Chapter 23

Zach’s POV

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I received another anonymous text at 3 AM.

Sleep tight, pretty boy.

Paranoia clawed at my ribs every time I stepped into a hallway. The cold war with Ryder only made it worse. Every dodged glance in class, every unfinished slide in our shared drive, chipped away at what little sanity I had left. I couldn’t keep doing this. Not if I wanted to survive the semester.

I waited outside our Business Ethics lecture hall like a man waiting on his own execution. Students poured out. Ryder emerged last, backpack slung over one broad shoulder, jaw set in that permanent scowl he wore around. His eyes flicked to mine and narrowed.

I stepped into his path before he could slip away. “We need to talk.”

“Hallway’s not exactly private, Jameson.”

“Don’t care.” I kept my voice low, but the exhaustion bled through. Dark circles under my eyes probably gave me away. “This avoiding each other bullshit has to end today. Let’s finish the damn project like adults.”

Ryder stared at me, caught off-guard for once. The hallway noise faded around us, laughter, slamming lockers, distant chatter. His throat worked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.  We’ll be temporary allies. We get the stalker off my back, finish Staks’ rubric, and I can go back to pretending you don’t exist.” I crossed my arms, trying to look steadier than I felt.

He studied me for a long beat, something raw flickering behind his eyes. Then he exhaled. “Deal. I don’t know why, but I can’t let anything happen to you. Finding this asshole is just as important as the project now.”

The words landed heavier than they should. I nodded once, ignoring the twist in my gut. “My place or yours?”

“Mine. Neutral ground.” A ghost of his old smirk. “Plus there’ll be better coffee than that dorm sludge you drink.”

Ryder’s apartment felt different this time. Less of a battlefield, and more reluctant truce zone. He’d cleared space on the coffee table. Hockey gear pushed to the corner. Two laptops open, our shared doc glowing with half-finished sections. We settled in without the usual barbs flying.

The project rubric was a nightmare, Professor Staks wanted qualitative risk factors with specific weighting that made zero sense on first read. We dove in, shoulders hunched.

“This section’s garbage,” I muttered, highlighting half the page. “It’s all numbers and fluff with no data backing.”

Ryder leaned closer, scanning. “It’s not fluff if you tie it to the market volatility charts you pulled. But your weighting’s off. Here…” He reached across me for the mouse. Our arms brushed. Solid heat rising between us. I didn’t pull away fast enough.

We argued the rubric for forty minutes, but it lacked the old venom. Frustration was shared now, aimed at the assignment instead of each other. He caught a flaw in my Excel model I’d missed twice. I reworked his bullet points into something actually readable.

“You’re not half-bad at this when you’re not trying to piss me off,” he said at one point, voice almost casual. I snorted. “High praise from the guy who once thought ‘strategy’ meant body-checking opponents into the boards.”

He chuckled low. The sound did things to my chest I refused to examine. We kept working. Minutes stretched. The air between us thickened with every accidental touch of our knees bumping under the table, or our fingers grazing when passing notes. I caught myself staring at the line of his jaw, and the way his hair fell when he concentrated.

Fluke, I reminded myself. My brain was just bringing up old high school attraction I’d buried years ago. Ryder wasn’t gay.

But as we refined the executive summary, a different pull crept in.

When he stretched and his shirt rode up, exposing a strip of toned skin, something hot and unwelcome twisted in me. Even if he would never be mine, at least I could have that. For now.

I shoved the thought down hard. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t romanticize this.

“You okay?” Ryder asked suddenly, eyes sharp on my face. “You’ve been zoning out.”

“Fine. Just tired.” I rubbed my neck. “Another text this morning. It feels very unsafe in my room.”

His expression darkened. “You should’ve told me sooner. We’re doing this together now, remember?”

His protectiveness should’ve annoyed me. Instead, it settled somewhere warm and confusing. I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll forward the text.”

We wrapped the section just as the night crawled, painting the apartment in amber light. My bag felt heavier than when I arrived. The enmity had softened—just enough to scare me. Working with him like this, without the constant rage… it felt too easy. Too close.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, standing.

“Not necessary.”

“Part of the deal, Zach.”

We headed downstairs in silence. Outside, the evening air was cool, campus lights flickering on. I turned to say goodbye when my eyes caught it, a dark sedan lingering at the curb across the street. Tinted windows. Engine idling. No one getting in or out.

Ryder followed my gaze. His body went rigid beside me. “You see it too?”

“Yeah.” My pulse spiked. “It was there before.”

He stepped closer, shoulder brushing mine, scanning the street like he could intimidate the vehicle itself. The possessive tug I’d felt upstairs sharpened.

The car’s lights flashed once, then it pulled away slowly, disappearing around the corner.

Ryder’s jaw clenched. “We’re figuring this out. Soon.”

I swallowed, the weight of his presence, his promise, his stupid protective instinct pressing down on me. “Yeah. We are.”

I walked away without looking back, but his eyes burned into my back the whole way. The new alliance already felt like quicksand, pulling me under with every shared glance, every reluctant touch, every vow to protect what wasn’t mine to keep.

And the worst part? Some buried part of me didn’t want him to let go.