Page 36 of Broken Pieces
His hands are braced behind him, long legs stretched out, hair catching the light in a way that turns him into something half-boy, half-myth. His backpack beside him, unzipped, books spilling out because he clearly couldn’t be bothered to close it.
And just like that, my breath falters, caught in my throat.
No matter how many times I see him, it still knocks the air out of me.
Zane is chaos and calm tangled into one body, a hurricane stitched into skin. Beautiful in a way that shouldn’t be seen, dangerous in a way that makes turning away impossible. And I hate that he is here.
Not because I don’t want him here. Because I fucking do.
And that is what terrifies me most.
He hasn’t said a word.
Neither have I.
But his eyes lock on mine, and the world shifts under me. My chest knots tight, my pulse stutters out of rhythm. I lower myself onto the rooftop, legs folding beneath me, careful with every move.
His fingers tap against his leg, restless. His hair moves in the breeze, catching light in golden streaks. I steal a look at him anyway, and fuck me. Even from this angle he is infuriating. His hair is always tousled, the sandy strands a mess that somehow looks deliberate. His jaw sharp, clenched in thought. The crooked curve of his nose, proof of some fight that only made him more dangerous.
And then there is his mouth.
That goddamn mouth.
Smirking when he’s being cocky. Sharp when he’s pissed. Quiet now, but no less distracting.
He gets under my skin without trying. My body notices. That magnetic, destructive pull that Cassie warned me about. The one I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.
I blink hard, forcing the memory back, but Cassie’s words slip in anyway.
“He was with Samantha last night.”
I never asked her for details. I didn’t want them. The jealousy carved itself in anyway, branding me with marks I can’t scrub clean, no matter how much I pretend I don’t care.
And now he is here.
A poem ruined before it was finished, built from broken shit no one could fix. He is a hymn and a curse in the same breath, beauty twisted into chaos. And I am the idiot sitting too close, letting it burn through me.
Zane doesn’t move when I sit.
The air shifts around him, in a way that makes it impossible not to notice every detail. His profile cuts sharp against the sunlight, the kind of sight that reduces the sky to nothing more than a backdrop. His lashes throw shadows I shouldn’t be caught staring at. His mouth stays still, curved in that way that makes it seem he is keeping secrets no one else is allowed to hear.
I tell myself not to stare, but my body betrays me.
My eyes drag down to his hands, knuckles split, bruises blooming across skin that should scream violence but doesn’t. Even battered, they remain steady. Gentle enough to pull someone in, gentle enough to make her believe she mattered.
Something sharp turns low in my stomach at the thought.
Samantha.
The name slices through me before I can stop it.
Now here he is, every inch of him reminding me that he could have touched her less than twenty-four hours ago. Those bruised hands, that mouth on her. His body pressed against hers in the way mine has only ever dared to imagine.
The thought is poison, and yet I drink it down anyway.
Because no matter how many girls fall into his lap, I’m the one sitting here, heart unraveling just from watching him breathe.
God, I’m so fucking stupid.
