Something was fundamentally off about Zachary tonight.
Hazel realized it the moment she sat down. He was always quiet and stoic, but the heavy, suffocating silence radiating from him tonight felt entirely different.
She frowned, waving a hand in front of his face. "What's going on with you, Zachary?"
He suddenly snatched her wrist. The movement was blindingly fast, catching her completely off guard. The warmth of his fingers seeped into her skin; the rough, calloused pads of his fingers felt incredibly hot against her delicate wrist bone.
Hazel flinched, her instinct screaming to pull away. She jerked her head up, her gaze colliding with his in the humid night air.
The dim, hazy glow of the patio string lights cast shadows across his face, blurring his usually sharp features.
Hazel's breath caught in her throat.
He released her slowly. The ghost of his touch still burned against her skin.
He lowered his gaze, his thick lashes casting dark shadows over his cheeks. In all the time she'd known him, she had never seen him look so utterly broken.
A profound, drowning sorrow swirled in his eyes. He was deliberately using the alcohol to numb a very specific pain.
"What's wrong?" Hazel asked, her voice involuntarily softening.
Zachary tipped the bottle back, the amber liquid spilling slightly and trailing down his neck into his unbuttoned collar.
The alcohol was finally breaking through his ironclad defenses. A faint flush touched his cheeks, and a misty, unfocused glaze settled over his normally piercing eyes.
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle, tipping his head back to stare at the sky. The city's light pollution had dyed the night a murky, suffocating orange. There wasn't a single star in sight. It was bleak and oppressive.
Hazel watched him, feeling as though the man sitting across from her was a total stranger. The Zachary she knew never let a single stray emotion slip past his armor.
She pulled a napkin from the dispenser and slid it across the table.
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