CHAPTER 187
**ZION**
We pass through the double doors toward the lecture hall, the sound of voices and chairs scraping the floor in the background.
But my mind is still back there—
With her.
The classroom is already half-full when we walk in, the low hum of conversation buzzing in the background.
Chairs screech against the linoleum floor; papers shuffle, and someone’s laughing a little too loudly near the window.
I head straight for the back, dropping into a seat like the weight of everything finally caught up to me.
Clark flops into the chair beside me, still muttering under his breath about “next time,” while Ro takes the seat on my other side, eyeing me like he’s waiting for me to explode again.
Harry sinks into the chair in front of us, his gaze sharp and calculating,
But I’m quiet.
Too quiet.
My mind won’t stop, spiraling back to last night.
She wants to be friends.
The idea burns like acid in my chest.
Does she have any idea what that’s doing to me?
I don’t know if I can be just her friend and hold on to my sanity.
I drag a hand through my hair, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
Not when all I do is breathe in her scent whenever she’s near, like a damn addict craving his next fix—an irresistible pull that drags me under, no matter how hard I fight it.
Not when every instinct in me is screaming to hold her, to touch her, to keep her close—never let her go.
Not when I nearly lost it, ready to tear Damien apart for a single word about her, because deep down, I want her.
I want her to be mine.
Damien thought he had a chance with her—stood there with that smug look on his face like he knew something I didn’t.
And maybe in the future, some other guy will come along.
Some cocky asshole with nice hair and a rehearsed smile.
He’ll want her.
He’ll try to charm her.
Make her laugh.
What would I do then?
Fight every guy who even dares to look at her?
Start swinging every time someone speaks her name?
Yeah… probably.
Because the thought of anyone else touching her—anyone else having her—makes my vision blur with something dangerously close to rage.
She wants to be my friend while the rest of the world lines up to get close to her.
I swallow hard, fists tightening.
No.
I don’t think I can do that.
Not when every damn part of me is wired to want her.
To protect her.
To claim her.
And she wants to be just friends?
That’s a fucking joke.
She’s out of her fucking mind.
Ro nudges my arm.
“You spacing out or planning someone’s funeral?”
I grunt, rubbing a hand over my face.
“Little of both.”
He lets out a dry chuckle, but it fades quickly.
“You sure you’re good, Z?”
No.
Not even close.
But I nod anyway.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
Lie.
I’m not fine.
I’m one second away from losing it.
Because I can’t be just friends with Winter. Not when every time I look at her, my soul remembers what it’s like to be whole.
Then the door creaks open.
My heart skips a beat, my pulse quickening as if it can sense her before I even see her. My eyes snap to the door, waiting, needing.
—Claire on one side, Ariel on the other—and just like that, the entire classroom feels too small, too quiet. The second she steps through the threshold, it’s like the air shifts. Every sound dulls.
But all I see is her.
My heart kicks into overdrive, pounding so hard I swear it might burst through my chest. My pulse races, my body tensing instinctively, like it's drawn to her in a way I can’t control.
My muscles tighten, the weight of her presence pressing down on me, and for a split second, everything else fades away.
I have to fight the urge to stand, to close the distance between us, to feel her close again. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, every instinct screaming for something I can’t have.
Her eyes find mine.
And for a beat, neither of us moves.
We just… stare.
Like the world paused and decided this moment belonged only to us.
I swear I can hear violins in the background, playing some ridiculous love song as if this was some fucking movie.
Her expression is unreadable, her gaze locked on mine with a force that makes it impossible to look away, no matter how hard I try.
There’s something in her eyes—uncertainty, hesitation... maybe even something deeper.
Awe?
Awe? What the fuck’s wrong with me?
She’s probably plotting my death in her mind after the disaster I caused in the cafeteria.
Claire nudges her gently, giving her a slight tug forward.
And just like that, the moment shatters.
She blinks, then starts walking, her steps a little slower than usual, as if part of her is reluctant to break whatever just passed between us. Her eyes flicker to mine for a brief second.
Then again.
But her eyes keep flickering to me.
Tiny glances.
Quick and unsure.
Guilt knots low in my chest.
She must be pissed.
She has every right to be.
That whole stunt in the cafeteria—I didn’t even let her finish her damn project.
I just barged in, uninvited, planted myself at her table, and stirred up trouble with that asshole.
Not that he didn’t deserve it.
Fuck.
I watch her settle on the other side of the lecture hall, and without thinking, I stand up abruptly, my body moving before my mind can catch up.
Harry looks up.
“Z? Where are you going?” Harry calls.
I don’t answer.
I don’t even glance his way.
I only see her.
I need to talk to her.
Even if she tells me to screw off.
Even if she doesn’t want to hear it.
I need her to know that I’m not sorry for messing up her project time—and regret the way I went about it.
I need her to understand that I can fix this, help her finish, and do whatever it takes to make up for what I’ve done.
Because fuck, I won’t survive if she shuts me out again.
Her eyes lift to me as I approach, and her brows furrow.
Act normal.
I walk over to Winter’s row, my gaze locked on the empty seat beside her.
Except—it’s not empty.
Some guy I don’t recognize is sitting there, talking to her like he belongs.
Yeah, no.
Stay calm.
Stay polite.
“Hey,” I say, cool and low, but there’s no mistaking the edge in my voice.
“Find another seat.”
He blinks up at me, confused.
“Uh—what?”
“I said move.”
His mouth opens, probably to argue, but then he locks eyes with me—really looks—and I can see the recognition hit him.
His eyes widen, and without a word, he scrambles to grab his bag and rushes to vacate the seat, muttering something under his breath as he bolts.
That’s what I thought.
I drop down beside Winter without hesitation, feeling her eyes burning into the side of my face.
She’s staring.
Hard.
Her nose scrunches up, brows pulling together in a glare so sharp it should be lethal.
Damn.
Even pissed off, she’s cute as hell.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she snaps, her voice sharp.
“You can’t just throw people out of their seats, Zion,” she adds, frustration clear in her tone.
I shrug, letting a smirk curve onto my lips, trying to play it cool.
“Looks like I just did.”
But the second the words leave my mouth, that all-too-familiar twist in my gut hits me hard.
Shit.
She’s going to think I’m still that guy.
Still the jerk who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. And I do. I care—about her.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.
“You’re right. That was... not cool.”
I glance around and call out to the guy, who’s now settling in two rows down.
“Hey, man! Thanks for the seat.”
I tack on a smile—lopsided, sheepish.
An attempt at humility, maybe damage control.
He narrows his eyes at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m mocking him or genuinely thankful.
Fair. I’m not sure either.
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