And of course—just as I expected—Adam Klein is standingtoo damn closeto my girl. Leaning in like he's got something worth saying, whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh even harder.
That sound—her laugh—hits me right in the chest. It's supposed to be my favorite sound in the world. Has been since forever. But right now, it stings.
Because it used to be me making her laugh like that.
It used to be me standing that close, leaning in, watching her tilt her head back with that same spark in her eyes.
Flashes hit me fast: her sitting on the rink bleachers, teasing me after practice; the way she'd roll her eyes when I cracked a bad joke, only to laugh anyway.
Her sitting shotgun in our old car, windows down, hair whipping in the wind, both of us laughing over something stupid I said. The way she'd throw her head back, snort mid-laugh, then glare at me for making her do it. How she'd smack my arm whenever I sang off-key just to mess with her.
All of it—it's right there in front of me, just... with the wrong guy.
And damn, it hurts.
Because for a second, I can almost trick myself into thinking we never fell apart. That we're still us. That if I walk in there right now, she'll look up, smile that soft smile, and everything will fall back into place.
But reality's crueler than that.
Now I'm just the guy watching from the doorway, heart doing this pathetic little ache thing while she laughs with someone else.
And I hate that I can't even be mad about it.
She deserves to laugh like that.
I just wish—God, I just wish—it was still because of me.
I spot Lucy first—Caroline's brunette friend with the big dimples. She's with two other girls I recognize from La Playa, both smiling and whispering in thatwe're-totally-talking-about-youkind of way.
They're all grinning, giggling as they close in on Caroline like a pack of excited puppies. Lucy says something, tilts her chin my way, and that's when I know—they're absolutely telling her I'm here. Because suddenly, all three pairs of eyes flick toward me. One of them even points.
Busted.
Caroline follows their gaze, and for a split second, I see it—surprise flashing in her eyes, the tiniest parting of her lips.
"Zach..." she breathes, barely audible from across the room.
And just like that, every ounce of jealousy that's been choking me all morning dissolves faster than ice on a stove.
I grin—full wattage, all charm—like a complete idiot and give her a wave. "Hey!"
She starts walking toward me, and honest to God, timeslows. Like someone hit the slo-mo button on my entire life.
It's always like this with her. Every. Damn. Time.
The rest of the room blurs out—Adam, Lucy, random background extras, all gone. It's just her. Her hair slipping loose from her ponytail, catching the light. Her steps unhurried, effortless, that kind of grace that makes it look like she's gliding instead of walking.
Even her half-smile has gravitational pull. It's not even a full smile—just this small, soft curve—but it hits like a solar flare. Warm. Blinding. Immediate.
And here I am, standing there like some love-struck idiot, watching her move in slow motion while my brain short-circuits.
Get it together, Westbrook.
Nope. Too late. I'm already a goner.
Because she's not just walking across a room—she's crossing the goddamn galaxy to me, and every step she takes is another reason I'll never recover from this girl.
"What are you doing here, Zach?"
