And now? Nothing.
Mom's watching me too closely, like she can see straight through me. "Is everything okay with you, honey?"
I avoid her eyes, shove my hands into my pockets, and mumble, "Yeah, it's... uh, nothing. Doesn't matter."
Lie. It matters. It always does when it's Caroline.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ZACH
I've crammed Sam'ssuitcasesinto the back of my car—if you can even call them that. More like she packed up half of Naples. Three rolling bags, two duffels, a box ofDorm Essentialsheavy enough to kill a man, and what looks suspiciously like her entire shoe rack.
My trunk's crying. The suspension's begging for mercy. She's moving into a dorm for one semester, not relocating to Mars.
Women, man.
We have to hit the road before three or else we'll get buried alive in I-75 traffic, and Miami will feel like another continent away. I already hate leaving Mom behind in Naples. The house feels too big without us, too quiet without Dad.
The thought gnaws at me—her being alone now, just echoes and memories for company. We'll visit. We'll make it work. We have to.
Upstairs, I peel off my sweat-drenched henley—thanks to Sam's"I can't live without twelve pairs of boots"luggage—and swap it for something lighter. A navy short-sleeved polo, snug across the shoulders, paired with beige pants and fresh white sneakers. Simple, clean. Breathable.
I'm halfway out the door when it hits me—loud, raw, familiar. Music, spilling from the house next door. Caroline's house.
Taylor Swift.
My pulse stutters.
And the air is thick with loss and indecision
I know my pain is such an imposition
Now, you're runnin' down the hallway
And you know what they all say
My chest caves, all air ripped from me in an instant. That song, those lyrics—I know it.
God, how could I not?
For years, I was her captive audience, trapped in the driver's seat while she sang along at full volume. Annoying, relentless, off-key...
Caroline.
Her name claws its way out of me in a whisper, cracked and hungry. My body moves before my brain catches up. I lunge toward the balcony doors, fling them open with enough force to rattle the glass, heart thundering so hard it hurts.
I knew it! She's back. She has to be.
My Sugarplum is finally back, and for the first time in three years, I can— I freeze.
My feet slam to a stop.
Because I'm standing here now, staring at the empty gap between our balconies.
Because the bridge—ourbridge—was long gone.
The music keeps blaring through her walls, every lyric taunting me like salt ground into a wound.
