No—scratch that. Iwantit to be different. That’s the problem.
Because for all his mood swings, broody one-word answers, and that ridiculous wall he’s built around himself, there’s something underneath it. Something raw and bleeding that he doesn’t want anyone to see. And for some reason, I want to see it. I want to understand what about him makes me feel like I’m standing too close to the edge of something dangerous.
The kitchen greets me like a hospital waiting room—too bright, too clean, too silent. The overhead light buzzes softly, the only sound in the stillness. I brace my hands on the counter, gripping the edge like it’s the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
Breathe. In. Out. Again.
I tell myself he’s scared, that people who are scared lash out. That maybe he’s drowning in something he doesn’t have words for. That maybe that’s what it was back there—fear disguised as fury. A push to keep me away before I get too close. Before he lets himselffeelsomething. I know that feeling all too well.
But still. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it.
I stare at the blank white cabinets, my jaw tight. This house feels too big now, like there’s too much space between the walls and not enough warmth to fill it. And God, thesilence. It’s not the peaceful kind, either. It’s the kind that presses down on you,fills your head with everything you’ve been trying not to think about.
Like Leyla.
The thought hits me like a punch to the stomach. Just her name, and suddenly everything hurts in that low, aching way that grief tends to live inside you—not sharp or fresh, but still there, still heavy. Stillreal.
I can almost hear her voice. That laugh she always gave when she was pretending not to be impressed. The way she’d raise one eyebrow like she was reading your mind. Leyla was my person. She was that person that you didn’t have to explain yourself for, because she just knew. She’d be absolutely laughing at me right now.
She’d say something like,“Seriously, Haze? You’ve got a thing for the guy who looks like he bench-presses his emotional damage? I’m so proud.”
Then I’d roll my eyes and tell her to shut up, and she’d grin like she knew the truth before I did. Because maybe I do have a thing for him. Maybe that’s what’s making this so much harder than it should be. I know I technically know him from group, but he was a counselor for one of the other groups, so we never really knew each other.
Zachary Blake is infuriating. He’s guarded, gruff, and about as emotionally available as a locked door. But then he looks at me, or says something honest when he thinks I’m not listening, and it feels like something unspoken is pulling tight between us. I refuse to try to figure out what any of this shit means, because as always, good girl Hazel—the bright, happy-go-lucky sunshine girl—has to do everything herself.
But it’s not my job to fix him. I can’t be the one dragging his storm into the sun. I’m not built for that, not right now—not when I’m barely staying afloat myself. But I’ll never let anyone know I’m drowning in this endless pool of self-pity.
The kitchen hums with silence as I let go of the counter and straighten up. My shoulders ache like I’ve been carrying too much invisible weight. Maybe I have.
Let Zack brood outside. Let him sit in his own storm until he figures out how to come out of it on his own. I’m not going to be the girl who waits around for someone to decide I’m worth letting in.
I’ve done enough chasing ghosts for one lifetime—even though we’re chasing two as I speak. My phone goes off, and I feel the Earth tilt. My whole world feels as if it’s spinning off the axis, and it shakes me to my core.
Unread Message from LeyLey
I throw my phone as if it's hot lava, like the touch of it burns me. I scream, because a ghost just texted me. Zack comes flying into the house, his brows furrowed and chest heaving as the door slams behind him. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, his black hair tousled as he looks at me with concern.
“Hazel?! What—What the fuck happened?” Zack looks panicked, and I’m almost certain I’m a shade lighter than a ghost.
“No…no…no…” I mutter over and over again, somehow unable to even begin to process what all is happening.
Zack walks over to my phone, and his own face blanches as he sees who texted me. “Open your phone,” he demands with a tremor in his voice.
My eyes shoot to his as I reach for my phone, tapping the notification to opening it. “I don’t want to see it—I…I can’t see it.”
My hand rushes up to my mouth as the dinner we had decides to come up, and I run to the bathroom, clearly not handling this situation well. I wretch, and in a moment, Zack is kneeling next to me. He looks at me, no words spoken betweenus, but he gently gathers my hair and holds it back as I wretch again.
“You’re okay. Let it out.” His voice is cold, but there’s a gleam in his eye that makes me somehow see him differently. I sink onto my butt as he lets go of my hair, grunting as reaches for a towel, wetting it with warm water before handing it to me.
“Thanks.”
He nods. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?”
Oh shit. He meant it that time.
I blink up at him through my thick lashes, pressing the cloth to my forehead, not really sure if I want to answer him at this point.
“Yeah, I just didn’t expect to see her name on my phone again.” I still don’t know what it says, and that panic hits me again, but I know things are never going to be the same again. I don’t know how this ended up this way, but Zack and I stare at the now dimmed phone. The notification sits there like it’s not monumental, the way Leyla somehow texted me even though we were told that everything was burned in the fire. I don’t understand what is happening. I try to put my happy-go-lucky face on, pretending that I’m totally unbothered by this, but my heart is ready to beat out of my chest.
