The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 58: Chapter 58 - His Room

”They’re not supposed to be home.”

Roxie’s whole body tightened.

For one stupid second, she just stood there beside the family portrait with her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands and her heart already climbing back into her throat.

Outside, another car door shut.

Zac moved first.

”Come on.”

He grabbed her hand.

Roxie barely had time to react before he pulled her away from the hallway and toward the stairs. His hand was warm around hers, rough from his split knuckles, and she let him drag her because the front door was too close and the foyer was too open and the Prescotts’ dead-eyed family portrait was suddenly watching this whole disaster happen.

”Zac,” she whispered.

”Quiet.”

”Excuse me?”

He glanced back at her, eyes wide now. ”Please be quiet.”

That was worse. Zac Prescott saying please under pressure felt like the emergency was now upgraded to federal level.

Footsteps sounded outside.

A key turned in the front door.

Zac practically hauled her up the last few steps.

Roxie’s shoes hit the polished stairs too loudly.

”They’re going to hear us,” she hissed.

”They won’t.”

They reached the second floor just as voices entered below.

A woman’s voice. Cool. Clear. Expensive.

Then a man’s, lower and sharper, the kind of voice that probably made rooms behave.

Zac’s grip tightened.

He pulled Roxie down the hall and opened a door at the end. He pushed her inside, followed her in, then shut it softly behind them.

For a second, they both just stood there.

Zac listened at the door.

Roxie listened too, even though she had no idea what she was listening for besides rich people footsteps.

Downstairs, the voices moved through the foyer.

Zac exhaled.

Then he turned to her. ”Stay here.”

Roxie stared at him.

Absolutely not.

”Are you leaving me?”

His eyes flicked to the door. ”Roxie.”

She hated the way her name sounded when he was trying to be reasonable. Like he was asking her to let go while her body still thought letting go meant ending up back in a corner.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

”I’m not leaving the house. I’m just going downstairs.”

”I know.”

His face changed.

The panic in her voice had embarrassed her, but she could not pull it back. It sat there between them, needy and ugly.

Zac softened fast. ”I’ll be right below you.” He reached for her hand, careful this time. His thumb brushed over her knuckles.

”Lock the door after I leave,” he said. ”Don’t open it for anyone except me.”

”Okay.”

Downstairs, something shut. A cabinet maybe. Or a door.

Then he was gone.

Roxie locked the door so fast the click sounded too loud. She stood there with her hand on the knob, breathing hard, waiting for someone to knock. Nobody did.

Roxie turned around.

And stared.

Zac’s room was ridiculous.

Of course it was.

It was bigger than her entire living room and probably half her kitchen combined. Maybe her whole house if you counted emotional damage as square footage.

A large bed sat against the far wall with dark sheets, a plain gray comforter, and too many pillows for someone who looked like he slept like he had been thrown onto furniture. A desk stood near the window, clean but clearly used, with a laptop, notebooks, and a row of pens in a cup. There was a gaming console under the TV, two controllers on the shelf, and a laundry hamper in the corner that was actually being used.

Suspicious.

One wall was lined with trophies.

Football, mostly. Little gold players in mid-throw. Plaques with his name. Team photos. Championship frames. A signed jersey behind glass. There were medals hanging from hooks and a few old baseball trophies shoved lower, like he had gotten bored of being good at that too.

Roxie walked closer despite herself.

ZACHARY PRESCOTT.

Most Valuable Player.

Offensive Captain.

Rising Athlete Award.

Of course.

The wall was basically a shrine to male approval. She liked it.

She looked around the room again.

It still felt like a boy’s room, at least. Finally, proof he was not completely generated by a country club committee. There were sneakers near the closet. A hoodie thrown over the desk chair. A half-open drawer with socks sticking out. A football on the floor. A bottle of cologne on the dresser. A black gym bag half-zipped with athletic tape spilling from one side.

The bed looked too big.

She avoided looking at it for longer than necessary, which immediately made her look at it again.

Great.

Her brain was broken.

Roxie moved toward the desk instead.

Then she saw the magazine.

It was half-open under a notebook, like someone had tried to hide it and failed at the easiest part. A glossy men’s magazine, folded to a page with a red-haired model stretched across a couch in something that was definitely not weather appropriate.

Roxie blinked.

Then slowly looked closer.

Red curly hair.

Pale skin.

A little sharp-faced.

She picked it up before she could talk herself out of it.

The door opened behind her.

”Okay, so—”

Zac stopped.

Roxie turned with the magazine in her hand.

His eyes dropped to it.

His ears went red so fast it was honestly impressive.

Roxie looked from his face to the page, then back to his face.

”Well.”

Zac shut the door behind him. ”That’s not—”

”Not what?”

”Give me that.”

He crossed the room too quickly and took the magazine from her hand.

Roxie let him because the color of his ears was the first good thing that had happened all morning.

He shoved it into a drawer.

The drawer did not close because a sock was in the way.

Roxie stared at him.

Zac stared at the drawer like it had betrayed him personally, then kicked it shut with his foot.

Smooth.

Very smooth.

”You like red hair,” Roxie said.

”What? No.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

”I mean yes.” His face got worse. ”No. I mean, obviously red hair is fine. It’s hair.”

”Hair.”

”Yes.”

”Very passionate review.”

”Can we not do this?”

”Oh, we absolutely can.”

”Roxie.”

”You have a type.”

”I do not have a type.”

”She had red curly hair.”

”A lot of people have red curly hair.”

”In your special reading material?”

He dragged one hand down his face and immediately winced because of his knuckles.

Roxie pointed at him. ”Careful, Playboy.”

His eyes widened. ”Do not call me that.”

A laugh slipped out of her.

It surprised both of them.

It was small and cracked at the edges, but it was real.

Zac froze for half a second like he did not want to scare it away.

Then his mouth twitched.

Roxie’s laugh faded, but the room felt different now. Still tense. Still too big. Still not hers. But the air had loosened a little.

Zac leaned back against the desk, blocking the drawer with his body like the magazine might escape.

Roxie narrowed her eyes. ”Was that yours?”

”Unfortunately.”

”So honest.”

”I’m too tired to lie.”

”Did Nathan give it to you?”

”No.”

”Dylan?”

”No.”

”Mason?”

”Definitely no.”

”So you bought it. That page was an eye opener.”

His ears somehow got redder.

She giggled again, softer this time, and then looked away because laughing felt almost wrong with last night still sitting inside her chest.

Zac noticed.

Of course he did.

His expression gentled. ”Hey.”

”I’m fine.”

He gave her a look.

She sighed. ”I am whatever is directly under fine.”

”That sounds more accurate.”

”What happened downstairs?”

He took the subject change.

”My parents got a call before they reached the ceremony. Nathan’s award thing got moved around because my dad’s being pulled into some veterans’ dinner tonight. They came back to change.”

Roxie stared. ”Your dad has award ceremonies too?”

”He’s a retired general. He has a whole calendar of people clapping for him.”

”That sounds exhausting.”

”It is, and I’m not even invited half the time.”

”Lucky you.”

”My mom disagrees.”

Roxie looked toward the door. ”So they’re here?”

”For now.”

Her shoulders pulled up.

Zac caught it. ”They’re leaving again soon.”

”And until then?”

”We stay up here.”

She looked around the room.

His room.

His closed door.

His bed.

Her face warmed before she could stop it.

Zac followed her gaze.

Then his ears went bright again. ”I mean sleep.” He pointed toward the bed, then looked like he regretted pointing. ”Just sleep. You didn’t really sleep last night.”

Neither did he, but she did not say that.

Her eyes moved to the bed again.

It was huge and neat and very obviously his. Dark sheets. Big pillows. The comforter pushed down slightly where he probably had slept before she called and destroyed his morning, his hand, possibly his life.

Sleeping in a boy’s bed should not have felt like the most terrifying part of the day after everything that had happened.

But somehow her face was hot.

Because it was Zac’s bed.

Because he was standing there telling her to get in it.

Because her brain, which had been useless for survival, suddenly had enough energy to be embarrassing.

Zac saw every single thought cross her face.

”Sleep,” he said, voice strained. ”Like unconscious. Eyes closed. Nothing weird.”

”Why would it be weird?”

”Roxie.”

”What?”

”Please don’t make me explain why telling you to get in my bed sounded bad.” He closed his eyes for a second. ”Just go to sleep.”

She crossed the room slowly.

The bed dipped when she sat on the edge. It was soft enough that she immediately hated how much she liked it. Her mattress at home had springs that complained every time she breathed. Zac’s bed felt like it had opinions about back support.

Rich people even slept rich.

Zac stood near the desk, watching her with his hands shoved in his pockets.

”You can use the pillows,” he said.

”I know how beds work.”

”Just checking.”

She pulled one pillow under her head. It smelled like him, clean and warm and faintly like whatever expensive laundry detergent his house probably ordered by last name.

She closed her eyes.

Opened them immediately.

”Stay with me?”

Zac looked at her then looked away. ”I’ll be here.”

Something in her chest eased.

She tucked her hands under the pillow because they had started shaking again and she did not want him to see.

”Sleep,” he said quietly.

Roxie watched him for a moment.

She wanted to say more.

She did not know how.

So she closed her eyes again.

This time, when the house made noises below, Zac stayed quiet in the chair. When footsteps passed somewhere down the hall, he did not move, but Roxie heard the chair creak like he had straightened.

Guarding the door.

She should have teased him for that.

She was too tired.

The pillow smelled like him. The bed was warm. The door was locked. Zac was close enough that she could hear him breathe.

Her body fought sleep for a while.

Then it lost.

The last thing she heard was Zac shifting in the chair and whispering, so quietly she almost missed it, ”No one’s getting near you.”