I recoiled the moment I saw her eyes staring coldly at me like that. I didn't expect a warm welcome — hell, we haven't talked in three years — but still... that look. Pure hostility. Like every ounce of anger she'd bottled up was aimed right at me, and she wanted me to feel every damn drop of it.
I can count how many times my best friend got mad at me for pulling stupid pranks, for pushing her buttons, for testing her patience.
Didn't matter how many times I showed up late when we had plans. She'd be sitting there, waiting with that soft little smile, acting like it didn't bother her even though it had to. I'd roll in with some dumb excuse — practice ran late, lost track of time, traffic — and she'd just shrug like it was no big deal.
Didn't matter how many important days I forgot. She'd tease me, say she'd "trained me by now," and when I still screwed it up, she'd laugh and tell me,It's fine, Zach. Don't worry about it.
Add all that up, stack every screw-up on top of each other, and you know how many times she really got mad at me?
Zero. Yeah — zero times.
She should've been pissed at me a hundred different times. But she never was. Not once.
She has patience as wide as the Pacific. Forgives me like she's some saint who believes second chances are her holy mission. And that perk? That endless grace? It's only ever been for me.
Was,my asshole brain corrects.
Right. Was. Past tense.
Because apparently, my best friend hates me now. Has hated me for the last three years. The anger and hurt I saw burning in those ocean-green eyes tonight? I never thought I'd see that from her. Not aimed at me.
The warmth that used to be there is gone. What's left is animosity. And it's mine to carry.
But why?
Why? Why? God, the endless why's are driving me insane. And now that I know Caroline's back — not just in Florida, but here in Miami. At Ridgewater U. I can't let this hang over me for another three years.
I need to look her in the eye and make her tell me why she left the way she did. Why she hates me now. Why everything between us blew up when I didn't even see the bomb coming.
Finally, I've got a shot at answers. If she even lets me talk to her.
And that's the kicker, right?If.
If she doesn't bolt the second I walk up. If she doesn't cut me down with that same ice-cold stare that damn near split me in half tonight.
But I can't just sit on my ass and wonder anymore. I've done that for three years. Every sleepless night, everywhat-ifchewing me alive. It's like being stuck in overtime with no puck to chase — pointless, endless, maddening.
I need to face her. Even if she spits fire in my face, even if she tells me I'm the villain in her story — at least then I'll know.
At least then I'll stop replaying every memory, trying to find the moment I fucked up and lost her.
Because right now? I'm driving myself insane searching for an answer that only she can give me.
Damn it, I don't even know her class schedule or where the hell to start looking.
Oh wait — yeah, I do. Performing Arts. She's a Drama major. Which means if I've gotta scour every hallway, peek into all fifteen classrooms in that department, I will. Doesn't matter. I'll find her.
But for now? Sleep. My body feels like it got flattened by a ten-wheeler after practice, and my eyes can't stay open another second.
Tomorrow then. Tomorrow, I find Caroline.MyCaroline.
And she better not run this time.
Because now that she's here — near me, within arm's reach — I'm not letting her slip away again.
Not now. Not ever.
I'd burn the whole damn campus down before I let that happen.
