The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 85: Chapter 85 - His Birthday, Her Bedroom

He caught himself. ”Sorry.”

Roxie should have told him to leave.

She had the words ready. Go home. Take the food. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making it hard to stay mad when staying mad was the only thing keeping her upright.

But he stood there with the paper bags in his hands, tired and guilty and way too careful with her, and Roxie felt herself giving in before she even decided to.

That made her angrier.

Because she wanted to be stronger than fries and an apology. She wanted to be the kind of girl who could shut the door in his face and feel powerful about it.

Instead, all she could think was that he had come on his birthday.

He had waited.

He had brought food because he thought she might not have eaten.

And she was starving.

Roxie looked toward the street, then toward the house.

This street was too quiet when it wanted to be. Too dark in the wrong places. Too full of people who noticed everything and helped with nothing.

”We can’t stay out here,” she muttered.

Zac’s eyebrows pulled together. ”What?”

”Come inside.”

He went still.

Roxie immediately regretted the way it sounded.

”Not like that,” she snapped.

”I didn’t say anything.”

She glared at him.

His mouth twitched again, but he did not push it. Smart. He grabbed the bags and followed her toward the porch.

Roxie unlocked the door quietly, even though there was no real point. Claire could sleep through storms, sirens, and her own daughter falling apart in the kitchen. The door opened with a tired creak that made Roxie wince.

The living room smelled like cigarettes, old perfume, and the sour trace of something spilled and never fully cleaned.

Claire was passed out on the couch.

One arm hung off the edge. Her hair was half over her face. The TV was on mute, blue light flashing over her cheek every few seconds. An empty glass sat on the coffee table beside a crushed pack of cigarettes.

Roxie froze in the doorway.

Zac stopped behind her.

For one awful second, she waited.

For him to say something.

For him to look shocked.

For him to ask if Claire was okay.

For his face to change in that way people’s faces changed when they saw something Roxie spent her entire life trying to keep behind closed doors.

But Zac said nothing.

He just shifted the paper bags to one hand and waited.

That made her throat tighten worse than a comment would have.

Roxie stepped inside. ”My room.”

Zac followed her down the hallway.

She hated the hallway. The faded walls. The laundry basket near the bathroom. The cracked picture frame Claire never fixed. Every detail felt louder with Zac there, like the house had decided to embarrass her personally.

Roxie opened her bedroom door and walked in first.

”Don’t judge the mess,” she said.

Zac looked around.

Her room was not really messy. Not compared to the rest of the house. There were clothes folded on the chair, school papers on the desk, cheer bows hanging from the mirror, a water bottle near the bed, and a pair of sneakers kicked under the dresser.

It looked lived in.

It looked like the only room in the house trying to survive.

”I’m not judging,” he said.

He set the bags on the bed because there was nowhere else to put them.

Roxie shut the door behind him.

Then Claire made a sound from the living room, a low mumble that did not turn into words.

Roxie closed the door fully.

The click sounded too loud.

Zac looked at it.

Then at her.

Roxie pointed at him. ”Don’t make that face.”

”What face?”

”The face boys make when a door closes and they forget how to act.”

His ears went faintly red.

”Food,” she said, because if she did not talk, she might think.

Zac sat on the edge of the bed, leaving space. Roxie sat cross-legged near the pillows, grabbed one of the bags, and opened it. Fries. Burgers. Two drinks. A white cupcake box.

Her stomach reacted before her pride could.

Zac noticed, but he had enough survival instinct not to mention it.

They ate quietly for a minute.

Roxie took a bite of burger and realized she was hungrier than she wanted him to know. The food sat heavy and warm in her chest, and that annoyed her too, because apparently even basic nutrition could become emotionally complicated if Zac Prescott delivered it on his birthday.

He watched her from the corner of his eye.

”Stop,” she said.

”I’m not doing anything.”

”You’re watching me eat like I’m a charity commercial.”

He looked down at his fries. ”Sorry.”

”You’ve got to stop saying that tonight.”

”I know.”

Roxie’s eyes narrowed.

He caught himself again and lifted both hands. ”I understand.”

”Better.”

He ate one fry, then looked at her bag near the desk. ”Where were you?”

Roxie froze.

The burger suddenly felt too big in her mouth.

She chewed slowly, swallowed, and wiped her fingers on a napkin. ”Out.”

”Roxie.”

She gave him a bright, fake smile. ”Wow, that was so helpful. You said my name and now all my secrets are legally required to come out.”

His jaw tightened. ”I’m asking because it’s nine and you came from the gas station smelling like fryer oil.”

Roxie looked down at her shirt.

Then back at him. ”That is deeply rude.”

”It’s true.”

”Truth can be rude.”

”Where were you?”

She leaned back against the wall. ”Work.”

Zac blinked. ”Work?”

”Yes, Zac. Some people do that when they get suspended because someone’s ex-girlfriend made their school life unlivable.”

His face tightened.

She should have stopped.

She did not.

”Ethan found me a job.”

The change was immediate.

Tiny, but Roxie saw it. His shoulders went a little stiff. His eyes sharpened, not angry exactly, but alert in a way that made something mean and satisfied curl inside her.

”Ethan,” he said.

Roxie lifted her brows. ”Yes.”

”The Eagles guy?”

”The Eagles guy has a name.”

”I know his name.”

”Then use it.”

Zac looked at her. ”He found you a job?”

”At his uncle’s restaurant.”

”And you went with him?”

Roxie stared.

There it was.

She should have been more irritated than pleased.

She was both.

The pleased part made her want to throw herself out the window.

”He was my classmate in elementary,” she said. ”Not a criminal recruiter.”

”I didn’t say he was.”

”You said his name like he was a serial killer.”

Zac looked away. ”I just didn’t know you were with him.”

”You don’t know a lot of things.”

His eyes came back to her.

The room felt smaller.

Roxie took another fry because she needed something to do with her hands. ”Are you jealous?”

Zac’s mouth opened.

Then closed.

Roxie laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. ”No way.”

He looked at her.

She stopped laughing.

”Are you?”

His jaw worked.

Then he said, ”Yes.”

Roxie went still.

That one word landed wrong.

Or right.

She did not know anymore.

It went straight through the anger and hit something softer, which made the anger come back harder.

”You don’t get to be jealous,” she said.

Zac’s eyes narrowed. ”I know.”

”No, you don’t. You really don’t.” She shoved the fries down between them. ”You don’t get jealous when I’ve spent the whole week getting dragged because of you.”

His face went pale again.

”You want to be jealous of Ethan?” she asked. ”Fine. Be jealous. At least he showed up before nine o’clock. At least he got me something I could use instead of texting me after the whole school decided I was a walking scandal.”

Zac’s voice dropped. ”I didn’t know how bad it was.”

”You keep saying that like it makes it better.”

”I’m not saying it makes it better.”

”Then stop saying it.”

He looked down at his hands, then back up. ”Okay.”

”And Janice?” Roxie snapped before she could stop herself. ”Were you just not going to mention that part?”

”What part?”

”The part where everyone thinks you’re taking her to Homecoming.”

”I’m not.”

”You expect me to believe that?”

”Yes.”

”Why?”

”Because it’s true.”

Roxie laughed, but it had no humor in it. ”That’s cute.”

”I didn’t ask Janice.”

”She was at your table.”

”A lot of people were at my table.”

”I’m sure she didn’t stand there without invitation.”

Zac stared at her.

Then his expression shifted.

Slowly.

Roxie did not like it.

”What?” she snapped.

”Are you jealous?”

”No.”

”You sound jealous.”

”I sound pissed.”

”You can be both.”

”I can also punch you.”

His mouth twitched and vanished fast when her glare sharpened.

”I didn’t ask her,” Zac said again, softer this time. ”I didn’t ask anyone.”

Roxie looked away.

Her chest was doing something stupid again.

”People said you did,” she muttered.

”People say a lot of things.”

”Yeah. I noticed.”

He flinched.

Whatever.

Zac leaned forward, elbows on his knees. ”I should’ve told you before anyone else could make it into a rumor.”

”Told me what?”

”That I wasn’t going with her.”

Roxie’s eyes cut back to him. ”Why would I need to know?”

”Because you care.”

”I don’t.”

”You do.”

”I don’t.”

”Roxie.”

She hated that he sounded so sure.

She hated more that he was right.

Her voice went low. ”You don’t get to say that like you know me.”

”I do know you.”

”No, you know the parts I let you see when you sneak around the edges of my life.”

”That’s not fair.”

”Neither is Bianca.”

The room went quiet.

Zac looked at her, and this time there was no comeback. No apology trying to climb out of his mouth before it knew where to go.

Just him.

Looking at her like she had said something he deserved.

Roxie’s anger wobbled.

She hated that too.

Zac set his food down and moved closer. Not much. Just enough that the space between them changed.

Roxie’s body noticed before her brain approved it.

His eyes flicked to her mouth.

Roxie’s pulse kicked. ”Stop.”

The room was suddenly too warm.

Her bed was too small. The door was too closed. The house was too quiet except for the TV still flashing light under her door from the living room.

Zac’s voice was low. ”I’m not doing anything.”

”You’re thinking about it.”

His eyes lifted back to hers.

For once, he did not deny it.

Roxie swallowed.

She was still mad. She was exhausted. She smelled like fryer oil. Her mother was passed out on the couch. Zac had brought birthday food, denied Janice, admitted jealousy, and somehow managed to make her want to throw something at him and kiss him in the same five minutes.

This was exactly why he was dangerous.

Not because he tried hard.

Because he did not have to.

Zac’s knee brushed the blanket near hers as he shifted closer, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted.

She should have wanted.

She definitely should have wanted.

Roxie lifted her chin. ”If this is your birthday strategy, it’s terrible.”

His mouth softened. ”I thought my strategy was food.”

”It was. Then you got ambitious.”

”Is it working?”

”No.”

The answer came out too quiet.

Zac heard it.

His gaze dropped again.

Roxie’s fingers curled in the blanket.

A sound came from the living room, Claire shifting on the couch, and both of them froze.

The moment cracked.

Almost.

Zac did not move away.

Neither did Roxie.