondered if he should take up running.
Then he remembered the running shoes he bought at the start of sophomore year—how they smelled of new rubber and early mornings, and how he had such lofty plans for an active lifestyle. He’d imagined himself jogging every day and winning marathons.
The brightly colored sneakers disappeared under the bed sometime around Thanksgiving, never to see the light of day again. In the end, waking up at dawn and dragging his groggy ass outside wasn’t his vibe. He was all about slow, languid walks that didn’t exert too much energy.
A loud bark startled him. He spun around to find an older woman calmly walking toward him, unbothered by her five dogs tugging wildly in every direction.
She kept pace, letting the leashes weave a chaotic web around her.
Each dog wore neon green booties, from the tiny Chihuahua to the imposing German shepherd.
The sight was so perfectly absurd that Zach’s hand instinctively slipped into his pocket, reaching for his phone to take a picture.
He snapped about twenty as the procession trotted past, trying to get every dog into the frame.
His thumb hovered over the share icon on the cutest photo of the bunch.
For so long, anything amusing or interesting had gone straight to Miles without a second thought.
That impulse was still there, stubborn as ever, but now he hesitated, locked in a battle between habit and reality.
On the one hand, it would be weird to ghost someone only to send them a dog picture some weeks later.
On the other, it was a really adorable picture.
After a few seconds of internal struggle, he sent it to Jerry. The need to share ebbed, but he still wished he could have shown it to Miles.
Back when he’d made his grand escape from Montana, he’d known it would hurt, but he hadn’t fully understood the depth of that pain.
It was the little things that stung the most, the small reminders of Miles that made him realize how much he’d leaned on his existence without noticing.
They used to text constantly about everything and nothing at all—stray thoughts, stupid memes, half-formed observations.
It had been a quiet rhythm in his life, a heartbeat he never noticed until it was gone.
What was he supposed to do now?
As he reached his building, he glanced up and down the block out of habit. It was silly, yet a small, stubborn ember of hope in Zach’s heart refused to go out.
Alas, the street was empty.
The front door was wide open, propped up by a small rock.
The neon blue Please keep the door closed!
!! sign reminded Zach to feel guilty about waltzing inside without having to rifle through the bag for his keys, and after a moment of hesitation, he shut the door behind him.
The neighborhood was safe, but he’d feel like shit if someone’s apartment was robbed because he’d been too lazy to clean out his bag.
Trudging up the stairs, he was glad he didn’t have the bike weighing him down.
Still, he needed to fix it soon, and a patch kit wouldn’t do it this time.
He needed to buy a new tire. Which wouldn’t be too expensive, but it meant going into a bike shop.
Last time he’d gone, he managed to get stuck with the most pretentious bike technician who had somehow managed to take a mode of transportation and make it his entire personality.
His phone vibrated in his hand, interrupting his thoughts. Jerry had replied with a laughing emoji, giving Zach a tiny boost of dopamine.
Someone cleared their throat above him, and Zach’s head snapped up to see the source.
For a split second, he thought his brain was playing tricks on him. He blinked hard, trying to recalibrate, expecting the vision to vanish.
It didn’t.
Miles was still there, leaning against his apartment door and glaring down at him.
Zach looked back at his phone, thoughts spiraling out of control. He had so much to say, it was hard to know where to start. Panicking, he brought up the dog picture and sent it to Miles.
It was the best he could do right now.
Miles’s phone pinged, and while he was busy pulling it out of his pocket, Zach slipped past and unlocked the door.
“That’s cute.” Miles chuckled. “They match.”
Zach nodded, wondering if the gift of speech would ever return to him or if he’d go through the rest of his life unable to form a single sentence.
He gestured inside, and Miles walked in.
Wordlessly, they moved through the small space—Zach setting his bag on the kitchen counter and Miles leaning against the wall a few feet away.
They stared at each other and waited.
Zach had avoided looking at photos of Miles, going so far as to change his laptop background to a boring landscape, but it hadn’t made much difference. Miles’s face was etched into his brain—the sweet smile that could turn mischievous on a dime, the bottomless eyes that revealed his every emotion.
Now that piercing gaze was trained on Zach, betraying nothing.
Miles folded his arms in front of his chest. Even with the tension swirling around them, Zach’s attention snagged on the flex of his biceps. The hallway must have been too warm, because Miles’s flannel dangled from his wrist, his T-shirt doing little to hide the definition beneath.
“I’m...” Miles broke the silence, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m here on Max’s behalf.”
That made sense. Miles wasn’t here for him. He hadn’t traveled six hundred miles to profess his undying love, to beg Zach to come back, to fill the gaping void inside Zach’s chest with his comforting touch.
He was here for a purpose. Nothing more than running an errand. For Max.
Which…didn’t really make sense. That was quite the long-distance errand. And what would Max even need from Zach? The twenty bucks Zach owed him for a pizza from a few years back didn’t really justify an in-person visit from another state.
“How is Max?” Zach asked, for lack of originality.
“He’s doing great,” Miles said. “He’s getting married.”
The words landed like a punch in the gut, and Zach stumbled back.
Max was getting married. And Raymond… What about Raymond?
Zach tried not to remember the hitch in Raymond’s breath, the resignation in his eyes as he lamented about watching Max be set up with other people, but the memories rushed through him anyway, stealing the air from his lungs.
This wasn’t Raymond coping with Max going on an occasional fake date. This was…
Miles closed the distance between them in three steps and placed a warm palm on Zach’s shoulder.
“Zee, what’s wrong?” The concern in his voice melted something inside Zach, and he lost himself in the familiar, soothing comfort of Miles’s presence.
They were so close. Zach could see the dark flecks dancing in the sky blue of Miles’s eyes, could feel the gentle nudge of his breath.
Miles’s fingers slipped to the back of Zach’s neck and tightened, holding him still.
Zach wished he could sag into the touch and let Miles carry his weight.
He could. Miles would let him. Miles would hug him, would hold him like he was the most precious thing in the world—the same way he always had.
No, no, no.
Zach didn’t need to fall down that rabbit hole. As much as he wanted to be surrounded by Miles’s broad frame, tucked safe and secure in his embrace, it would only make things harder when Miles had to let go.
And he would have to let go.
He extricated himself from Miles’s grip and headed for the couch. “That’s…good, I guess. Is Max happy?”
Miles trailed after him, dropping onto the opposite end and squinting in confusion. “Umm, yes? He’s very happy.”
“I see,” Zach said, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “That’s great. Great news. I bet your mom is pumped about it.”
Miles chuckled. “She gets to plan the wedding, so she’s thrilled.”
Making small talk while acutely aware of someone else’s pain was a teensy bit more difficult than Zach had assumed.
“How’s Raymond?”
“He’s good. Pretty busy. You know how it is.” Miles shrugged.
Red-hot anger pierced through Zach, bubbling up to the surface, impossible to contain. The man’s heart was breaking, and Miles was here talking about farm chores? Yes, summers were busy, but Zach seriously doubted Raymond gave a shit about that right now.
Oblivious to his seething, Miles kept talking, “That’s actually why I’m—”
“No,” Zach stated simply, meeting Miles’s gaze with defiance. “No. Raymond is not good. What the fuck, Miles? You’re the sweetest, most caring person I know. How can you pretend this is okay? They were together for three years. They loved each other!”
His voice got louder with each word until he was almost shouting, but Miles didn’t even have the decency to look contrite. If anything, he looked…amused? As Zach opened his mouth to ask him why the fuck he was smiling, Miles lifted his hands in surrender.
“Sorry, Zee, I didn’t mean to get you upset. I’ve been in the thick of it for a while, so I didn’t think about what it would sound like to you.”
He shifted closer, not crowding Zach, just enough that their knees bumped. After hesitating for a second, he reached up, brushing his thumb lightly along Zach’s cheek.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now. “It’s not like that.”
Zach frowned, still tense. “Then what is it like?”
Miles let out a small breath, his lips quirking like he was trying not to smile again. “Let me start over. Hey Zach, I have good news. Max is getting married to the love of his life. You might know him. His name is Ray.”
If the sight of Miles leaning against his door was akin to a record scratch, this news took the entire stereo system and set it on fire.