Page 55 of Words We Didn't Say

“But you’ve told her about me? After we met?”

Zach sighed. “No.”

His admission stabbed through the last of the patchwork armour I’d slapped over too much past hurt. I screwed my eyes shut. “Oh.” There was nothing else I could say.

“I didn’t tell her about you because she’s not a part of my life. She doesn’t deserve to know anything about who I’m with. If you want me to tell her, I will. In a heartbeat.” When I said nothing, he added, “Michaela’s just a colleague. Nothing more.”

My laugh was brittle. “That’s a lie.”

“It’s not. She’s just—”

“She’s notjusta colleague,” I snapped. “You’ve beeninsideher, Zach.”

He exhaled sharply. “Shit, Eden, I can’t change that. I would if I could. A thousand times over. I’d never ignore my values like that again. Believe me.”

“Is she the only one? At your work?”

“Yes.”

Was that better…or worse? “Personal lives stay personal except for Michaela?”

Silence.

“She was worth bending the rules, but I wasn’t?”

Silence.

Why did that hurt so much? I had no right to be upset about who Zach had been with before we were together. I was no doe-eyed virgin when we’d met. No,women like megot around. I’d bet good money the notches on my bedpost outnumbered his ten to one, and I’d never cared about body counts with anyone else I’d been with. History of screwing around? Have at it. You do you. So why did I care about Michaela?

The ugly whispers of childhood echoed in my mind.

Because you love him, and he doesn’t love you. He choseherfirst.

Fresh tears popped into my eyes. I hugged my knees again to dull the sobs echoing in the tiny toilet stall. The numbing effects of all those drinks were a long-lost memory.

“Zach, what did I need to do to make you love me?”

Silence.

Agony made me restless. Why didn’t he say something? Shout at me? Anything? I couldn’t stand it.

But maybe…

I eased the phone away from my ear. I broke apart all over again when I looked down. The screen was blank.

Zach had hung up.

15

He said, “I’m sorry I didn’t see you.”

Zach

El Diablo Cantina wasa dead zone.

The dodgy phone reception was no surprise—that hipster hellhole was literally buried underground—but I’d still been tempted to hurl my phone when Eden’s call had dropped out.

I barrelled down the stairs two at a time, sidestepping the maze of people blocking my way, and landed with an ungraceful thud at the bottom. I screwed my eyes shut. I had to. The Cantina was an introvert’s worst nightmare. I couldn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest over the wailing music bombarding me from every direction, and it was impossible to breathe when the air was suffocated by alcohol, old wood, and too many nameless faces.

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