Before I can send the strongly worded essay I've been pounding out, Zach stands in one fluid motion and plucks the phone right out of my hands.
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing? Give me my phone back, jerk!"
I lunge for it, but he just laughs, arm shooting up high over his head where I can't reach.
"Zach!"
I hop, stretching on tiptoe, swatting at his arm. He only grins wider, holding the phone higher, like he's savoring every second of my flailing.
"Yeah, well... it kinda is life-or-death for Sam," Zach says. "Especially when Elijah's involved."
"What?"
That grin spreads wider, infuriatingly boyish, like he knows exactly how much it'll set me off. "I may or may not have usedmy best friend Elijah as leverage to make my sister help me find a way to talk to you."
I huff so hard it's a wonder steam doesn't shoot out of my ears. My pulse spikes, my whole chest buzzing like a kettle about to boil over.
"Seriously?!" The pitch of my voice cracks upward, sharp and jagged. My glare could melt steel, and he just stands there grinning like a guilty golden retriever.
The nerve. The audacity. My hands itch with the urge to strangle him—or at least smack that grin right off his face.
"And why would you even do that? This is unbelievable.Youare unbelievable!"
I launch right back into trying to snatch my phone, swatting at his outstretched arm. He only tilts it higher, forcing me onto tiptoe. My breath comes hot, fast, furious, every failed grab only fueling my rage.
Underneath the rage—underneath the smoke I'm ready to breathe fire with—I was genuinely scared. That stupid 9-1-1 text twisted my stomach into knots the second I saw it.
Growing up, Sam was the kid who always seemed one bad sneeze away from another hospital stay. The one who'd catch every stomach bug in the book, throwing up until she was pale and shaky. The one who bruised too easily, got winded too fast, ran fevers out of nowhere.
I lost count of how many times she'd been rushed in and out of doctors' offices, how many nights I sat by her bed praying she'd bounce back like she always somehow did.
That's why we came up with the code—9-1-1. Sacred. Serious. Only for the moments when she was really sick, or really breaking. The kind of moments where she needed someone right now. No questions asked. The code they never, ever threw around lightly.
So yeah, when I saw that message tonight, my brain went straight to the worst. I pictured her lying in a ditch, or crying in pain somewhere, or fighting through another episode all alone while I wasted time rehearsing lines. The guilt chewed at me the whole way back.
And now to find out it was just... this? I feel like ripping my hair out.
"Why would I do that? Let me think..." He lets out a humorless laugh. His jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening.
His voice drops, low and raw, threaded with an edge of frustration. "My best friend—the one person I trusted most—suddenly ghosted me. For. Three. Fucking. Years. No warning. No explanation. Nothing. You just... cut me off."
His throat bobs as his gaze holds mine, unblinking. "And then, when I finally see you again—right there at the bar, like some kind of answered prayer—you act like I don't exist. Like I'm a stranger. Instead of talking to me, instead of figuring out what the hell happened three years ago, you ran."
The words scrape out of him, rough and unsteady, like they've been lodged in his chest, festering. "Do you even know what that felt like? To go three years with nothing but questions and then... getthat?"
He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
"And then I find out you've been rooming with my sister this whole time—since classes started—without me even knowing?"
His throat works again, eyes flashing as he drags in a breath. "So yeah. I blackmailed my own sister. I know it's screwed up, but forgive me—I'm desperate. Because three years of silence, Caroline? It's been driving me insane. I want answers. Ineedanswers."
And just like that, my own chest constricts.
The way he's looking at me—serious, frustrated, longing, like I'm the missing piece he's been clawing for—it tangles me up inknots I don't want to feel. Emotions slam into me all at once, suffocating.
Why does he get to act like I'm the villain here?
Like I owe him something? He's the one who broke my heart. He's the one who made me leave.
