CHAPTER 147

**ZION**

My fist crashes into the punching bag, again and again, until my knuckles split open and blood smears across the worn leather. I should stop. I should wrap my hands, and clean the wound before it gets worse—but I don’t give a damn.

Not when the only thing I care about isn’t here.

Not when the thought of her never coming back is a very real fucking possibility.

I grit my teeth and throw another punch, harder this time. The bag swings wildly, but it’s not enough. 

Nothing is. 

Because no matter how much pain I inflict on myself, it won’t undo what I’ve done. It won’t change the way she looked at me before she ran away—like I was a monster. Like I was nothing.

I swing again, the impact reverberating up my arm, but it’s still not enough. My chest is too fucking tight, my mind spinning with every cruel word I ever threw at her. 

Every time I could’ve stopped—should have stopped—but didn’t.

I step back, breathing hard, and run a shaking hand through my hair. My phone sits on the bench nearby, the screen dark, mocking me. I grab it, fingers fumbling as I call her again.

Disconnected.

I try again.

Same fucking thing.

A sharp curse leaves my lips as I hurl the phone across the room. It smashes against the wall and falls to the floor; the screen is cracked, but I don’t give a shit.

What if she never forgives me?

What if I’ve lost her for good?

The thought hits harder than any punch ever could.

I think back to every cruel word I ever spat at her, every threat, every moment I made her life hell. The weight of it crushes me, pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe. My knuckles throb, raw and bleeding, but the pain is nothing compared to what I put her through.

I wish I could take it all back.

I wish I could strip away every ounce of pain I inflicted on her and make it my own. I’d bear it a thousand times over if it meant she never had to feel it. 

But I can’t. 

I can never undo what I’ve done. The only thing I can do now is make sure she’s okay, that nothing—can ever hurt her again.

I drag in a shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Please, let her be okay.

I don’t care if she never speaks to me again. If she tells me she hates me, if she looks at me like I’m nothing—I can take it. I deserve it. 

But I need her here.

For so long, I wanted her gone. I convinced myself that I didn’t need her, that I didn’t want her in my life.

And now? Now I can’t fucking breathe without her.

I slam my fist into the punching bag again, harder this time, the force of it rattling the chain. Pain shoots up my arm, but I welcome it. I need it. Anything to drown out the mess in my head.

My knuckles are raw, split open, blood dripping onto the mat beneath me, but I don’t stop. My breaths are ragged, my muscles screaming, but none of it fucking matters. 

I grit my teeth and swing again. 

And again. 

Each hit should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It won’t. Because no amount of pain I put myself through will change the fact that I did this.

I pushed her away. I hurt her.

And now… she’s gone.

A sharp breath leaves me, and I rest my forehead against the bag, chest heaving. What if she doesn’t come back?

The thought is a blade, cutting deep, leaving nothing but panic and regret in its wake.

I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.

Harry’s voice cuts through the heavy silence. “You done? Or do you wanna keep bleeding like a dumbass?”

I exhale sharply, barely sparing him a glance. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

Harry leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. 

“Because someone has to be.” His tone is flat, 

I turn back to the bag, rolling my shoulders. 

“Well, don’t do me any favours.”

Harry lets out a dry laugh. 

“Trust me, I wouldn’t if I had a choice.” He pushes off the wall, stepping closer. 

“But considering you look five minutes away from losing your goddamn mind, I figured I’d stick around. You know, make sure you don’t do anything even stupider than usual.”

I clenched my jaw. “Too fucking late for that.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah. No shit.”

The door swings open, and just when I think my night can’t get any worse, Ro and Clark stroll in like they own the damn place.

Rob lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit, man. You look like death warmed over.”

Clark tilts his head, smirking. “Nah, more like death got run over, reversed on, then curb-stomped for good measure.”

Harry, who has been watching this with barely concealed amusement, finally speaks. 

“He’s seen the error of his ways.”

Ro raises an eyebrow. “Error of his ways?”

Clark nods sagely. “Ah. So that’s what that look is.”

I clench my jaw, barely resisting the urge to punch something. 

“Why the fuck are you two here?”

Ro ignores me completely, sauntering over to the bed and flopping down like he belongs there. 

“Harry said you were in a mood. Thought we’d come to see the damage.”

Clark follows suit, stretching out comfortably. 

“Also, your bed’s way nicer than mine. Besides that’s no way to talk to your buddies, Z. We came out of the kindness of our hearts.”

My eye twitches. “Get. Off.”

Harry, still leaning against the wall with that infuriating smirk,  

“Don’t mind him, he’s just had a little… revelation.”

Clark frowns, fluffing the pillow behind him as he gets comfortable. 

“Revelation? What the fuck does that mean?”

Ro just stares, unimpressed.

Harry smirks wider. 

“Cutting a long story short… our dear Z finally figured out that Winter wasn’t the villain in his life.” He jerks a thumb in my direction. 

“Turns out, he fucked up royally. But then again… that’s his last name. Right? Royal ”

Clark lets out a slow whistle. 

“Damn. I should’ve come earlier. Watched it all unfold.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. 

“Brought popcorn too.”

Ro exhales sharply, shaking his head. 

“That’s a hell of a thing to realize too late.” 

His gaze is steady and unreadable, but there’s something like disappointment in his eyes. 

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

My patience snaps. 

“I don’t fucking know—and I sure as hell don’t need an audience while I figure it out. Now, all three of you—get the fuck out.”

Naturally, they ignore me.

Ro, already sprawled out on my bed like he owns the damn thing, shifts to get even more comfortable.

“Nah, I think we’ll stay. You look like you need moral support.”

Clark joins him, stretching out with a lazy grin.

“Yeah, you look like you’re about five seconds away from an emotional breakdown. Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Fucker.” I hurl a water bottle toward Clark, but the bastard catches it effortlessly, grinning. 

“Why, thanks, but I would’ve preferred a beer. Or, you know, something stronger.”

I don’t even bother responding. Just let out a heavy sigh and sink onto the couch, dragging a hand through my hair before grabbing my phone. I’m almost surprised it still works after the beating I gave it.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No messages. Not even a single "fuck off" text.

Harry claps his hands together, breaking the silence. 

“Alright, enough screwing with Z. We need a plan—something to get him back into Winter’s good books. Something that’ll convince her to forgive him.”

Clark chuckles. “Good books? The only books this guy knows are the ones he hides behind when he’s trying to get some action.”

I glare at Clark, unamused. “You’re a fucking comedian, huh?”

Clark grins, shrugging. “Just stating facts, Z. When’s the last time you actually opened a book that wasn’t a bar menu?”

Ro smirks, shaking his head. “Focus, idiots. We’re here to fix the disaster Z created, not roast him. Even if he deserves it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. “Just—get to the point before I throw you all out.”

Ro exhales heavily. “We need a plan.”

Clark snorts. “A plan? Seriously? To win a girl? The most planning we’ve ever done is figuring out how to get into a girl’s pants.”

Harry shoots him a sharp look. “Clark, be fucking serious for once.”

“I am,” Clark says, holding up his hands. 

“When’s the last time any of us planned something for a girl that didn’t involve when and how we were going to fuck her?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I seethe, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

“Of all the guys in the world, I get stuck with you three idiots.”

Ro ignores the back-and-forth, 

“Z needs to do something big. Something that actually means something. Something that’ll have Winter melting.”

Clark leans forward, “You could buy her a gift. I hear women love that.”

Harry shakes his head. “Not enough.”

“You could serenade her,” Clark suggests with a smirk. 

“Standing outside her window with a guitar, all dramatic and lovesick.”

I shoot him a glare. “I’d rather set myself on fire.”

Ro, ignoring Clark’s bullshit, says, 

“She needs to see that you actually understand what you did. That it’s not just guilt making you chase after her.”

Clark snaps his fingers. “Apology kidnapping. Just grab her, lock her up, and don’t let her go until she forgives you.”

Harry shoots him a look. “Right, because nothing says ‘I’ve changed’ like borderline kidnapping. Great plan, genius. While you’re at it, why don’t you tie her to a chair until she says ‘I forgive you’?”

Clark smirks. “Now you’re getting it.”

Harry groans. “He’s trying to win her back, not get hit with felony charges.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I swear to God, if either of you speak again, I’m throwing you both out the fucking window.”

“You screwed up, Z,” Ro says, his voice calm but firm. My eyes snap to his. 

“You destroyed your friendship over something you assumed was true. Regret and apologies aren't enough—you need to prove to her that you’d do anything to make it right.”

I swallow hard. Because he’s right.

But how the fuck do I even begin?

“I’m willing to do anything to fix this, but fuck, I don’t even know where she is. She just—she was so pissed, she got in her car and took off.”

Clark raises his hand.

I roll my eyes. “We’re not in class, you moron.”

He drops his hand with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Just thought you’d want to know where she is.”

My head snaps toward him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Clark leans back against my bed, all casual like he’s not holding crucial information hostage. 

“She was at my place. Well, Claire’s room, technically.” He pauses. 

“Playing darts, I think? Not totally sure.”

Harry frowns. “Darts?”

Clark just shrugs, but I don’t have time to unpack whatever the hell that means.

“Anyway,” he continues, 

“I overheard Claire telling Mom she and Winter are going to Jane’s party tonight.”

I’m on my feet before he even finishes the sentence. 

“And why the fuck didn’t you say that as soon as you walked in?”

Clark shrugs “You never asked.”

I swear to God—

Harry steps forward, slapping a hand on my shoulder before I can strangle Clark. “Well, gentlemen, looks like we’ve got a party to attend.” He smirks. 

“And Z? You’ve got a whole lot of grovelling to do.”

I barely hear him. My pulse is already pounding, my mind racing ahead to where she’ll be. The party. 

To Winter.

Because this time, I won’t let her walk away. Not without knowing how sorry I am. 

Not without knowing that hurting her was the biggest mistake of my life.

I don’t care if she screams at me, if she throws every last ounce of her fury in my face.

She’s going to hear me.

She’s going to know that she’s the only damn thing that matters.

I’m coming, Winter. And this time, I’m not letting you go.