Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
NO GOOD DEED
HAZEL
The door slams behind me harder than I meant it to, the sharp crack echoing down the hallway, but honestly?
I don’t care. I’m too far past caring right now.
The tension in my chest is coiled so tight it feels like I might explode if I don’t keep moving.
Zack’s voice is still ringing in my ears, low and cold, laced with that specific kind of anger that’s just fear with a sharper edge.
I’ve grown too accustomed to people speaking to me that way, and it’s honestly just not fair.
“Hazel, I fucking said I’m fine.”
Right. Fine.
Because growling at someone who’s trying to help is the universal sign of emotional stability.
God, I should’ve known better. I do know better.
My footsteps are loud against the floor as I storm down the hall, arms stiff at my sides, hands clenched into fists.
I can feel my nails digging into my palms, but I welcome the sting.
It grounds me. Gives me something real to focus on—something that isn’t the way Zack looked at me like I was the problem for asking if he was okay.
I don’t even know why I went out there in the first place. Why do I bother? It’s like I have this self-destructive reflex to keep poking at people who are clearly too wrapped up in their own storm to see straight. I reach out and get burned. Every time. You’d think I’d learn.
But with Zack, it’s different.
No—scratch that. I want it to be different. That’s the problem.
Because for all his mood swings, broody one-word answers, and that ridiculous wall he’s built around himself, there’s something underneath it.
Something raw and bleeding that he doesn’t want anyone to see.
And for some reason, I want to see it. I want to understand what about him makes me feel like I’m standing too close to the edge of something dangerous.
The kitchen greets me like a hospital waiting room—too bright, too clean, too silent. The overhead light buzzes softly, the only sound in the stillness. I brace my hands on the counter, gripping the edge like it’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
Breathe. In. Out. Again.
I tell myself he’s scared, that people who are scared lash out.
That maybe he’s drowning in something he doesn’t have words for.
That maybe that’s what it was back there—fear disguised as fury.
A push to keep me away before I get too close.
Before he lets himself feel something. I know that feeling all too well.
But still. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it.
I stare at the blank white cabinets, my jaw tight.
This house feels too big now, like there’s too much space between the walls and not enough warmth to fill it.
And God, the silence. It’s not the peaceful kind, either.
It’s the kind that presses down on you, fills your head with everything you’ve been trying not to think about.
Like Leyla.
The thought hits me like a punch to the stomach. Just her name, and suddenly everything hurts in that low, aching way that grief tends to live inside you—not sharp or fresh, but still there, still heavy. Still real.
I can almost hear her voice. That laugh she always gave when she was pretending not to be impressed.
The way she’d raise one eyebrow like she was reading your mind.
Leyla was my person. She was that person that you didn’t have to explain yourself for, because she just knew.
She’d be absolutely laughing at me right now.
She’d say something like, “Seriously, Haze? You’ve got a thing for the guy who looks like he bench-presses his emotional damage? I’m so proud.”
Then I’d roll my eyes and tell her to shut up, and she’d grin like she knew the truth before I did.
Because maybe I do have a thing for him.
Maybe that’s what’s making this so much harder than it should be.
I know I technically know him from group, but he was a counselor for one of the other groups, so we never really knew each other.
Zachary Blake is infuriating. He’s guarded, gruff, and about as emotionally available as a locked door.
But then he looks at me, or says something honest when he thinks I’m not listening, and it feels like something unspoken is pulling tight between us.
I refuse to try to figure out what any of this shit means, because as always, good girl Hazel—the bright, happy-go-lucky sunshine girl—has to do everything herself.
But it’s not my job to fix him. I can’t be the one dragging his storm into the sun. I’m not built for that, not right now—not when I’m barely staying afloat myself. But I’ll never let anyone know I’m drowning in this endless pool of self-pity.
The kitchen hums with silence as I let go of the counter and straighten up. My shoulders ache like I’ve been carrying too much invisible weight. Maybe I have.
Let Zack brood outside. Let him sit in his own storm until he figures out how to come out of it on his own. I’m not going to be the girl who waits around for someone to decide I’m worth letting in.
I’ve done enough chasing ghosts for one lifetime—even though we’re chasing two as I speak. My phone goes off, and I feel the Earth tilt. My whole world feels as if it’s spinning off the axis, and it shakes me to my core.
Unread Message from LeyLey
I throw my phone as if it's hot lava, like the touch of it burns me.
I scream, because a ghost just texted me.
Zack comes flying into the house, his brows furrowed and chest heaving as the door slams behind him.
His eyes are nearly silver in this light, his black hair tousled as he looks at me with concern.
“Hazel?! What—What the fuck happened?” Zack looks panicked, and I’m almost certain I’m a shade lighter than a ghost.
“No…no…no…” I mutter over and over again, somehow unable to even begin to process what all is happening.
Zack walks over to my phone, and his own face blanches as he sees who texted me. “Open your phone,” he demands with a tremor in his voice.
My eyes shoot to his as I reach for my phone, tapping the notification to opening it. “I don’t want to see it—I…I can’t see it.”
My hand rushes up to my mouth as the dinner we had decides to come up, and I run to the bathroom, clearly not handling this situation well.
I wretch, and in a moment, Zack is kneeling next to me.
He looks at me, no words spoken between us, but he gently gathers my hair and holds it back as I wretch again.
“You’re okay. Let it out.” His voice is cold, but there’s a gleam in his eye that makes me somehow see him differently. I sink onto my butt as he lets go of my hair, grunting as reaches for a towel, wetting it with warm water before handing it to me.
“Thanks.”
He nods. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?”
Oh shit. He meant it that time.
I blink up at him through my thick lashes, pressing the cloth to my forehead, not really sure if I want to answer him at this point.
“Yeah, I just didn’t expect to see her name on my phone again.
” I still don’t know what it says, and that panic hits me again, but I know things are never going to be the same again.
I don’t know how this ended up this way, but Zack and I stare at the now dimmed phone.
The notification sits there like it’s not monumental, the way Leyla somehow texted me even though we were told that everything was burned in the fire.
I don’t understand what is happening. I try to put my happy-go-lucky face on, pretending that I’m totally unbothered by this, but my heart is ready to beat out of my chest.
“What do I do?” I turn to Zack, who’s clearly more concerned about me at this point.
“Give me five minutes. There’s something fishy about this, and it really doesn’t make sense to me. Let me get Linc—my guy on this—and have him check out the IP of where it came from.” Zack’s voice is cold again. I can see it in his face that, like me, he’s also freaking the fuck out.
“Yeah. Yeah—okay.” I hand him my phone and my other hand as I look to him, hoping that he will help me up, seeing as I’m still on the floor of the bathroom.
His large hand envelops mine, and with ease, he pulls me up from the ground. I grab onto his forearms to steady myself, feeling woozy from the past forty-five minutes.
“Sorry,” I mutter, not making eye contact with him, but I already know he’s shut down again.
“Mhm,” he hums as he walks with me to the kitchen of our Airbnb. He helps me onto the stool—which honestly is overkill. My body feels like it’s on fire every time he touches me—like little sparks of electricity—and I don’t quite know how to process this.
“Water,” he says as he hands me a glass, and I take it from him, taking a small sip and smirking.
“Have we reverted to being a caveman now? Me Hazel, you Zack. Grr, grr, grr,” I tease, just trying to get some sort of reaction from him.
My immediate thought was to revert back to this happy-go-lucky girl, and maybe—just maybe—he’ll give me that earth-shattering smile again.
But I think after everything, he’s just had too much happen today.
“I’m gonna go shower, then I’ll be in my room. We will reconvene in three hours,” Zack says, still not making eye contact with me. And honestly, it’s making me feel worse about this whole situation.
“Sure. Sounds good,” I say with a smile, one I’ve practiced for all twenty-six years of my life.
“The laundry room is just through that door.” I throw one final taunt his way, knowing that this is probably still a sensitive subject for him.
I see his outline still as I smirk, while also knowing he probably doesn’t deserve this. But at this point, I don’t care.
He growls—a habit we absolutely we need to have a discussion about—and turns away, heading to the bathroom.
The air feels different after he leaves—thinner, maybe. I take another sip of water, the glass shaking faintly in my hand. My phone sits on the counter between us, and the screen gone black again—like it’s hiding something. I can’t bring myself to touch it.
Leyla.
Just seeing her name again makes my throat close up.
She’s been gone for barely a month. Thirty-one days.
Long enough for everyone else to stop tiptoeing around her name, but not nearly long enough for me to breathe without feeling her absence like a bruise.
The fire took everything—the car, the photos, her journals, her.
There’s no way, absolutely no way, she could’ve texted me. And yet...
Unread Message from LeyLey.
It doesn’t make sense, literally none of it does.
But the world hasn’t made much sense since that night.
Since the smell of smoke sank into my hair and wouldn’t wash out—since they told me she didn’t make it out.
That Cameron didn’t make it out. Zack told me not to touch the message, so I don’t.
I toss my phone onto the counter, as if it was made of acid.
I stare at the dark window above the sink, my reflection barely visible. My eyes look hollow, my smile forced. Somewhere outside, the wind kicks up with a low moan through the trees. For a second, it sounds like her voice. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Get a grip, Hazel.”
My voice sounds small in the empty kitchen.
I push off the stool, forcing myself to move, to do something other than spiral. The house creaks like it’s listening—like it’s waiting for me to break. But I won’t. I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t.
I find myself drifting toward the living room, every shadow suddenly too sharp. There’s a sound—faint, rhythmic. Footsteps? My breath catches, but it’s just the washing machine starting up behind the laundry room door. Zack must’ve turned it on before heading to shower.
One last look down the hallway, and the light from underneath the bathroom illuminates the steam coming out from under the door.
I make the unanimous decision that water simply isn’t gonna cut it.
I look in the fridge and pull out a bottle of white wine, twist the cap, and take a swig.
Wineglass in hand, I sink onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. I can still smell him—leather, peppercorn, and the faint trace of mint from his gum.
It’s everywhere, and I hate that it makes me feel. ..safe.