If I'd been any more obvious back then, I would've hired a skywriter myself. Hell, I practically had"Please Notice Me, Zach"stamped on my forehead every time we were in the same room.
The words are right there, burning on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. No way I'm interrupting him now — I want to hear every last word before I say a thing.
"I should've just said it," he says quieter now, almost to himself. "Laid it all out. Even if it blew everything up. Even if it meant things between us got messy, or weird, or never the same again."
His voice edges up just slightly, sharp with frustration.
"Because if you really love someone—really love them—you don't sit around waiting for a sign like some background character in your own damn life." His hands flex against his thighs, "You take the hit. You jump without a parachute. You set yourself on fire if it means they'll finally see you standing there."
My heart trips, wild and uneven because that's exactly what I did. I set myself on fire for him once, and all I got was burned.
"But I didn't," he finishes, shoulders sagging like the confession wrung him out. "I played it safe."
A bitter little laugh escapes him. "I was too dumb to see what I had back then."
The sting in my eyes is sudden, and I have to blink fast before it spills over.
"And it took someone else showing interest in you for me to finally realize I'd waited too damn long."
Zach pushes off the bed, restless, his hand dragging through his hair as he starts pacing.
"When Jacob told me he liked you—that he was planning to ask you out—I..." His voice stumbles, rough. "God, I panicked. I didn't even know what I was feeling at first. It just—hit me. Hard. This wave of jealousy so strong it scared the hell out of me."
He stops pacing, turns toward me, his chest rising and falling fast.
"Because Jacob's a good guy. One of the best. I knew if he asked you out, you'd probably say yes—and why wouldn't you? He's safe. Smart. Easy to fall for. And I... I felt threatened in a way I'd never felt before, because if you fell for him—if you gave him the chance—I knew I'd lose you for good."
His jaw clenches, guilt twisting across his face.
"I didn't know how to handle it. I didn't know how to tell my friend that we liked the same girl. And instead of just being honest, I tried to shut it down. I tried to convince him to back off, to make him think it wasn't worth it, thatyouweren't worth it."
He swallows hard, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor.
"And I didn't even realize what I was saying—what was actually coming out of my mouth—until it was too late."
Zach steps toward me, slow and deliberate, as if testing whether I'll flinch. When I don't move, he crouches in front of me, close enough that I can see the tension lining his face.
"I'm sorry you heard that." His voice is soft but weighted. "God, I'm so damn sorry. Those words—what I said to him that day—they weren't just careless. They were cruel. And I can't take them back, no matter how much I wish I could."
A harsh breath rips from him before his hand finds mine, gripping tight like it's the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His stare is searing, drowning me in the kind of regret that's almost too much to bear.
"Please believe me when I say I didn't mean a single word of it. I never thought you were worthless. Or..." His throat bobs, and he grimaces, almost choking on the word. "Fat."
The way he winces when he says it—like it physically hurts—makes my stomach twist.
I spent years trying to scrub his words out of my head. Starving myself of every thought of him while quite literally starving myself of everything else. Running miles, counting calories, watching the number on the scale drop like that would somehow erase what he said. Like if I could just change enough, I could prove him wrong.
And for a while, I thought I did. Thought I'd finally won. I shed the weight, changed my look, built this shiny new version of me.
But the second I saw him again, it all came crashing back—every word he said that I tried to bury.
And right now, hearing him speak them again, it's worse. So much worse. Because it feels like I'm standing outside his balcony again, eighteen and broken all over.
My chest aches so hard it's like someone's got their fist around my heart and won't let go.
A tear slips free before I can stop it. I swipe it away quick, hoping he didn't notice—
But he did.
