Page 35 of Simply You & Me

Yet, my silly ginger doesn't make a move to show he heard me. "Tate! Wyatt, please!" Nothing. Not even a twitch or a hesitation. "ZACH! I swear I'll stop! PLEASE COME BACK!"

Zach stops walking. My heart lurches, reaching out for his understanding and guidance. I need him like I need air. He can help me. Zach will help me be better. I swear I'll be better. I just need him. I need them.

His scruffy jaw angles until it's visible over his shoulder. There's not a smile in sight, just a cold mask that makes me splinter. "Nobody plays with broken dolls."

I shatter. My jagged pieces hit the ground. My porcelain skin clatters and detonates into tiny pieces that can never be recovered. I am what Zach said… A broken doll.

Fire licking up my throat and scorching my eyeballs has nothing on the offensive alarm blaring from my bedside table.

"Oh fuck!" I hiss, kicking the blankets off my sweaty limbs. Clambering off the bed, saliva pools in my mouth and I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit out the meager contents of my tummy. "Fuuuuck," I groan, tears streaming down my face.

My bare knees flare painfully, telling me I hit the tiles too hard. My body convulses like it's demanding my damn attention. I heave until nothing but spit drips from my mouth. Grunting, I fall back against the cupboards and listen to the soothing sounds of the toilet flushing. Yes, soothing. It's better than the garbled sounds that were coming from me and my raging alarm from the other room.

My bare ass protests as I scooch around to rummage through my drawers for some mouthwash. In a pair of my coziest panties and, looking down, I see I'm wearing the black shirt Zach had on last night. It smells faintly of fire and his usual sandalwood scent.

Ignoring the strange attire, I crack the bottle and swish around some much-needed mouthwash. I gag a bit at the strong taste and spit it out in the toilet beside me.

I hang my head, catching sight of my bandaged leg. Fuck, last night was a lot. Bits of my nightmare assault my mind so much that my lip wobbles, even if it wasn't true. The guys didn't react like that in the slightest, and I know Mom and Dad would never think of me like that. I think.

More tears tickle my cheeks as I remember how the conversation with the guys truly went after they cleaned me up.

Tate was quiet on Wyatt's lap. I felt horrible, I still do, about how I triggered him. Wyatt looked at both Tate and me with a look so soft I didn't realize he was capable of it. Julian continued being the calming presence, even though I could literally see him vibrating. Yet, his thumb rubbed soothing circles on my palm while Zach stared me down.

Multiple times, Zach's mouth opened and closed like he wasn't sure what to say. Finally, he rasped out, "You can't do this to yourself anymore, Doll. I-I can't take it. Fuck, I'm so scared."

I sat there in silence, confused and really fucking exhausted. When I looked around at all the guys, their terror and sadness were vivid enough for anyone to see. We sat in silence while I tried to gather my thoughts. Their emotions and stares were absolutely fucking suffocating. It was an intervention and one I didn't think would ever change anything.

"Please, Lynnie."

It was Tate who reached me, though. I didn't promise anything, nor did I say a word. I gazed into Tate's red-rimmed eyes from across the room and saw the torment I was causing him. There was no judgment in his bright blue eyes, only concern, care, and fear.

Instead, I gave Tate a gentle nod and allowed my body to sink against Julian. It wasn’t an agreement, it was simply ‘I hear you’. Sleep must have claimed me because the only thing I remember after that is the damn nightmare and vomiting my guts up.

Distantly, I realize my alarm is off now. A rumbly voice punctuates a soft noise from my bedroom. "Knock, knock."

I gasp a little, but other than that, I have zero fucking energy to care that Zach is somehow in my apartment. My head lulls against the cupboards until I'm facing the doorway where a shirtless Zachary stands. I'm stuck on his firm pecks and deep V pointing into his low-slung black sweatpants when he moves into the bathroom. His abs are subtle, but I think I love it. I don't need someone completely ripped and showcasing each muscle at every moment. I mean, hell, Zach might as well take up every inch of my bathroom with his dominant energy and thick body.

My view of his body folds in on itself when he crouches beside the toilet. His furrowed brow and pinched pink lips enter my vision. Lust fades away, replaced by a ball of emotion filling my throat until all that comes out is a whimper.

The pathetic sound sends Zach into motion, and before I can even blink, he's the one on the cold tile while my butt is firmly placed on his warm thigh. "Shh, Dolly. What's wrong? You not feeling so good, huh?"

I shake my head, more tears falling loose. "I lost all my food," I whine. "And the ho-hot cocoa wasn't so good on the way back out." His soft chuckle soothes me, the vibrations of his chest almost like a purr.

"Want to shower?" he asks, running a large hand down my spine. I nod slightly, Zach's question making me realize how gross I feel with layers of dried sweat coating my chilled skin.

In one swift movement, Zach stands and swings me around so my butt plops on the counter. My squeak of shock at the movement and cold countertop makes him chuckle again. It's a sound I could get used to. I watch as he slides open the shower door and cranks the heat, waiting till he's satisfied with the temperature.

"I brought you home after you fell asleep on the couch last night. I couldn't bring myself to leave, so I crashed on the couch. Gabby and Peanut had a sleepover at her place last night, so it's just us for a little while," Zach tells me. "Let's get you warmed up."

My breath catches when he reaches for the hem of my shirt—his shirt. "What are you doing?" I question hesitantly.

His hands stall, and he quirks a dark eyebrow at me. "Helping my dolly shower."

My protests die on my lip as his hot fingertips graze my sides, slowly lifting the T-shirt. Zach gives me time to stop him, but instead, I lift my arms and fight down the urge to cover my small breasts.

"Beautiful," he breathes once he tosses the fabric away.

I snort. "I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy, Zach." My cheeks heat at my admission, yet I hold his stare, not shying away when his gaze turns thunderous. Oops.

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