Page 216 of Make the Play

Chase. Messy hair, shadowed eyes. Hoodie pulled up. He’s lying on his side in bed, one hand propping up his head so casually, as if this is normal and we haven’t been tiptoeing around each other for days.

“Hey,” he says softly.

I can’t speak for a second. I just stare at him and try to breathe him in through the pixels.

His voice drops even lower, eyes scanning my face, gentle and cataloguing.

“You okay?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I think I will be.”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t have to be anything, you know. Not for me.”

I blink hard, trying not to cry at the sound of his voice saying exactly what I needed to hear.

“That’s the problem,” I murmur. “I want to be everything for you.”

“You already are, sweetheart.”

My throat tightens, and I nod once, swallowing down the sob that’s trying to escape my throat. Neither of us talk for a while, we just look.

It’s stupid. And healing. And intimate in a way I wasn’t expecting.

His eyes roam over me—soft, searching, full of the three words I know he wants to say.

“Zo…”

I swallow again. “Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Three words, but different. Not fancy and not a dramatic declaration, but they still land with impact. I close my eyes, just for a second. Just to keep the ache from spilling out too fast.

He shifts slightly, as though he wants to reach through the screen and pull me in—to his bed, his arms, his orbit. Into the world we’d been building before everything fell apart.

“When can I see you?” he asks, his voice careful but hopeful. “We don’t have to talk too much, I just… need to see you.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“I just wanna make sure I’m me before I see you.”

His expression folds, and he frowns, nodding slowly.

“Youareyou.”

“No, I’m not. I’m…” I pause, struggling for words that feel true. “I’m quieter. Smaller. I don’t know where the fun parts of me went. The Zoe you know—I don’t feel like her right now. It’s like someone turned the volume down on me and I can’t find the dial.”

He’s quiet, but his eyes don’t move. They stay on me, steady and unflinching, unwilling to ignore any piece of my outpouring.

“You don’t need to be full volume, Zo,” he says quietly. “You could stop talking forever, and I’d still hear you louder than anyone else.”

A single tear rolls down my face, and all I can do is press my palm to the screen, hoping it might hold me up. Or hold him in. He mirrors me, his hand against the screen, eyes fierce but tender.

“You could come back in pieces, Zoe. I’ll still want every single one.”

I look at him, throat raw, heart clawing its way up my ribs.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough yet.”

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