Swallowing hard, panic grips me.
After last night, I can’t let him find me here, eavesdropping like some desperate and paranoid girlfriend. I made a fool of myself enough last night. I scramble to my feet and head back to the bedroom, diving under the covers just as his footsteps start up the stairs.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing my breathing to slow, and when the door creaks open, I stretch like I’m just waking up—praying it reads as sleepiness rather than my hangover misery.
“Morning, Buttercup,” he says gently, taking me in with a slow smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I made a fool of myself last night,” I admit, pressing a hand to my throbbing temple, and offering him the best smile I can muster. The move sends a sharp pain through my head, and I immediately regret trying to sound so casual about it all.
“You didn’t make a fool of yourself,” he assures me, moving toward the bed with a glass of water and what I can only assume are a couple of painkillers in his hand.
I take the glass gratefully, avoiding eye contact as I do. Him being in the room is bringing back things I’d gladly forget. Like the real reason I was spiraling was because of anonymous text messages, and Jenni avoiding my questions even though I knew there was nothing to answer to.
He takes a seat beside me with enough distance to not make the bed shake and aggravate my headache more.
“As happy as I am to wake up with you here… what happened, Honey? What made you show up like that?”
I keep my eyes down, avoiding his. The truth feels too raw to admit right now. “I just missed you,” I say, which isn't entirely a lie.
“I missed you too,” he says, and the warmth in his voice makes my chest ache. “Want some breakfast? I can make pancakes.”
My stomach churns at the thought. “God, no. Just coffee, please.”
“I'll get your coffee,” he says, disappearing back downstairs.
He comes back a few minutes later with a steaming mug of coffee.
“Careful,” he murmurs, passing it to me.
I curl my hands around the heat and breathe it in before taking a small sip. The caffeine scalds its way down my throat, grounding me, if only a little.
Zach leans against the dresser instead of the bed this time, giving me space as he watches me.
“Is this… about something your dad and Jamie’s dad said?” he asks quietly.
I lift my gaze to his, the embarrassment building in my chest. “You… you know about that?”
He gives me a small, sympathetic smile. “Jenni told me.”
Jenni.
Just the mention of her name makes me nervous and paranoid.
I glare at him. “Since when do you and Jenni talk about me like that?”
His brow furrows. “She brought it up at the hockey game. Said she was worried about you. Thought I should know.”
Something ugly twists low in my stomach. Jenni, confiding in him, filling him in on the parts that I try to hide. I thought they were just looking at vacation pictures at the rink. That’s what she said they were doing.
I push aside the uneasiness in my stomach because I know I’m wrong. Iknowthere’s nothing going on between them.
“Right,” I say, my voice thin and frail. “Of course she did.”
Zach studies me for a beat. “So… it’s true? What he said to you?”
I shrug, focusing on my coffee instead of looking him in the eyes. I can’t. How do I explain that I didn’t want to tell him what happened because I was embarrassed? That I worry if he sees me for who I really am, he won’t want me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”