The antiseptic stung worse than Evan's fist. Zac hissed through his teeth, jerking his hand away from the cotton ball soaked in alcohol. The nurse, a middle-aged woman with a permanent frown etched into her face, gave him a look that could have curdled milk.
"Sit still," she snapped. "You boys come in here with your busted lips and split brows every week and act surprised when it hurts. Hold still or patch yourself up."
Zac ground his jaw, swallowing down the urge to bite back. He wasn't scared of her, he wasn't scared of anyone, but right now, the pounding in his cheekbone made it clear that maybe, just maybe, Evan had gotten in harder than he'd thought.
"You gonna be long?" he muttered, voice dripping impatience.
The nurse dabbed again, and he forced himself not to flinch. "Not if you stop moving."
He sat there on the exam table, leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, knuckles raw and bloodied. He had excuses lined up if anyone asked; he'd fallen off his bike, gotten into a pickup game gone rough, hell, even just said the other guy started it. But the truth burned under his skin.
Evan.
His own second. The one guy who'd always backed him, always followed his lead. And tonight he'd stood in Zac's way like an enemy. The taste of betrayal sat bitter in his mouth, almost as bitter as the coppery tang of blood.
"You should ice that cheek," the nurse said, taping a small strip of gauze above his brow. "Otherwise, it's gonna swell ugly."
Zac snorted. "Ugly's not a problem I've ever had."
She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath about arrogant boys, then shoved the first-aid tray aside. "You're good to go. Try not to end up here again by tomorrow."
Zac slid off the table, grabbed his jacket, and slung it over his shoulder. His reflection in the mirror by the door caught him off guard. Split lip. Purple blooming along his jaw. A rougher version of himself stared back, and for a second, he almost didn't recognize the cracks beneath the surface.
He turned away before the thought lingered.
The halls outside the health unit were quieter than usual. Afternoon classes had just started, and the stragglers were rushing across campus. Zac's boots echoed as he walked, trying to shake off the leftover adrenaline. He should've gone straight to class, maybe met up with Hailey after, drowned the mess in attention and easy smiles.
But as he passed the women's restroom near the theater building, something caught his eye.
The door was ajar. Just barely.
And inside, laughter spilled out.
He almost ignored it. Almost kept walking. But then he heard a clear, sharp, unmistakable voice.
Leona's.
Zac froze mid-step. His pulse jumped. Against every rational thought, his head turned.
Through the narrow crack in the door, he saw her.
She stood in front of the mirror, her hair pinned up loosely, her body wrapped in pale fabric she was still adjusting. It wasn't a dress yet, it was halfway tried on, straps slipping, seams tugged into place. For a split second, his mind stuttered. She was in nothing but her bra and underwear, a simple set, black cotton hugging curves he'd never allowed himself to imagine so clearly.
Next to her, Lilly fussed with her own dress, tugging it over her head with a grunt of frustration, leaving her in a bright-red bra and shorts. They were both laughing, teasing each other, like the world outside didn't exist.
Zac's throat went dry.
He'd already stepped forward, almost without realizing it, until the shadows of the hall put him inches from the door. His hand hovered at his side, torn between slamming it open and backing away.
Instead, he did neither.
He leaned closer.
Not for Lilly. Not for the forbidden thrill of it.
For Leona.
The girl who made his blood burn when she looked at him with those furious eyes. The girl who stood up to him when no one else dared. The girl who had cried yesterday because of him—and still walked across campus today with her chin high.
Her body was right there, framed in the slice of the doorway. Soft skin. Strong shoulders. The faint curve of her waist.
His heart pounded so hard he swore it echoed in the tiled hall.
Lilly's voice cut through. "This one's too tight. I swear if I breathe wrong, the zipper's gonna explode."
Leona laughed softly. The sound made his chest ache.
"Try the blue one," she said, adjusting the strap of the dress she hadn't finished putting on. "It matches your eyes. And maybe… maybe don't pick the tightest one on the rack?"
"Ha!" Lilly snorted, shimmying out of the half-zipped dress. "Easy for you to say. You look good in literally everything."
Leona rolled her eyes. "That's not true."
"It's very true," Lilly shot back. "And if a certain someone wasn't such a—well, you know—you'd have a line of guys begging to take you to that party."
Leona's smile faltered. For a second, her reflection in the mirror darkened, her hands stalling on the fabric at her hips.
Zac's stomach twisted. He knew who Lilly meant.
Him.
The urge to storm in, to defend himself, to demand she look at him the way she did other people—it flared so strong he almost shoved the door open.
But he didn't.
He stayed rooted in place, watching her in silence.
His gaze traced the slope of her neck, the small scar on her shoulder he'd never noticed before, the way she bit her lip when she adjusted the zipper. Every detail burned itself into him, searing and sharp.
And for the first time in a long time, Zac felt something he didn't know how to name. Peeking through a crack in the door, too cowardly to do anything.
His hand curled into a fist at his side.
He should leave. Walk away. Pretend this never happened.
But his feet didn't move.
Instead, he kept watching, pulse hammering, as Leona turned slightly, her bare back reflected in the mirror. Her bra strap slipped down, and Zac's breath caught.
Lilly laughed again, breaking the spell. "Come on, Lee. If we're late to class, Professor Daniels will kill us both. Zip it and let's go."
Leona nodded, tugging the dress fully into place, covering the skin he hadn't realized he was memorizing.
And just like that, the crack in the door became unbearable.
Zac stepped back. Fast. His chest heaved, guilt and want twisting together like barbed wire. He shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to walk down the hall before either of them caught him lurking.
But the image of Leona in front of that mirror burned in his mind. His pulse still thundered as he slipped outside into the late afternoon air. He lit a cigarette, though he barely felt it between his lips. His thoughts weren't on the fight, on Evan, or even on the crowd that had turned against him.
They were on her.
And he knew with a cold certainty—
This obsession wasn't going away anytime soon.