She's asleep. She came home almost an hour ago.
ME
Said she wasn't feeling good earlier and slept at the clinic for a bit.
ZACH
I'm coming over...
ME
You don't have to, Zach. I've got her.
ME
And it's still pouring outside.
No reply.
Shit.
I can already picture him grabbing his keys anyway, barreling through the rain like some overprotective maniac. That's just Zach. He can't not rush to Sam's side the second she so much as sneezes. Sweet, sure — smothering, if you ask Sam.
But he's been like this forever.
She was sick all the time as a kid, and after their dad died? Yeah, it only got worse. Zach's paranoia over her health dialed itself up to eleven and never really came back down.
About fifteen minutes later, a knock rattles against the door. My heart leaps—I already know who it is.
I shove my blanket back and hurry across the room, yanking the door open.
And there he is. Zach.
Soaked through, rain still dripping from the ends of his hair, his black leather jacket clinging to his broad shoulders.
His shirt's plastered to his chest, the fabric darker from the storm. Drops slide down his temple, rolling along his jaw before falling to the floor.
"Hey..." His voice comes out low, rough—like he hadn't used it in hours, or maybe the storm itself scraped it raw.
"Zach..." I step aside, widening the door for him to come in.
He strides past me, leaving a wet trail across the floor. In his hand, a white Walgreens bag swings, the plastic crinkling with every step.
"Where is she?"
"In her bed. Sleeping."
He doesn't waste another word. Moves straight to Sam's corner, crouches down beside her bed. He sets the bag carefully on the floor, wipes his damp palms on his jeans, then leans in.
"Hey, angel..." His hand brushes over her hair, gentle and careful.
The worry etched across his face is almost painful to look at.
Sam stirs, her lashes fluttering before her squinted eyes focus on him. "Zachyyy?" Her voice is scratchy, groggy. She rubs her eyes like she can't believe he's really here.
From where I stand, I catch the soft curve of his mouth—relief and love threaded through every line. "Hey... how are you feeling? Caroline said you weren't well earlier."
Sam groans, tilts her head toward me, and even half-asleep, she manages to scowl like she's blaming me for snitching. I mouth back,sorry.
