I raised my head. “What do you mean? You lived with him.”
“By chance. Tim and I needed a third roommate last minute, and he stepped in. We weren’t friends, Zara.”
“But he…” I shook my head, trying to clear my jumbled thoughts. “When we met in class, he said you’d told him all about me.”
Cormac turned his head, staring out the window. The corner of his jaw twitched, and his hands rubbed back and forth over his jeans.
“The day he moved into the apartment, you texted me. I guess I was smiling at my phone because he asked about it. All I gave him was your name and that you were my best friend.”
“And then he found me,” I whispered, filling in the rest. “He sat down beside me in class, and when I told him my name, he was almost giddy. I thought it was because he liked me. But…it was because he knew I was yours…and he—”
“You weren’t mine,” he bit out, then slowly exhaled. Facing me again, he nodded. “I don’t know what went on in his mind. I’m going to guess meeting you was a coincidence, but going after you once he did was a calculated effort.”
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “God, I wasted so much time with him, and for what—a game? I’m a real idiot.”
“Hey. You aren’t.” He reached across the cab and gently squeezed my shoulder. “I don’t doubt he loved you. How could he not?”
The words were soft. Earnest.
And they wrecked me.
Without thinking, I tilted my head and brushed my cheek against his wrist, chasing the comfort the way I used to when we were teenagers and the world felt too sharp. His skin was warm and familiar.
“I can’t believe you’re still defending me,” I said. “After everything.”
His hand stilled on my shoulder.
“That’s really, really sweet of you to say,” I went on, my voice wobbling despite my attempt to steady it, “but it’s okay to admit I was stupid.”
He huffed out a breath, pulling his hand back. Not abrupt but deliberate, and the loss was immediate. Despite the day’s heatshining through the windows, cold air rushed in where he’d been.
“Don’t think you’ll ever hear me saying that.”
I studied him. The way he shifted toward the door. The way his shoulders squared, like he was bracing against something—againstme.
A slow, nauseating realization began to bloom in my chest.
All those years, I’d carried this version of him in my head that had been entirely fabricated. I’d made up this whole story of being such a terrible friend to him, I’d caused him to hate me so much he’d tried to sabotage my wedding.
That wasn’t what had happened.
Not even close.
He’d been trying to protect me.
And I’d chosen Jackson anyway.
“I’m sorry.” But the words felt too small for the weight of what I’d done. “For believing the worst about you. For shutting you out. For”—my throat closed—“not even asking.”
He gave me a sharp nod. “It’s water under the bridge now.”
It wasn’t. I could see that. Water under the bridge wouldn’t have made him withdraw from me, and the space between us felt as barren as the Arctic. As icy too.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I said quietly.
“Look,” he said, his voice rougher now, “I’m glad we cleared the air. It’s good for both of us.” He turned the key in the ignition, and even though I wasn’t ready to leave yet, the engine roared to life. “Makes it easier to move on.”
Move on.