“The only place you're running is back to wherever the fuck you came from.”
I spread my arms, gesturing to the campus around us. “I’m just here getting an education. Same as you.”
His eyes narrow, suspicion creeping across his features. “You transferred. To St. Michael's.”
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. “Just started this week.”
“Why?” The single word carries the weight of years of hostility.
For a heartbeat, I consider lying. Making up some bullshit about football programs or academic excellence. You know? To tease him a little. Make him think that my sorry ass has somehow been able to buy my way back into his team. But why would I do that now? He hates me, and that little fact isn't going to help me get into Tiff's good graces. She is the only person who matters to me at this point because she's the one who holds my daughter in her hands.
So, instead, I opt for the truth, thinking that might open up the lines of communication.
“I'm pretty sure you can guess why I'm here.”
He growls. Okay, maybe I should've led with an apology and a fruit basket. I hear he likes strawberries.
“Stay the FUCK away from her.”
Oh, we're back tothisZach. The one that uses the F-word in every sentence like it’s punctuation.
“From who?” I say, my mouth moving before my brain signs off on it. “Your girlfriend? Or your cousin?”
The smirk slides onto my face without permission, my default setting when cornered. Say something shitty, act like I don’t care, pretend like the guilt hasn’t been eating me alive for years.
Zach takes a menacing step forward, his muscles tensing like he's about to put me through the nearest wall, but then he stops himself. His jaw flexes, and he shakes his head, reining himself in.
“You have no idea how badly I want to rearrange your face right now,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. “But unlike you, I actually have something to lose.”
He gestures vaguely to a nearby banner with his face plastered across it with some sports drink logo hovering beside his perfect smile. Oh, and did I forget to mention he's shirtless? Yeah, always shirtless.
“NIL deals. Sponsorships. A future.” His eyes narrow. “Things I won't throw away for the satisfaction of knocking your fucking teeth in.”
And I hate how that stings. Not the threat. The fact that he won’t follow through, because maybe I want him to hit me. Maybe I need it. Because maybe if he did it, I could pretend we’re the same. Just two guys trying to survive the ruin we were born into, and that somehow, I’d be redeemable.
But we’re not the same.
He’s the better man. Always has been.
He’s the hero of this story. I’m just the sorry excuse for a villain.
He took care of a kid,mykid, when he had no money or resources to do so. Protected Tiff frommy father.
I had the money and options and did absolutely nothing.
No, Zach Evans is everything I should’ve been.
3:56. Fuck. I'm going to be late.
“You've got some fucking nerve showing up here.” His voice is quiet but threatening. “Stalking my cousin after what you put our family through.”
Our family.
It hits harder than I expect—this quiet truth I’ve been sidestepping for months. Zach. Honey. Tiff. Ella. They are a family. One by one, I failed them all. And my father? He didn’t just light the match, he made sure I burned in the wreckage.
I rub the back of my neck. “I'm not stalking her.” I totally am, but is it stalking if she knows I'm here and I gave her a sparkly pink envelope with my hotel and phone number inside it? That’s just—aggressive sincerity. At worst, mildly unhinged romance.
“Really? Because from where I'm standing, it sounds a lot like stalking. You flew across the goddamn country. Transferred schools, and now you’re just strolling around campus like youdidn’t nuke her entire life by sleeping with her.” His laugh is harsh. “So, if it's not stalking, then what would you call it?”