“What do I do?” I turn to Zack, who’s clearly more concerned about me at this point.
“Give me five minutes. There’s something fishy about this, and it really doesn’t make sense to me. Let me get Linc—my guy on this—and have him check out the IP of where it came from.” Zack’s voice is cold again. I can see it in his face that, like me, he’s also freaking the fuck out.
“Yeah. Yeah—okay.” I hand him my phone and my other hand as I look to him, hoping that he will help me up, seeing as I’m still on the floor of the bathroom.
His large hand envelops mine, and with ease, he pulls me up from the ground. I grab onto his forearms to steady myself, feeling woozy from the past forty-five minutes.
“Sorry,” I mutter, not making eye contact with him, but I already know he’s shut down again.
“Mhm,” he hums as he walks with me to the kitchen of our Airbnb. He helps me onto the stool—which honestly is overkill. My body feels like it’s on fire every time he touches me—like little sparks of electricity—and I don’t quite know how to process this.
“Water,” he says as he hands me a glass, and I take it from him, taking a small sip and smirking.
“Have we reverted to being a caveman now? Me Hazel, you Zack. Grr, grr, grr,” I tease, just trying to get some sort of reaction from him. My immediate thought was to revert back to this happy-go-lucky girl, and maybe—just maybe—he’ll give me that earth-shattering smile again. But I think after everything, he’s just had too much happen today.
“I’m gonna go shower, then I’ll be in my room. We will reconvene in three hours,” Zack says, still not making eye contact with me. And honestly, it’s making me feel worse about this whole situation.
“Sure. Sounds good,” I say with a smile, one I’ve practiced for all twenty-six years of my life. “The laundry room is just through that door.” I throw one final taunt his way, knowing that this is probably still a sensitive subject for him. I see his outline still as I smirk, while also knowing he probably doesn’t deserve this. But at this point, I don’t care.
He growls—a habit we absolutely we need to have a discussion about—and turns away, heading to the bathroom.
The air feels different after he leaves—thinner, maybe. I take another sip of water, the glass shaking faintly in my hand. My phone sits on the counter between us, and the screen gone black again—like it’s hiding something. I can’t bring myself to touch it.
Leyla.
Just seeing her name again makes my throat close up. She’s been gone for barely a month. Thirty-one days. Long enough for everyone else to stop tiptoeing around her name, but not nearly long enough for me to breathe without feeling her absence like a bruise. The fire took everything—the car, the photos, her journals,her. There’s no way, absolutely no way, she could’ve texted me. And yet...
Unread Message from LeyLey.
It doesn’t make sense, literally none of it does. But the world hasn’t made much sense since that night. Since the smell of smoke sank into my hair and wouldn’t wash out—since they told me she didn’t make it out. That Cameron didn’t make it out. Zack told me not to touch the message, so I don’t. I toss my phone onto the counter, as if it was made of acid.
I stare at the dark window above the sink, my reflection barely visible. My eyes look hollow, my smile forced. Somewhere outside, the wind kicks up with a low moan through the trees. For a second, it sounds like her voice. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Get a grip, Hazel.”
My voice sounds small in the empty kitchen.
I push off the stool, forcing myself to move, to do something other than spiral. The house creaks like it’s listening—like it’swaiting for me to break. But I won’t. I promised myself a long time ago I wouldn’t.
I find myself drifting toward the living room, every shadow suddenly too sharp. There’s a sound—faint, rhythmic.Footsteps?My breath catches, but it’s just the washing machine starting up behind the laundry room door. Zack must’ve turned it on before heading to shower.
One last look down the hallway, and the light from underneath the bathroom illuminates the steam coming out from under the door. I make the unanimous decision that water simply isn’t gonna cut it. I look in the fridge and pull out a bottle of white wine, twist the cap, and take a swig. Wineglass in hand, I sink onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. I can still smell him—leather, peppercorn, and the faint trace of mint from his gum. It’s everywhere, and I hate that it makes me feel...safe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FINE LINE
ZACK
The shock of everything that has happened in the past few months is killing me. I fight to pull air into my lungs, seeking for purchase, hoping this next breath is the one that will settle the ache that has taken permanent residence in my soul. I just want to be able to breathe again. My hand splays against the wall as I hang my head in defeat. Anxiety creeps into the corners of my being, my vision blurring and my already gasping breaths slamming into me harder than I’ve ever thought possible.
Is this shower somehow getting smaller?
I can’t fucking do this anymore. I have always been the one who has their shit together on the outside, and the fact that Hazel is mere feet from me has me actively trying to focus, to keep myself present enough to not make noise. No one can know just how much of a mess I truly am. Sinking to the ground, I pull my knees close to my chest and let the darkness consume me.The searing hot water scalds my skin, a welcome reminder I am in fact here—I am in fact alive.
Cameron’s not.
I can’t allow myself to go there; I can’t allow myself to feel that. Water hits my face, mixing with the tears that pour down my cheeks.
