The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 84: Chapter 84 - Ambush

Ethan hated leaving her at the gas station.

Roxie could tell by the way he kept one foot on the pavement, one hand on the handlebar, helmet hanging from his fingers while he looked at the road behind her like it had personally failed a safety inspection.

"I can take you closer," he said.

"No."

"It’s dark."

"It’s barely dark."

"It’s 9, Roxxane. I can’t just leave you here."

Roxie pulled the helmet off and handed it to him. "You sound like a dad in a commercial."

Ethan did not smile. "Roxxane."

"I said I’ll walk."

His jaw tightened, but he took the helmet. "At least text someone."

"I will."

"You won’t."

"Then why ask?"

He looked at her for a second, frustrated in a quiet way that made her feel worse than if he had argued. "Because I don’t want to leave you here."

Roxie adjusted her bag higher on her shoulder. The cash from Marco sat deep inside, folded twice, hidden in the pocket where she usually kept lip gloss. It felt heavier than money should.

"I know," she said.

Ethan waited.

Roxie looked away first. "The walk helps."

That was true.

A little.

Walking gave her body something to do besides feel cornered. Walking meant she did not have to sit still with Zac’s texts burning in her phone or Claire’s voice sitting in the back of her head saying soon like it was nothing.

Ethan finally nodded.

"Message me when you get home."

Roxie almost said she would.

Instead, she said, "Go before your uncle thinks I kidnapped his unpaid quarterback."

"I got paid in criticism."

"Sounds fair."

The joke barely landed.

Neither of them tried to save it.

Ethan put the helmet back on. "Call Marco if you can’t make tomorrow."

"I can make it."

He looked like he wanted to say more, then decided not to. Smart.

He started the bike.

Roxie stepped back from the curb.

Ethan pulled out of the gas station lot slowly, checked once over his shoulder, then disappeared down the road toward Fairmont.

Roxie stood under the gas station lights until the engine faded.

Then she started walking.

The road to her house was not far. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen if her legs decided to be dramatic. Tonight, they had every right. Her thighs ached from standing at the sink. Her shoulders hurt from leaning over dishes. Her hands smelled like soap no matter how much she had rinsed them, and fryer oil clung to her shirt like a second punishment.

Still, the walk was better than the ride.

Roxie shoved both hands into her hoodie pocket and kept going.

Her phone buzzed twice.

She ignored it.

A car passed.

Then another.

A dog barked behind a fence.

Normal evening things.

Roxie turned onto her street.

Then stopped.

Zac’s truck was parked near her house.

For a second, her brain refused to accept it.

The black truck sat under the streetlight like it belonged there, engine off, headlights dark. Big. Expensive. Familiar in a way that made her chest tighten before anger could catch up.

Then anger caught up.

"What the fuck," Roxie muttered.

She looked toward the house.

The front window was dim. Claire was probably inside. Or not. Maybe asleep. Maybe smoking in the kitchen. Maybe staring at the walls she had decided to sell.

Roxie took one step back.

The driver’s door opened.

Too late.

Zac got out.

He looked tired.

That irritated her immediately because he was not allowed to look tired. He was supposed to look guilty or stupid or easy to hate. Not like he had been sitting there for a while with both hands in his hair and too much going on behind his face.

"Roxie," he said.

She kept walking toward the house. "Go home."

He shut the truck door. "Where have you been?"

She stopped so fast her shoes scraped against the pavement.

Then she turned.

Zac stood a few feet from the truck, hoodie over his football shirt, hair messy like he had run his hands through it too many times. His eyes moved over her face, her bag, her damp shoes, the sleeves pushed over her hands.

Roxie’s temper snapped awake.

"Excuse me?"

His mouth tightened. "I’ve been texting you."

"I noticed."

"You didn’t answer."

"Wow. Mystery solved."

"Roxie."

"No." She pointed toward his truck. "Do not stand outside my house and ask me where I’ve been like you have any right."

His face flinched.

"I was worried," Zac said.

Roxie laughed once. "Really?"

His jaw tightened. "Yes."

"Didn’t look like it."

His eyes sharpened with confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means you texted after school was over. After everybody already knew. After the fight. After the office. After everything." Her voice rose, and she hated that too. "So what, Zac? You heard the story got interesting and decided to check if I was still breathing?"

He looked like she had hit him.

"I didn’t know everything," he said quietly.

"Of course you didn’t."

"I heard pieces."

"Then ask Janice. She probably heard more."

Zac’s face changed.

"Janice?" he asked.

She crossed her arms. "Don’t."

"What does Janice have to do with this?"

"I don’t know."

"You brought her up."

"Because apparently everyone else did first."

His mouth opened, then closed.

Guilt moved over his face before he could hide it.

Roxie saw it and got angrier.

"What?" she asked. "Was it true for five minutes?"

"No."

"Then why do you look like that?"

"Because I know what people are saying."

"Congratulations."

"And I know Bianca is doing this because of me."

Roxie went still.

Zac looked down for a second, then back at her. "I know."

Something in Roxie’s chest pulled tight.

She hated that he said it.

She hated that she had wanted him to say it.

She hated that it did not fix anything.

"You know?" she said, voice low now. "That’s amazing. Good for you. Very emotionally developed."

"Roxie—"

"No, really. You figured it out. Bianca hates me because of you. Angela is hiding in hoodies because of your ex. Karen got suspended because of your ex. My mom became a lunch rumor because of your ex." Roxie’s throat tightened, and she forced the words out harder. "And you get to stand here and say you know."

Zac’s face went pale under the streetlight.

"I’m sorry," he said.

She looked away.

That was worse.

Sorry was worse because it made her want to believe there was something he could do with it.

There was nothing.

"You should go," she said.

"I can’t."

Her eyes snapped back. "Yes, you can. You have a truck. It’s literally your whole personality."

"I’m not leaving while you look like this."

"Fuck off."

His jaw flexed. "I waited because I needed to see you."

"You needed?"

"Yes."

"Must be hard for you."

"Stop."

"No, you stop." She stepped closer. "Stop texting me after the damage. Stop showing up when I’m already too tired to fight you. Stop making it look like you care."

He stared at her.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

A car rolled down the street behind them, slow and nosy. Roxie waited until it passed.

Then Zac said, "It’s my birthday."

Roxie froze. "What?"

Zac swallowed. "Today."

Roxie stared at him.

Then it came back.

He mentioned his birthday was coming up, like it was not important.

Today.

His birthday was today.

Of course.

Of course he would show up on his birthday and make her feel like the villain for being furious.

Roxie’s chest tightened.

"Well," she said, because her mouth was faster than whatever was left of her heart. "I don’t have a present for you if that’s what you want."

His face shifted.

"No," he said quickly. "That’s not why I’m here."

"Then why are you here?"

He looked toward the truck.

Roxie followed his gaze.

Only then did she notice the paper bags on the passenger seat.

Two brown bags.

A drink carrier.

Something smaller in a white box.

Zac walked to the truck and opened the passenger door. Roxie stayed where she was, arms crossed so tight her shoulders hurt.

He pulled the bags out carefully, like they mattered.

"I was hoping you’d eat with me," he said.

Roxie blinked.

That was it.

That was the thing that cracked the anger in a place she did not want cracked.

Not flowers.

Not a speech.

Not some giant Homecoming-level performance that would have made her want to throw him into traffic.

Food.

"You brought food?" she asked.

He nodded. "You didn’t answer, and I thought maybe you hadn’t eaten."

Roxie’s throat tightened before she could stop it.

She had not eaten properly.

She had washed dishes for hours and taken cash from a man who paid weekly because she needed to start saving for a future that might not include a bedroom. She had ignored Zac’s texts because looking at his name made her want to scream and answer at the same time.

And he had brought food.

"I’m still mad at you," she said.

"I know."

"Like, extremely."

"I know." freewebnovёl.ƈom

"This does not fix anything."

"I know."

"And if you say I know one more time, I’ll make your birthday memorable for the wrong reason."

His mouth twitched. Zac stepped closer, slow enough that she could tell he was trying not to crowd her. "I’m sorry I was late."

Roxie’s jaw tightened.

"I didn’t know how to come near you without making it worse," he said. "And then I made it worse by not coming near you."

She hated that too.

Because yes.

Exactly.

He looked at her like he was bracing for impact. "I should have checked sooner."

Roxie swallowed.

Her anger still sat there.

It did not disappear because he looked guilty and brought food and remembered she might not have eaten. It did not disappear because it was his birthday and he looked tired under the streetlight. It was still there, hot and defensive, curled around everything Bianca had ruined.

But something else was there too.

That stupid, soft thing she kept trying to kill.

The one that remembered him fixing her hair.

The one that remembered his hands tying her bow.

The one that knew he had waited outside her house with dinner on his birthday because he could not get her to answer.

Roxie hated that thing most.

"I’m still mad."

"I know."

Roxie looked at him.

He caught himself. "Sorry."