“Honey, please let me at least take you home—” Zach's voice cracks, but she's already gone.
The front door slams behind her, the windows rattling with the move.
Silence.
It’s deafening.
Zach stands frozen in the middle of the kitchen, his hand still outstretched toward where Honey was.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and then he's moving, running his hands through his already destroyed hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Zach—”
“Don't.” He spins to face me, and I see the devastation on his face. “Don't say it was a mistake. Don't tell me I fucked up. I know. I fucking know.”
I close the distance between us slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. “I wasn't going to say that.”
“She ran.” His laugh is bitter and broken. “She always fucking runs.”
“What happened?” I ask gently, leaning against the dinner table.
He sinks onto one of the kitchen stools, his head in his hands. “She came over to talk. About you. About her dad. About how she’s thinking of leaving after the end of this year.” He looks up at me, and his eyes are red. “And then we started talking about us. About everything. And I told her—fuck, Tiff. I told her that I’ll never not be in love with her.”
“And?”
“And she kissed me.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Shefucking kissed me, and for a second I thought maybe we could fix this.”
“But then I walked in,” I finish quietly.
“And she ran. She always runs.” He drops his head back into his hands. “Every time we get close to something real, she panics and bolts. And I just—I can't keep doing this. I can't keep putting myself out there just to watch her leave.”
I move to sit beside him, resting my hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she just needs time,” I offer weakly.
“It's been over a year, Tiff. A year of watching her with Chris, of seeing her smile at him the way she used to smile at me, of pretending I'm fine when I'm fucking falling apart.” He looks at me, and I see genuine anguish there. “How much more time does she need?”
“I don't know,” I say honestly.
We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of everything hanging between us. Outside, a car drives by, and for a second, Zach's entire body tenses, like he thinks maybe Honey came back, but the car keeps going, and his shoulders slump again.
“How'd it go?” he asks, his voice rough as he tries to change the subject. “With your dad.”
I hesitate for a second, not wanting to minimize his crisis, but when I see the hurt behind his eyes, I know he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“I told him to never contact me again,” I say quietly. “I called him out for taking the bribe from Jamie's father, and for selling me out to help them take Ella.”
Zach's eyes meet mine, searching my face. “How do you feel?”
“Free,” I admit. “Light. Like I can finally breathe without carrying all that weight.”
He nods slowly, and something that might be pride flickers across his face. “Good. That's good, T. You deserve that.”
“So do you,” I say softly. “You deserve to be happy, Zach. With or without Honey.”
“Yeah.” He doesn't sound convinced. He sounds like a man who just had everything he wanted in his arms and watched it slip away. Again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Jamie:Heading to the apartment now. Ella can’t wait to see you and tell you all about the touchdowns she scored.