CHAPTER 161
**ZION**
The ride to Clark’s house is quiet, but my mind is a storm I can’t escape. My fingers tap an anxious rhythm against my knee, a useless attempt to steady the whirlwind of thoughts tearing through me. Outside, the scenery blurs past, but I don’t really see any of it.
My focus is stuck on one thing—her.
I poured everything into that speech—every word, every apology, every piece of me. I tried to lay it all out, to show her how deeply sorry I was, how much I wanted to make things right. I chased after her, desperate for her to see the sincerity in my eyes, to hear the regret in my voice.
But she didn’t even stop. She didn’t even turn around. She just walked away, not a single glance back, like I was nothing more than a ghost.
And the worst part?
The part that really tears me apart? I can’t even blame her. Because, deep down, I know I’ve pushed her too far.
I fucked up.
Badly.
But God, I just wanted her to see it.
To know it.
I wanted her to understand that my regret isn’t just some fleeting emotion—it’s a weight in my chest, a constant ache that won’t let me breathe.
So fucking sorry.
And somehow, I don’t think that’ll ever be enough.
She’s slipping through my fingers, and I don’t even know if I have the right to try and stop her.
Clark, taps his fingers against the wheel in time with the music, nodding along like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Every few minutes, Clark throws out some ridiculous comment—mostly about the absurd lyrics of the song playing or the fact that I look like I’ve swallowed a lemon.
He’s in his usual laid-back mode, tapping his fingers against the wheel, but I don’t miss the way his eyes flick up to the rearview mirror every now and then.
Ro and Harry sit in the back, both quiet.
"I swear, you guys act like the world’s ending every damn day. Ever tried smiling? It’s free, you know."
I shoot him a glare.
"Alright, Mr. Gloom I get it. Big, heavy feelings. Angst. Tortured souls. Blah, blah, blah. But look, we’re heading to my place, and as your gracious host, I demand we lighten the mood."
Harry, sitting stiffly in the back beside Ro, barely reacts. Ro, as usual, remains quiet, staring out the window like he’s mentally somewhere else.
"Alright, now about Operation: Thaw Winter. We need a solid game plan to melt that icy anger of hers," Clark declares, stroking his chin like a mastermind.
"With the right approach, we might just get her to defrost a little."
He smirks, turning to me.
"Haha… get it? Winter, ice, melt, defrost—God, I’m on fire tonight."
He pauses for dramatic effect, then points at me.
"And if anyone can turn an ice storm into a heatwave, it’s probably you, Z."
My jaw tightens. "Clark."
He just laughs, unfazed. "Hey, I’m just saying. Stranger things have happened."
I don’t respond.
Then suddenly—
“Shit!” Clark’s hands slam against the steering wheel as he hits the brakes, the car jerking to a stop. My head snaps up, instincts kicking in.
He’s staring straight ahead, his expression shifting from surprise to something sharper, more alert.
I follow his gaze—
Claire’s car.
Parked right outside his house.
I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my chest starts to ache. My heart rate kicks up a notch, a pounding thud against my ribs.
Maybe it’s a sign.
Maybe fate just threw us in the same place at the same damn time for a reason.
Clark exhales sharply, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“My twin’s here.”
If Claire’s here, that means—
Winter.
A slow, tense burn creeps up my spine, like something’s shifting. I lick my lips, suddenly second-guessing myself.
My heart hammers harder in my chest, and I exhale, fighting the urge to tell Clark to turn the car around and just keep driving. Far, far away.
Still, something in me stalls, frozen between wanting to fix everything and the fear of making it worse.
Should we turn back?
Should I just give her space?
But then I think of what that would mean.
Giving her space would only push her farther away.
She wouldn’t see how badly I want to make things right.
“Look, man,” Harry says, his voice cutting through the silence, steady but laced with an understanding I don’t really want right now.
“I get it. You’re thinking about turning back but don’t. Go in there and be relentless. Don’t give her space to push you away. If you want her to see you’re serious, you have to keep showing up—no matter how pissed off she is. Let her see the regret, yeah, but more than that, let her see that you’re not giving up on her. Not now, not ever.”
I let out a slow breath, my jaw tightening.
“And what if she doesn’t want to see me? What if my being there only makes it worse? What if—”
Harry cuts me off with a sharp scoff, rolling his eyes.
“Then you plant your feet, man. You don’t back down. You don’t bolt just because it feels messy. If you want to make things right, you’ve got to show her—again and again—that you’re serious.”
Ro, who’s been quiet up until now, speaks up, his tone steady but with an edge of sincerity.
“Look, if you want to fix this, you can’t just hope it’ll get better. You’ve got to show her that you’re in it for the long haul. No shortcuts, no playing it safe. If you’re going to do this, do it right.”
I drag a hand down my face, my chest tight with everything I want to say and everything I can’t put into words.
Clark claps his hands together like he's some sort of excited game show host.
“Love the enthusiasm! Just—maybe don’t get yourself killed, alright? I mean, I’ve seen you take a few hits, but a vase to the face? That could be... entertaining.”
Harry shoots him a look. “Clark.”
“Hey, I’m just saying, if she starts throwing stuff, he should take it like a man. You know, look all rugged and handsome, like ‘yeah, you can throw your best shot, I’m still here and I’m sorry.’”
“Seriously?” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“Yep. Seriously. And if she throws a chair, take it on the chin. That’s what real men do,” Clark adds, winking at me.
Ro lets out a quiet chuckle, clearly amused, though he’s still all business.
“And don’t you dare back down. If you give up, that’s game over. Stubbornness is your best weapon right now.”
Clark grins as if it’s the most genius advice ever given.
“Exactly! You’re walking into a storm, buddy. Don’t be surprised if you come out looking like a wrecked beach house, but hey, that’s just part of the charm. ‘Zion, the guy who can take a beating for love.’”
The others stare at him, their expressions flat. I don’t even need to say anything. The silence speaks for itself.
Clark throws his hands up, pretending to be offended.
“What? I’m just giving him a heads-up! A couple of broken dishes, some murderous glares—totally normal. But hey, if he survives with his dignity still intact, he’s basically a legend in my book.”
Before he can say anything else, all three of us hit him at once—one in the shoulder, another on the head, and me with a swift shove that sends him stumbling back.
“Ow! Hey!” Clark yelps, rubbing his head dramatically.
“Abuse! This is what I get for being the voice of reason?”
He looks at us, mock-outraged, shaking his head.
“You’re supposed to be my ride-or-die squad, and yet here you are, plotting my demise. What happened to loyalty? What happened to the brotherhood?”
“You deserve it,” Ro mutters, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
Clark laughs, straightening up. “Yeah, yeah, just remember who’s the one out here giving expert relationship advice. You guys would be lost without me.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small grin tugging at my lips.
Clark catches my eye, the playful grin tugging at his lips despite the tension. He knows me too well.
“Now walk in there and get punched in the face, or—”
“Or?” I ask, dreading the answer, but needing to hear it anyway.
“Or you might actually fix this,” he says with a shrug. “No pressure, though.”
I snort, but the knot in my stomach twists tighter. I glance toward the house again.
“Let's go,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
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