LIAM
The hospital room is silent, except for the soft beep of the heart monitor and the occasional shuffle of nurses' shoes in the hallway. My head is throbbing with dull pain, and my face feels like it's been run over by a truck—twice. The gauze under my nose is stiff with dried blood, and my right eye is almost swollen shut.
But none of that hurts as much as what's tearing me up inside.
Zara's face.
The way it crumbled. The way her eyes begged for a truth I couldn't give her. The way she froze when I delivered the final blow.
"Don't be silly. You'll never be my type."
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
I close my eyes, but I see her again—twirling for me in her emerald prom dress, cheeks flushed, eyes hopeful. I saw it all in her eyes: trust. Love. She really believed I was hers.
And I crushed her.
I don't know how long I've been lying here, but the silence becomes unbearable. My fingers twitch, restless. I need a distraction. I reach for my phone, trying not to wince from the movement.
I open my photos first—because I'm an idiot—and of course, the first thing that pops up is a picture of her in my hoodie, hair messy, a smirk on her lips as she flipped me off for taking a surprise photo.
She was everything.
And I turned her into nothing.
Out of instinct—or punishment—I open the group chat. Scrolling through the endless messages from Matteo, Jaxon, Beatrice, and the rest. They're still celebrating like they won some twisted war. Pictures of me and Zara at prom, screenshots of videos from the changing room, a few laughing emojis. Some mocking captions.
Then I stop scrolling.
My chest seizes.
It's a voice message.
My own voice.
I press play with trembling fingers.
"Okay, fine. I'll make her fall for me. Kiss her, get all cute or whatever—then dump her hard at prom. Just like we planned. And afterward? Levi, you take her. Date her. Let her fall again. Then rip her apart like she deserves. And if you're not able to do that you leave the basketball team."
There's laughter in the background.
My own voice laughs too.
I drop the phone like it's on fire.
No. No. No.
I can't believe I said that. I don't remember saying that. But the more I think about it, the more it comes back—fuzzy at first, like a nightmare. Beatrice smirking. Levi grinning like the smug jerk he is. My friends hyping me up.
We were in Levi's garage, lounging on bean bags, pizza boxes everywhere, the stench of arrogance and ego choking the air. I said it to be cool. To stay on top. To prove I didn't care.
But I did.
I do.
Zara's not just some target. She's not a bet. Not a game.
She's the only thing in my life that felt real.
And if Levi still thinks this plan is in motion, if he's planning to swoop in while she's broken—
No.
Hell no.
I grab my phone, ignoring the pain screaming down my side, and dial Levi's number.
It rings twice before he picks up, all smug and lazy. "Yo, survivor! You alive or what?"
"Meet me at the hospital," I snap, voice low and shaking. "Now."
"Dude, chill—"
"Now, Levi. I'm not playing."
He pauses. "Okay, damn. I'm coming."
I hang up and drop the phone to my lap. My fingers twitch with adrenaline, my gut boiling with panic and shame. How could I have said those words? How could I have let her become a punchline in my life?
Fifteen minutes pass before the door creaks open.
Levi walks in like he owns the place—designer hoodie, hands in his pockets, gum between his teeth.
"You look like crap," he says with a grin.
"Shut up." I motion for him to close the door. "We need to talk."
His eyebrows rise. "What, now you're not in the mood to gloat? We pulled it off, man. She fell for you hard. The look on her face? Priceless. Beatrice is still talking about it."
"That's what I want to talk about." I push myself up, gritting through the pain. "It's done. Over. The game ends here."
He laughs. "You serious?"
"I never should've let it start."
Levi tilts his head. "You're actually catching feelings, huh?"
"I'm telling you—back off. Don't text her. Don't talk to her. Don't touch her."
"Wow," he whistles. "You've got it bad."
"I'm not joking," I say, voice dropping. "I said some messed-up stuff that night in your garage. I told you to go after her after prom. But I was being a dick. I didn't mean it."
He shrugs. "Doesn't change the plan."
"Well, I'm changing it." I meet his eyes, cold and steady. "You go near her again, I swear to God—broken nose won't be the worst thing I walk away with."
Levi studies me for a moment. Then his smirk fades.
"Wow," he says. "You're in love with her."
I don't answer. I don't need to.
He backs away slightly, hands up in surrender. "Fine. Chill. You win. She's all yours."
"No," I say quietly. "She's not."
And she never will be.
Not after what I did.
Levi leaves with a shrug and a smirk, and I collapse back into the pillows, breath ragged.
I stare at the ceiling, heart heavy.
I didn't just break her.
I broke something in myself, too.
And the worst part?
I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix it.