His chest heaves, and for the first time, I see it—real, unpolished pain shadowing his face. "I called you a million times. I called until my number stopped going through. I emailed. I messaged. And then I realized—" His mouth twists, broken and bitter.
"You blocked me. Everywhere. Phone. Facebook. Instagram. All of it."
His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes locked on me like I'm the only thing tethering him to the ground. "Do you know what it's like? To have my best friend—my person—erase me from her life?"
"It's been driving me insane. Every day, for three years, I've tried to figure it out. Tried to figureyouout."
His shoulders sag, helpless. "Please. Just tell me what I did wrong. Tell me, so I can make it right."
My grip on my phone trembles, the Uber screen blurring from the sting in my eyes. Anger claws up my chest, burning, begging to lash out, to scream every cruel word I've heldback. But beneath it—damn it, beneath it—something else stirs. Something softer.
Because his voice... his face... the rawness etched into every line of him—it's everything I used to know. And everything I swore I'd never let touch me again.
God, why does it still make me want to break?
I swallow hard, fists curling at my sides. One breath, two. Don't soften. Don't slip. Don't let him in.
He doesn't deserve it.
His hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist just as I try to step past him. Warm. Firm. Desperate.
"Please," Zach says, his voice low, rough like gravel dragged across pavement. His eyes lock onto mine again, pleading so hard it almost hurts to look at him. "Let's just... talk. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking. Don't you think you owe me that?"
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, jaw clenching like he's afraid the words will get stuck.
"I've missed you, you know. God, I've... missed you so... much." The last part comes out broken, raw—like he didn't mean to let it slip but couldn't hold it back.
I swallow hard, my throat tightening around a lump I don't want there.
He's right—maybe he does deserve to know. Maybe I owe him that much after leaving without a word. And hell, maybe I deserve my answers too—for those words he said about me, the ones that still echo like broken record in my head.
My resolve starts to wobble. I almost—almost—let myself relent.
But then the bar door swings open behind him.
"Hey, honey," a silky voice purrs.
My body goes still.
Taylor Lewis.
Her manicured fingers, nails painted a glossy nude, snake over Zach's arm like she's staking a claim. Her other hand slides brazenly across his chest, fingers tracing his pecs like she knows them by heart. "What's taking you so long?"
Zach's whole body goes stiff, his grip on me falling away like he's been caught. "T...Taylor—uh—"
Her gaze drifts over him lazily before landing on me, and she smiles. Sweet. Sultry. Those lips—painted a sinful, perfect red—curl in a way that's equal parts warm and warning.
"Hi," she says, stretching out her hand like a queen granting an audience. "I'm Taylor Lewis. And you are?"
I stare at her hand, unmoving. Yeah, I know it's rude, but screw it. Her long nails glint under the streetlight, her arm locked possessively through Zach's like she's dangling a trophy for me to admire.
Her smile doesn't fool me. This isn't about being nice—it's about sending a message.
And God help me, up close she's even more stunning. Porcelain skin flawless as porcelain doll, hair cascading in perfect waves, a rack so big it's downright intimidating. Her waist is tiny, hips curving into jeans that hug her ass like a second skin. And those legs—endless, toned, sculpted.
Standing next to her, I feel... average. Forgettable. Replaceable.
The softness I felt a second ago—the part of me that almost gave Zach a chance—vanishes. Burned out in a single breath.
