“If she does anything,I’llhandle it,” Honey says firmly. Then her expression softens, and she leans her head against the window, still looking at me. “I’m tired, Zach. Can we just… not fight tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say, softer this time. “We won’t fight.”
When I pull up outside her dorm, I shift into park but leave the engine running. I don’t want to say goodbye tonight. Not after that, but asking Honey to come home with me feels like the wrong thing if I’ve upset her.
A few girls walk past the car, laughing loudly, and I watch Honey’s shoulders tense.
She stares at the entrance for a long moment, then lets out a slow sigh.
“I don’t want to be at the dorm tonight. Can we just go home?” she asks quietly, still looking at the building.
Not “your place.”
Not “the house.”
Home.
The word hits like a sucker punch to the chest. I grip the wheel tighter, forcing my voice to stay steady as I turn the indicator off. “Yeah, Honeycomb. Of course.”
She shifts closer, her hand finding mine again and lacing our fingers together. “I just want to be with you,” she murmurs. “Just us. No drama. No other people. Just... home.”
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight as I shift back into drive and pull away from the curb. “Me too.”
I wake up with a stretch, feeling Zach’s arm draped across my waist. It’s still dark, and I have no idea what time it is, but I don’t care. For a moment, I just lie there, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the warmth of his breath against my back.
Home.
That’s what I called this place last night. It’s what it feels like right now, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because when I’m here, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to worry about my major or my father’s expectations or who might or might not be taking advantage of me. I can just exist in Zach’s orbit. It’s nice…for awhile. Until that voice in the back of my head comes to the front of my mind making me feel so insignificant and small. It’s not Zach’s intention, but sometimes it’s inevitable when he’s so big. His presence, his determination, his ability to make everything look easy. It’s hard to explain the feeling I get, and even worse because Zach doesn’t see it.
I shift carefully, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightens around me reflexively. Even in sleep, he wants to protect me. When his arm relaxes, I slide out of the bed and grab his shirt from last night, pulling it over my head. The faint smell of Hail Mary’s washes over me.
I sigh just thinking about last night, and my anxiety roiling in my stomach at the memory of Zach interrogating Jenni in front of everyone. The way her face went red. The way the entire table went silent. I know he was trying to protect me, but God, it was humiliating. For both of us. Jenni's my friend—my only real friend besides Olivia who's states away—and he treated her like she was some kind of threat, and I'm too naive to see she’s using me.
Maybe I am naive. Maybe that's what everyone thinks. Poor little Honey Sanderson, so desperate for friends she can't see when she's being played, but Jenni defended me that first day. She didn't even know me, and she stood up for me. That has to mean something, right? And last night, even after Zach embarrassed her, she was still sweet. Still texting to make sure I got home safe.
I hate that there's a tiny part of me—a part I don't want to acknowledge—that wonders if Zach saw something I didn't. If his instincts about people are better than mine because he's had to deal with so many users and clout-chasers. But I can't think like that. I can't let his paranoia become mine, or I'll never trust anyone. I'll never have anything that's just mine.
I pad over to his dresser looking for a hair tie, trying to push thoughts of last night away. The top drawer is slightly open, and as I push through Zach’s white socks I find a piece of paper there, noting the distinctly feminine handwriting. It’s probably another note from one of the girls who leave footballs at his door. Let’s see what it says.
Z,
Don’t forget Saturday 2 p.m. at the shop. Eat before as I’m going to need you all afternoon.
H.
My stomach drops because that’snotwhat I was expecting to read. Who the fuck is H, and why is she meeting Zach on Saturday?
“Honeycomb?”
I jump, spinning around to find Zach propped up on one elbow, his hair mussed and his eyes still heavy with sleep. “What are you doing?”
I hold up the note. “What's this?”
He sits up, running a hand through his hair, and his expression shifts for just a second before he realizes what I’m holding. “Just a note.”
“From who? Who's H?”
“No one you need to worry about.” He crosses the room in three strides, takes the note from my hand, glances at it, then crumples it up and tosses it over his shoulder like it's nothing. “Seriously, babe.”