Hands Down - Mariana Zapata Page 0,142

way that was different than a beloved, pesky little sister. I’d been at the age where I was barely building my sense of self-worth, and she had stolen almost all of it with her terrible comments. She had made me second-guess one of the most important relationships in my life after I’d lost Mamá Lupe, when I had literally been at my lowest.

And now, apparently, that hadn’t been the only thing she’d stolen.

She’s taken something so much more precious: time.

So I answered. Because I wasn’t going to lose what I’d just gotten back, especially not because of Jessica again.

“Hey,” I answered, rubbing over my brow bone with my index finger. “I’m—”

He cut me off. “Where you at?” His voice was off, all tight and rough.

“I’m sorry, Zac. I left. I had to get out of there.”

He said something under his breath I couldn’t understand.

God, I felt like an asshole. I should have at least warned him on the way out instead of just… leaving. “I’m sorry. I just got so mad. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was upset—I am upset….”

There was a pause, then a sigh over the receiver. “You goin’ home?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

Oh hell no. “No. No. It’s okay. Stay there. I’m fine. I’m just… sad and mad and want to think about stuff.” Maybe he wanted to go home and think about things too. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll go by the house. Deal?”

There was a beat of silence. Then I might have even heard him swallow hard. “Bibi—” he started to say before I interrupted.

“Promise.”

I managed to hear him breathe over the line.

“I just can’t believe what happened. I think I’m in shock a little, but I promise I’ll go by the house tomorrow. I’m fine. I’ll be home in like twenty minutes.”

He made another sound before, “Text or call when you get there?”

She had stolen this from me.

I had let her steal this from me.

I couldn’t believe it.

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Not really, darlin’.”

I feel you, I wanted to say but didn’t. “Tell me all the gossip tomorrow, okay? And I’m sorry you spent all this money on this costume and I barely got to wear it. I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry…” For being an idiot.

He hummed just as Trevor’s familiar voice said something in the background that I couldn’t understand—my cue to get off the phone.

“I’ll let you go. I’ll text you when I get home. Be safe, okay?”

His “yeah” was a little too simple, but I let it go.

“Bye.”

“Have your key ready when you get out of the car, ’kay?”

That brought a smile back onto my face.

This was the man who had loved me for half my life.

“Yeah, I will. Be safe too. Love you.”

His “Love you too, kiddo” was instant.

And I carried his words with me on the silent trip home and up the stairs and into my apartment. My hands felt like ice cubes, and my heart seemed to have grown to the size of a boulder inside of me. Something deep within my nasal cavity burned too.

I couldn’t fucking believe it.

I sucked in a breath through my nose as my eyes tickled and my chest hurt. I started peeling my costume off, the shoulder pads going first.

I had cried real tears because of how some insignificant asshole had made me feel.

The hoodie part of the catsuit went next.

I had lost ten years of friendship with someone I loved because of one person’s words and deeds.

One or two hot tears slipped out of my eyes, but I held the rest of them back.

I wasn’t going to cry over this. I wasn’t. I refused to.

I collected the pieces of the costume that Zac was going to need to return—or that I would probably offer to return since he had paid for the rental—and folded it neatly on the floor beside the door, wiping at my face once with the back of my hand. Back in my bedroom, I took a rinse in the shower while my eyes tried to tear up some more, and I had just managed to slip on a cropped tank top and pull some old leggings on when my doorbell rang.

Then a fist pounded at the door. “Bibi, it’s me.”

I froze.

That was when my cell phone started ringing from where I’d left it on the kitchen counter.

“Bianca?”

Shit!

“I can hear your phone. I’m worried about you.”

I wanted to tell him that I was fine and to go home, but I already knew how that

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