Chapter 17
Because I love you!
The lights overhead buzz non-stop, making my headache worse as I go through another pile of papers that might—just might—save our clinic.
Dr. Martinez sits across from me, her usually tidy hair falling loose as she marks important parts in a law book.
We’ve all been awake for almost two days straight, running on fumes and desperation.
No one talks about what happens if we fail.
Zayn steps out from behind a bookshelf, phone at his ear.
He reaches out his hand while still talking on the phone, and I pass him the form.
Our fingers brush—just for a heartbeat—and that familiar electricity shoots through me.
I jerk back too quickly and jostle an empty coffee cup.
It wobbles but stays upright on the desk.
I watch him walk back and forth by the window, silhouetted against the afternoon light. Even after everything, I can’t help but admire how he handles this emergency—staying calm when I know he’s running on coffee and willpower. He’s in full lawyer mode now, all business and focus.
Dr. Martinez catches my eye and gives me a tired smile. “He’s good at this,” she whispers.
I nod and go back to sorting papers. I can’t think about that right now—about how Zayn fights so fiercely for what matters to him, about how he remembers every detail I ever shared, about that house he built filled with my forgotten dreams. I need to focus on saving the clinic.
“Want more coffee?” Dr. Martinez asks, getting up with a wince. Her knees make a popping sound.
“Please,” I say, despite my stomach’s acid protest. I’ve consumed six cups already, and it’s only three p.m.
While she’s gone, I sort everything into three piles—historical documentation, legal precedents, and community testimonials. The paper feels dry on my fingers, brittle as old leaves. My heart won’t calm down no matter how many deep breaths I take.
Zayn hangs up and sits in the chair next to me. He smells like coffee and that cologne that still makes my pulse spike.“Judge Reynolds will look at our emergency request first thing tomorrow,” he says, running his hands through his hair until it sticks up at odd angles.
“Tomorrow? Not today?” My words come out sharper than I meant them to.
Zayn looks at me. “This was the earliest we could get.” His gray-blue eyes lock with mine, intense as a storm rolling in. “Cooper plans to start bulldozing on Friday.”
“Two days from now,” I whisper. “That’s cutting it close.”
“We’ll make it.” He sounds so sure I almost believe him.
Dr. Martinez returns bearing three mugs of coffee. It smells burnt, but I accept mine gratefully. The warmth feels comforting against my icy hands.
“What do we do now?” she asks, giving Zayn his coffee.
“The judge sees our emergency request tomorrow,” Zayn says, “but we need to file the history papers today as backup. And we need all those petition signatures.” He turns to me. “How many did we get?”
“Three hundred and twelve,” I say, pulling out the thick stack of papers from my bag. “The mayor signed too, and the history board.”
“Good.” Zayn drinks his coffee. “The printer should be done with the final—”
A terrible grinding noise interrupts him. We all turn toward the printer emitting sounds like it’s being murdered.
“No, no, no,” I say, hurrying over. A wrinkled paper sticks out, half-printed and ruined. “Not now!”
“Let me check.” Zayn appears directly behind me, close enough that I feel his body heat. When he reaches around me to access the printer, his chest presses against my back. I forget how to breathe.
“The printer’s stuck,” he says right by my ear, his breath warm against my skin. I move away to give him space, feeling my cheeks get hot.
“Can you fix it?” Dr. Martinez asks, walking over.
“Damn it, we don’t have time for this,” I say, panic taking over my voice. “We need those documents filed in twenty minutes or the clerk’s office closes.”
Zayn pulls out the wrinkled paper and reaches into the machine. “Almost got it,” he says. Something inside snaps loudly.
I jump. “Did you break it?”
“Fixed it,” he says, shutting the cover. The printer starts working again, resuming its steady rhythm like a heartbeat returning to normal.
My shoulders drop with relief. “Thank goodness.”
We stand around the printer, watching the pages come out one by one like prayer cards. Zayn starts putting them in order, his fingers moving fast. I grab the stapler and follow him, attaching each set.
“Last page,” Zayn says as the printer stops. “Sophie, did you get the—”
“The maps? Right here.” I push the papers to him before he finishes asking.
Our eyes meet, and something warm passes between us, electric and dangerous. “You always know what I need.”
The words hang in the air, and I know he means more than just paperwork. I look away, blood rushing hot.
Dr. Martinez clears her throat. “I’ll call the clerk to tell them we’re coming.”
The next fifteen minutes go by in a rush. Zayn writing quick notes while I put everything into a binder, Dr. Martinez checking details on the phone. My stomach ties itself into increasingly complex knots with each passing minute. This has to work. We cannot lose the clinic.
Zayn’s desk phone rings, making us all jump. He puts it on speaker.
“Mr. Blackwell?” a bored voice says. “This is Janet from the county clerk’s office. I got your emergency filing for the historic landmark designation.”
We all freeze, barely breathing. The room goes so quiet you can hear a pin drop.
“And?” Zayn asks when Janet doesn’t go on.
“It’s been accepted and time-stamped. The demolition permits are on hold until review.”
Relief floods through me so suddenly my knees buckle, and I collapse into the nearest chair. The world tilts sideways for a moment.
“Thank you, Janet,” Zayn says, sounding professional while his face breaks into the biggest smile I’ve seen in years.
The call ends. For a moment, none of us move or talk. Then Dr. Martinez whispers, “Gracias a Dios,” her voice breaking. She quickly wipes her eyes.
“We did it,” I breathe, still processing.
“We did it,” Zayn echoes, his eyes finding mine across the desk.
And then everything happens in a blur. Zayn walks around the desk, grabs my chair, and turns me to face him. His hands touch my face, his tattooed fingers soft against my skin, gentle as promises.
“Sophie,” he whispers, like he’s asking me something.
I don’t say anything back. My body reacts before I can think. I reach up and pull his face down to mine. We kiss, and the five years apart vanish like smoke.
The kiss tastes like bad coffee and worry and hope all mixed together.
His lips feel warm and familiar, and I lose myself in him completely.
His hands move to my waist, lifting me up from the chair.
My fingers run through his hair, pulling him closer, like I’m trying to make up for all the lost time between us, like I’m drowning and he’s air.
I barely notice when the office door clicks shut, Dr. Martinez leaving to give us privacy, but all I can focus on is Zayn’s heart beating against mine, his hands holding my waist, and how he kisses me like someone finally coming home after years of exile.
He pulls me onto his chair without breaking the kiss.
I’ve missed this for five years—how he tastes, how his heart pounds under my hand, how his breath catches when I touch his hair.
My body knows his, like riding a bike you never forget.
The chair makes noise as I move closer, my knee sliding between his.
Everything feels new but familiar at the same time, like remembering a song you thought you’d forgotten.
His hands travel up my spine, pulling me flush against him until I’m straddling his lap.
The chair rolls backward and hits the desk.
We don’t stop. I touch the tattoos on his neck, feeling his pulse racing under my fingers, wild and erratic.
He makes a sound that I feel against my lips and all through my body, vibrating down to my bones.
Then reality hits me hard.
What am I doing?
I pull back so fast I almost fall, pushing against his chest. The chair rolls backward.
My hip hits the desk hard, and a stack of files falls to the floor with a loud sound.
Papers scatter everywhere across the carpet like confetti.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I say, my voice shaky.
My legs feel weak. His taste lingers on my lips like evidence.
Zayn stands up, breathing hard. His hair is messy from my hands, his tie crooked. “It changes everything,” he says, staring right at me.
I back up until I hit the wall, shaking my head. “No. It was just … adrenaline. We were happy about saving the clinic.”
“That’s not true.” He sounds wounded. “Don’t do that, Sophie. Don’t act like this isn’t real.”
“Real?” I try to laugh but it comes out like a sob. “What’s real is we’ve done this before. What’s real is you left once, and you’ll leave again.”
“I’m not leaving.” He steps toward me, and I press harder against the wall.
“Not now. But later?” My voice gets louder as all my fears come pouring out like water through a broken dam. “What about next month? Next year? When someone offers you a big job in a big city?”
“I already said no to that job!” He raises his voice too. “I told Cameron no. I told you that.”
“What about when the next big job comes along? Or the one after that?” Tension radiates down my arms as I push my hair back. “This town is too small for you, Zayn. It always was. You need more than Bellrose can offer. More than the clinic. More than—” I can’t finish.
“More than what?” he steps closer. “Just say it, Sophie.”
“More than me!” The words burst out like I’ve been holding them in forever, like lancing an infected wound. “I wasn’t enough to keep you here!”
The room goes completely silent. I’m fighting not to cry. Zayn’s face turns white, like my words physically hurt him, like I slapped him.
“Is that really what you think?” he asks quietly. “That you weren’t enough?”
I hug myself, feeling cold even though the office is warm. “Five years ago you had to choose, Zayn. Your big career or me. And you picked your career.” Tears run down my face, and I hate crying in front of him. “You packed up and left for Seattle without even trying to make us work.”
“I was young and dumb,” he says, his hands in fists at his sides like he’s stopping himself from touching me. “I thought I was doing what was right. I thought—”
“You thought what? That I’d just wait around?
That your ambitions mattered more than us?
My throat tightens as all the hurt I’ve kept locked away comes flooding back, five years of pain pouring out all at once.
“And now you’re back, you built this perfect house filled with everything I wanted, you bring me coffee every morning, you remember every tiny detail I shared—”
“Because I love you!” His voice cracks. “I’ve loved you since you were eighteen years old. I never stopped loving you, Sophie. Not for one single day.”
He’s never talked like this before—like he’s laying everything bare, like he’s stripped himself of armor. The old Zayn kept his feelings hidden. This Zayn looks like he’s breaking apart.
“Then why did you leave?” I whisper the question that’s kept me up at night for years.
He steps closer, and I stay frozen. “Because loving you that intensely terrified me. Because I thought I needed to prove myself worthy of you. Because I was foolish enough to believe a prestigious job and money mattered more than waking up beside you every morning.” His voice drops lower.
“It took me five years to understand what actually matters, Sophie. And it’s you. It’s always been you.”
I want to believe him so badly it hurts. But I can’t move from the wall, too scared to step closer to him, too terrified to let myself hope again. “How do I know you won’t leave again?” I whisper. “How do I know I’m enough this time?”
The office door opens, and Cameron Walsh walks in like he owns the place. His gray hair looks perfect, his suit crisp even this late. His shoes click on the floor as he sets his leather briefcase on Zayn’s desk.
“Zayn,” he says, barely looking at me or the papers scattered everywhere. “Good, you’re still here. We need to talk.”
Zayn keeps his eyes on me. “Not now, Cameron.”
“You’ll want to hear this.” His smile reveals perfect teeth but zero warmth. “The partners were extremely impressed with how you handled this small-town preservation case. Demonstrates you’ve got the versatility we value.”
My heart sinks as Cameron keeps talking in his smooth, rich voice.
“We want you in New York. Starting as full partner, twice your current pay, corner office overlooking Central Park. This is the final offer.” He delivers it casually, like he’s discussing the weather rather than someone’s entire future.
“This is your opportunity, son. You could be senior partner within five years. Maybe sooner with your talent.”
Zayn still won’t look at Cameron. He stares at me instead, his eyes desperate like he’s trying to communicate something important, pleading silently.
But all I can hear is roaring in my ears. New York. Double the salary. Full partner. Everything he’s always wanted, everything he was groomed for.
It’s happening again, except worse this time because I actually let myself hope. This time I let myself kiss him back. This time I felt what it would be like to have him again, and now I have to lose him twice.
“I need to go,” I whisper, reaching for my purse. My hands are shaking so much that I drop it and have to pick it up again.
“Sophie, wait—” Zayn steps toward me.
“Don’t.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “I can’t do this again. I can’t stand here and watch you choose something else over me again.”
Tears blur my vision as I push past Cameron, who steps aside with a slight smirk, like I’m merely an inconvenience.
I flee down the bright hallway—running from Zayn calling my name, running from the agony of never being enough, running from the crushing knowledge that some stories just don’t get happy endings, no matter how desperately you try to rewrite them.