More Than Sorry

26: She Rescues the Boy

EDEN

🚧 Content Warning: Explicit sexual content 🚧

Zach's apartment is dark. Twinkles off the harbor flicker enough light down the hallway for me to find the switch, and I flip it on. But even when the warm glow floods the room, the apartment feels cold. It always does. But tonight, it feels colder than ever.

I toe off my sneakers and kick them into place by the door. Zach hates when I wear shoes inside. One of his weird, neat freak hang-ups. Any other night, I would give him shit about it—do what I want—but not tonight.

I pad down the hallway to the kitchen.

"Zach?" I call out.

Silence.

My eyes dart around the apartment, looking for any sign of him. My heart slams against my ribs. Too fast. I want to pretend I'm calm. I don't want to panic, but I'm not sure Zach's okay.

He hasn't answered any of my calls. Or my messages. He never came back to my apartment. Andie had more than a few words to say about that—most of them started with stupid, shit, or fuck. Yeah. She never leaves me guessing what she thinks about Zach. Hates his guts. At least... she used to.

I wish I'd tried harder to make Zach stay this afternoon.

Calls from an unknown number started lighting up my phone around three o'clock. I ignored them all. Not gonna lie. I was scared it was Mike. The calls never stopped, and eventually, I made Andie answer my phone. Turns out it was Carlton. He found the business card I gave him all those months ago, in his locker, tucked up next to pictures of his grandkids.

I wish I'd never told Zach what happened with Mike.

I love chatting and laughing on the phone. Usually. But I didn't breathe a single word as Carlton told me what had happened that afternoon. Zach lost it. Beat up his scumbag of a boss. Escorted by security out of the building and lucky he didn't get arrested.

And, even if Carlton didn't say so, I knew it was all my fault. 

I wish I'd been strong enough to deal with it all on my own.

Or do I? I told Zach I wanted us to support each other—to be a team. When I told him what happened on the dock, I wanted him to choose me—us—and not his stupid work for once.

Was that so wrong? I thought Zach would give me a hug and promise me everything was going to be okay. And he did all that. When he left my apartment, I never dreamed he was planning on chucking his whole career away in a fit of rage. He seemed so calm. Even if I did see him threaten one of Australia's greatest footballers that one time, I never imagined my sweet, lovable doofus was actually capable of violence.

Maybe everyone is if you push them too far.

"Zach?"

I pad from room to room, my eyes scanning every shadow for him. My last hope of finding him sound asleep is crushed because the perfectly made bed is as empty and cold as the rest of this apartment.

I flop down, defeated, the neatly tucked duvet crumpling under the weight of my butt. What now? My eyes search the room. Pain rips right through my heart, and the tears quickly follow.

Oh, Zach.

Barricaded in the corner of the bedroom, he is crunched into a tiny ball with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head pressed against the wall. He's still dressed in his work clothes. How long has he been here like this? Hours? My heart twists tight in my chest. I should have answered my phone sooner. He should never have had to go through this alone.