Hours. Every day. Punishing workouts.
I practicallylivedthere—running myself into the ground, drowning in my own head, fighting demons I didn't even know how to name.
Depression. Shame. That desperate, twisted need to shrink myself into someone I thought would finally be"enough."
Of course our paths never crossed.
I wasn'tanywhereexcept in my own private hell.
A shaky breath leaves me. "I'm sorry..." I whisper, "I'm so, so sorry."
He squeezes my hand immediately. "Hey... Baby, it's okay. You had your reasons. I hurt you back then. I know I did."
"Even so," I cry, shaking my head, "I should've been there. I should've known. If I had known, Zach... I would've been in Florida faster than you could blink."
His eyes soften, shining again. "I believe you."
He goes on quietly, "I would've stayed in New York longer, but... Mom came to get me. My coach had called her — told her I was failing my classes, and that I haven't showed up to practice all week, that if I didn't come back immediately, I might lose my spot on the team or worse get kicked out of school."
He sighs. "She apologized. For everything. For shutting down. For not telling me about Sam's cancer the first time. For not noticing how hard I was struggling."
He looks down at our hands.
"After that... we started putting the pieces back together. It wasn't quick. It wasn't easy. But we did it. Mom got stronger. Sam fought like hell. And I... I came back to life a little."
I squeeze his hand tighter as he finishes talking, my chest aching for that eighteen-year-old boy who was drowning with no life raft in sight.
Except... hedidhave one.
He hadme.
And I wasn't there.
The guilt burns hot behind my ribs. I lean into him, pressing my forehead to his shoulder, needing him to feel how close I am now.
"I'm here," I whisper. "I'm not going anywhere. Not again."
His fingers tighten around mine like he's afraid I'll vanish if he loosens up even a little.
"Good," he murmurs, voice barely there. "Because I don't think I could go through something like that again... not without you."
My heart cracks wide open.
I lift my head and cup his cheek. "Hey... don't say that. Nothing like that is going to happen again. Sam's okay. Your mom's okay. You're okay. We're all okay."
He presses his lips together, hard—like he's trying to keep something inside. His throat works around a swallow.
"I really want to believe that," he whispers. "I do. It's just—" He looks away, blinking fast. "Sam's been getting sick a lot lately. Always tired. Always worn out. And I—" His breath shudders. "God, I hope I'm just being paranoid."
The fear in his voice guts me.
I slide my arms around him and pull him into a hug, one hand rubbing slow circles up his back.
"Hey," I murmur against his hair. "She's okay. She just pushed herself too hard during exams, and you know how she gets. Overcaffeinated, lack of sleep, and convinced she's invincible."
A faint, shaky laugh leaves him, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
He exhales, voice strained. "She has an appointment tomorrow... you know, to get checked. At the same hospital she was treated before."
