Page 52

Chapter thirty-four

I want every single version of reality with you

Zoe

I ’m halfway through brushing conditioner into my hair when my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at it absently, expecting another text from Charlie or maybe Pulse’s socials team about some last-minute post. But the number flashing across the screen isn’t saved.

I answer, pressing the phone between my ear and shoulder while dragging the comb through another tangle.

“Ms. Carlson?” The voice is polite. Way too tentative, which is never a good sign. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m calling from the building office about the elevator incident from last week.”

My stomach knots instantly.

“I’m sure you were told there was no permanent security feed,” the man continues, already nervous. “But when the main system failed, the backup triggered automatically. And, well… it recorded the whole malfunction. Including the, uh, footage of the occupants inside.”

My blood ices over.

“What kind of footage?” I ask, voice sharp now.

“It’s low-resolution,” he rushes. “No audio. But before we send it to the HOA, we thought it might be prudent to alert you. Since, uh… some of the footage seems personal .”

I hang up before he can say anything else, and the comb drops from my hand. I stand there, dripping onto Chase’s tiled floor, wrapped in nothing but terrycloth and total fucking panic.

Footage.

There’s footage of me being pressed up against an elevator wall, moaning like a goddamn porn star while Chase had his mouth on my neck and his hand between my legs. Footage of him lifting me up, wrapping my thighs around his hips, and fucking me through a system failure.

No sound, but enough to ruin everything.

Panic claws its way up my throat, and I quickly get dressed, wet hair forgotten.

The front door opens, and Chase walks in like he always does—bag slung over his shoulder, cap turned backwards, sleeves rolled high enough to show the curve of his tattooed bicep.

He drops his hockey bag by the door, kicking it out of the way with that easy post-practice energy clinging to him.

“Hey,” he says, his smile soft when he sees me walking out of the bedroom. “You order dinner or—”

“You didn’t think to check if there were backup cameras?”

He pauses mid-step. “What?”

“The elevator,” I snap. “The one we got stuck in last week. The one where you told me the cameras wouldn’t be working because of the power outage. Guess what I found out today?”

His jaw tightens, cautious now. “Zoe, what are you talking about?”

“They were working. Backup camera system kicked in when the power failed, and it got everything. ”

His eyes widen. “Shit.”

“Oh, you think?”

“Zoe—”

“They called me, the building office. They haven’t sent the footage to the HOA yet because, and I quote, ‘ Some of the content appeared personal. ’”

I let that hang there, daring him to say something, even though there’s nothing to say. He knows exactly what we did, how feral and reckless and indecent it was.

“This isn’t just embarrassing,” I whisper. “It’s everything. My job, my credibility. You know Pulse has a zero-tolerance policy on reputation risk, and now I’m the girl who lied about fake dating a hockey player, moved into his condo, and fucked him in an elevator.”

Chase’s mouth opens, then closes, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“I’ll get the footage. I’ll talk to them.”

I shake my head. “You can’t fix this, Chase.”

“Yes, baby, I can.”

“No, you can’t ! This isn’t a loose mic or a tabloid rumor. This isn’t just a oops, someone caught you with your dick out moment, this is proof. I’ve worked for years to be taken seriously—by my team, by the board—and now I’m one viral video away from losing all of it.”

I’m pacing now, and my hands won’t stop shaking.

“I know it’s not your fault,” I say, the words tumbling fast now.

“I know you didn’t plan this, but we’ve been pretending— pretending —to be fake this entire time, and now there’s proof it’s not.

What the hell do you think Pulse and the Storm are gonna say when they find out we’ve been lying to them for months? ”

He steps forward. “Zoe—”

“No. You don’t get to pull that calm voice on me right now, you don’t get to stand there pretending you didn’t see this coming. We’ve been playing house in a fucking glass box and acting like we’re still fooling people.”

He’s quiet for a second.

“I was never fooling anyone , Zo. I’ve been real about you since day one.”

“Oh my god, you are missing the point! ”

“No, you are,” he fires back, voice straining to stay level now. “You’re acting as if none of this means anything, like it’s just PR fallout. But it’s not, Zo, this is us . Or at least it is to me, and I’m tired of pretending it’s not.”

I take another step back, inhaling sharply. “You don’t get to fucking throw that at me right now.”

“Why not?” His voice cracks open, rough around the edges. “Because I’m right? Because I’m finally saying what you don’t wanna hear?”

“Because this isn’t about feelings , Chase. It’s about safety and reputation, and damage control. About me being one more fucking notch in your PR history of chaos.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Do I?”

He moves toward me, slower now, controlled but furious. “You were never a notch, and you know it. You’ve been living here in my space, sleeping in my bed. Waking up next to me and coming on my fucking tongue.”

My throat burns, but he doesn’t stop.

“I’m ready to give you fucking everything, but one minute you’re talking to me like I’m something special, and the next you act like this means nothing.

” His voice breaks slightly, enough to catch me in the ribs.

“So don’t stand here and tell me this isn’t about feelings, just because you’re too scared to acknowledge yours. ”

For a second, all I can hear is the pounding of my pulse in my ear, and then I snap.

“You think I don’t know what we’ve been doing here?” I ask, tilting my head.

“I know you do. You just won’t pull back your mask and admit it.”

“Okay,” I whisper, rage laced in every word. “You wanna see what’s behind this mask, Walton? Fine. Fucking regret. Loads of it.”

I take a step toward him, hands clenched.

“If I had just stayed away, resisted your fucking face and not let the idea of you sink into my bones—that this could work, that this could be real—then I would be so much better off.”

I pause, watching his expression twist, watching the punch land right where I aimed it. His mouth pulls tight, and his chest lifts like he’s about to speak, but I cut him off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”

His laugh is humorless. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

He closes the space between us in three steps, not touching me, but close enough that I feel the heat of him against my skin. His jaw is clenched so tight I half expect him to break a tooth.

“I’ve done everything I can to prove to you that this— we —aren’t anything but fucking endgame, Zoe. And you stand there, wrapped in my hoodie, in my home, and tell me I should regret this?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back to me. His voice is low now, gutted.

“You don’t get to throw that at me. You don’t get to call this regret just because you’re scared. I’ve spent months going slow for you, playing along like I don’t wanna fall to my fucking knees for you at any given moment.”

He hesitates just for a second, like he’s debating whether or not to say the thing I know is on the tip of his tongue.

I see it, I feel it, and I know it’s coming.

The thing neither of us has said yet, but has been humming beneath every kiss, every laugh, every quiet morning where I steal glances at him, trying to memorize the way the sunlight touches his face.

But he stops himself and reaches for me instead.

I turn on my heel and walk down the hall and into the bedroom, the silence behind me thick and choking.

I grab my stuff quietly, moving on autopilot.

I don’t slam drawers, don’t cry. I just pull everything into my suitcase, scrape my hair back into a bun with shaking fingers, and start stuffing my keys into the side pocket of my bag.

When I emerge and go for the front door, he’s already there, blocking it.

“Zoe.”

I finally meet his eyes, and what I see there—hurt, betrayal, love he won’t say out loud—nearly knocks me over. For a second, we just stare at each other, breathing hard and not moving. Thinking, maybe if we stand still long enough, none of this will collapse.

Then, without a word, he steps forward and grabs the back of my neck, crashing his mouth to mine.

His fingers cup my jaw, and my hands plant flat against his chest, undecided on whether I might shove him or climb him.

We kiss like we’re trying to survive it; a goodbye and a scream and an apology we don’t know how to speak.

Just two people who want the world to stop long enough to kiss without consequence.

He pulls away first, breathing hard.

“Don’t tell me none of it mattered,” he says, voice broken.

“I just need some time,” I murmur, hands still on his chest. “That’s all.”

“No.” His voice is calm, but it’s brittle. “You don’t get to drop that and walk away like it isn’t ripping me in half.”

My lip wobbles. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Well, congratulations,” he rasps. “You still did.”

I hold my breath. Try not to cry.

“I get it, Zo,” he says. “I get why this feels impossible, but don’t rewrite history just to make walking away easier.”

I meet his eyes again, expecting to see anger, but instead I just see pain.

“It’s not easier, it’s just…” I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, hating the way my voice breaks open. “I don’t wanna be your fucking PR problem, Chase.”

“You’re not,” he says instantly.

I try to shake my head, but his hands come up, framing my face—not forcing me to look at him, just holding me like I’m something breakable.

“Zoe.” His voice is wrecked now. “I need you to hear me. Whatever’s happening, whatever this is, we can figure it out. I’ll fix it. I’ll go to the HOA, I’ll take the blame. I’ll leak a new story to bury the footage—I’ll do whatever it takes. But don’t walk away from us, baby.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I whisper.

“It’s not,” he says quickly. “It’s not fucking easy, Zo. But it’s real. And I want every single version of reality with you.”

My vision blurs again, and this time, I don’t fight it. I close my eyes, lean into the warmth of him for half a second, and let myself breathe him in.

“You see it, right?” he says quietly. “You see what you’ve become to me?”

His thumb brushes the corner of my eye, catching a tear before it can fall.

“I can’t sleep if I don’t know you’re okay.

I count the hours until I’m home with you.

I replay every smile, every laugh, every time you touch me, and pretend it doesn’t undo me.

You think any of this was fake?” His jaw flexes.

“Zoe, I haven’t been faking a single second of this, not since the moment I met you. ”

I swallow a sob and look at him again, which is the worst thing to do, because all I see is love. The kind he’s been too afraid to say, the kind I’ve been too afraid to say back.

Inhaling sharply, I nod once and place my hand on the door handle.

“I know, Walton.”

And this time, he lets me go.