Right. Must be the nurse Sam mentioned. The live-in, around-the-clock type. Makes sense.
The music cuts. The room goes dark.
And I'm left standing here like an idiot.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight. "Of course it wasn't her, dumbass," I mutter.
But it doesn't stop the burn in my chest.
The ache doesn't budge. But I force my hands off the rail, shove it all down where it belongs, and head back inside.
Because that's what I do.
Keep moving. Pretend it doesn't hurt.
Even when it does.
*****
CAROLINE
"Oh no."
"Shit. Shit!"
"Did he see me? Did he?"
My heart is jackhammering like I just got caught shoplifting, which—for the record—I did not.
I'm plastered against the thick yellow curtains of my balcony door, hands clamped over my chest like I can physically hold my heart in before it explodes. One second I'm humming Taylor Swift, tossing half my wardrobe across my bed, and the next—bam. Reflection in the vanity mirror. Zach. On his balcony. Looking this way.
I swear I've never moved so fast in my life.
Forget spy movies—somebody give me a black catsuit because the way I dropped, crawled, and dove for cover was Oscar-worthy. Duck. Crawl. Roll. Straight into the curtain like my life depended on it.
Slowly—so slowly—I peel back a sliver of fabric.
He's still there.
Shit.
Zach's craning his neck, stretching like a damn giraffe, trying to see past the glass. His brows tight, eyes narrowed like if he stares long enough, the door might dissolve.
I snatch my phone off the nightstand and jab pause. Taylor's voice cuts mid-verse. Then I flick the light's switch off so fast. Darkness swallows the room whole.
Darkness. Blessed, beautiful darkness.
And I think that did the trick because just a moment later, Zach steps back, glances over his shoulder, and disappears inside his room. The sliding door clicks shut behind him.
I sag to the floor like a deflated balloon, one hand clutching my chest, the other still gripping the curtain.
And then I freeze. Frown.
Really, Caroline? Hiding in the dark like some raccoon caught in the trash?
My inner sass monster is already crossing her arms, giving me thatare you kidding me?look.
What the hell am I doing? Ducking like he still owns some piece of me. Which he doesn't. Absolutely not.
