“It wasn’t you. I swear, Zach.”
He holds up his hand. “You don’t have to say that—”
“I still think about that night.”
The words rush out, passing every warning sign, ignoring the implications of confessing to him, because I can’t stand that I made Zach doubt himself. I’ll give him a sliver of truth to reassure him, even if I’m playing with fire by flirting with him under my brother’s—his captain’s—roof.
His head jerks back. “You do?”
“Why are you surprised?”
“You didn’t…” He shakes his head, looking away from me again.
My hand dances, featherlight, across his forearm. He watches, but I don’t pull away. “I didn’t what?”
“You left after I…” Zach trails off again, his ears turning pink.
I take mercy on him and finish his sentence. “Got off?”
He lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”
In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never struggled to find words. The opposite, actually. He word vomits every thought in his mind. But I see the gears turning as he mentally debates his responses. I’m not sure what to make of this deliberate, careful side to Zach. The people in his life have given me the impression he doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. Maybe they don’t know him as well as they think they do.
He runs a hand through his unruly hair. “Didn’t you want… anything from me?”
“I got what I wanted from you,” I reply with a smirk. It’s a deflection from the information I can’t tell him, and it’s flirty enough, I expect him to joke back. Instead, Zach’s expression shutters, delivering a punch to my gut. The sick feeling causes me to offer him an explanation. “I wasn’t myself that night. I hadn’t been myself for a while.”
Zach’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”
“I was going through something.” I try to explain with the scantest of details.
The gymnastics world thinks I tore my Achilles heel and hung up the sport. Because letting people think I tore a vulnerable part of my body is better than the truth. My parent’s decision to conceal my condition has made me afraid to talk about my bipolar disorder with anyone unless medically necessary, for fear it will taint how people view me.
“You finding me in that closet was the first time I’d feltanythingin so long, and I didn’t want to let go of it. I thought I was ready for more, and when I realized I wasn’t, I left. I hate that you thought you did something wrong because you were exactly what I needed.”
You’re exactly what I need. A voice in the back of my mind shoves to the forefront. I want to follow the voice’s lead, butZach doesn’t need to be burdened with my brand of baggage. I also don’t want to complicate his relationship with my brother or mess with his career.
“If you want safe, you should stay away from me,” he says suddenly.
“What?”
“It’s what you said that night. Is it how you still feel?”
I run my hands over my arms, trying to ease a chill. “It’s the truth.”
“And you think it’s a bad thing?" His hand lands on my knee, a comforting gesture that manages to light every nerve ending in my body. “Safe is boring, Finley. You’re one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met.”
I huff out a self-conscious laugh. “That’s because you don’t know me.”
I launch off the couch, needing a breather from this conversation. Zach won't understand unless I crack myself open and let him seeallof me. Besides Veronica, he’s the only real connection I’ve made since my diagnosis.
I don’t think I could bear losing the way he looks at me, like he thinks I’m worth his time.
I busy myself at the kitchen sink, opting to clean dishes instead of facing this conversation, but Zach follows me.
“I want to know you,” he says behind me.
When I turn, he’s leaning on the counter, any apprehension long gone. Maybe all he needed was a sign this attraction between us—this interest of his—isn’t one-sided.
