“Zack—” I start, my voice thinner than I want it to be. I try to not to look scared, I try to be bold, but the height difference is almost comical at this point.
He blinks, and it’s like the tension breaks. It’s a dam giving way, the storm finally allowing a break in the darkness that was all-consuming. The growl in his chest fades to a shudder. He steps back, scrubbing a hand over his face, the tattoos shifting with the movement like waves over hidden wreckage.
“I didn’t mean to…fuck.” His voice cracks. “I just—just don’t look at me like that.”
I swallow hard, straightening, the sting on my back forgotten. “Like what?”
“Like you can fix me. We’re not here for that. We’re not friends, Hazel.”
Ouch.That hits heavier than I expect. I glance at the ink and the scars beneath—the jagged edges where skin tried to remember how to heal. “I wasn’t trying to fix anything,” I say, quietly. “Just…trying to see your tattoos. Don’t have to be an asshole about it, Zachary.” I throw the quippy attitude around, hoping to lighten the air around us. It’s heavy and honestly too much.
He looks at me then—really looks. The rage softens into exhaustion. There’s a wet shine in his eyes, the kind you don’t point out because it would break the fragile peace formingbetween you and a person. The redness in his eyes is visible, and knowing the little that I do about him, I don’t pry, I don’t ask, but I know what this man needs is a good old drunk-on-bitterness wine night.
After a long silence, I lift the bottle of wine, shaking it a little. “Still want that drink?”
A low, broken chuckle escapes him, and for the first time tonight, it sounds real. “Yeah. Maybe I need it more than you do. Let me change, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”
We end up on the couch, two glasses between us and the dim hum of the city leaking through the window. Neither of us says much—words would only make the silence heavier. I see the weight of the world this man carries on his shoulders taking over him. He stares at the floor, at his hands, at nothing. I watch the way his shoulders slowly ease with each sip, the way his breathing steadies.
When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I think the ink keeps me from disappearing.”
I tilt my glass, watching the wine ripple. “Maybe it just reminds you that you’re still here.”
He glances over, the corner of his mouth twitching upward—not quite a smile, but close enough to count. I’m taking this as a win, and I know that things between us are fragile. The night stretches thin around us, the bottle half-empty, our ghosts sitting quietly between us. And for the first time in a long while, neither of us are wanting to run. The moment is something more than either of us are willing to let on.
“We should read the text message, yeah?” I throw out that idea, not really wanting it to actually be a thing, but I know it’s something sitting between the two of us.
Zack’s jaw tightens at my words. He looks toward the phone on the coffee table like it’s a loaded gun. The screen glows faintlyas he taps the screen, her name sitting there in bold, cruel letters.
Leyley
A ghost with a number. A ghost who wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. I see Zack’s face tighten as his shoulders roll back.
“I got confirmation from Lincoln, and he said the message was clear from trackers. So yes, we should read it.”
“I thought we had gotten past this cold asshole act,” I let slip out. I really had thought that we were doing good, but he somehow just closes off even more. I thought the wine we had consumed had loosened him up, but I was clearly wrong.
“Just open the text, Hazel.” His voice is almost disconnected from himself, and he just looks at me with reproach.
My hand trembles as I reach for my wineglass first, chugging the sweet wine that now tastes bitter, almost like ash on my tongue. I grab the phone, unlocking the screen and navigating to the messages.
“Zack, I—I’m sorry…I can’t do this.” I drop the phone onto the table as a never-ending feeling of dread settles into me. I can see the lines of stress and worry buried into Zack’s face, and I know he’s probably feeling the same way I am. He’s just clearly better at handling his shit than I am.
Zack rolls his eyes at me. I really thought we were getting somewhere, and it’s like we took one step forward and thirty-seven steps back.
He grabs the phone off the table and opens the message. I watch as his stoic face changes only for a moment, but it’s enough that I catch it. I know it’s bad. My hand reaches out to him, but he pulls it away, looking up at me.
“It’s nothing. It’s probably just someone fucking with us.” Zack’s voice betrays the truth I know he’s hiding from me. He takes my phone and rushes into the room he’s staying in, comingback with his laptop, his speech a smattering of hmms and grunts.
“What does it say, Zack?” I snap. He’s being weird, and I can’t fucking stand this.
“Mhm.” Zack barely glances up my way as he clicks away on his keyboard. I can practically feel my blood pressure rising. I'm not sure if it’s the wine that’s currently sloshing around in my stomach or the fact Zack has transformed into some single-word caveman that has my blood ready to boil over.
“Zack,” I say with a little more force, just hoping that I can get something across to him. His fingers continue to fly over the keyboard. Nothing from him, no reaction nor any sort of response.
“Zachary!” I yell now, my annoyance fully at its peak. I’m an Aries, so I absolutely have the world’s shortest fuse when people get me upset. The feelings swell up all around me, and I know I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did, but he’s been ignoring me and I can’t handle that.
Zack’s face falls as he looks at me, realizing he had disappeared into his own little world. But honestly, there’s no one to blame but himself. The laptop screen glows against his features, sharpening the guilt he’s trying to hide behind that permanent scowl of his.
