51. Hendrix #2
As much as I can without hurting, I take The Black Panther up on his offer and curl around him, letting out a satisfied exhale as the cool fabric soothes my cheek.
“You can adjust the temperature to warm also.”
“Mhmmm…” I snuggle deeper into the pillow. “This is perfect.”
Archer remains quiet as I enjoy the first real comfort I’ve felt in days, and just as my eyes grow heavy, he says, “I’ll never lie to you again, Hendrix. I swear it.”
“I know you won’t, Arch.”
“Really? How?”
“Because I’ll punch that pretty face of yours if you do.”
“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Want me to let you sleep?”
“No…but I could use a little ASMR.”
Needing no further explanation, Archer lifts the blanket to slide behind me, gently resting his arm over my waist.
“Love you, bestie.”
“Right back at you.”
We remain this way for a while, with Archer’s warmth coating my back and the pillow’s coolness soothing my front. The perfect mixture from my Good Guy best friend. It’s why I don’t protest when his breaths even out and tiny snores begin rumbling past his lips.
“Hey, you.” A female voice comes from the door, and no turn of my head is needed to know who it belongs to.
Like Archer and Saint, Bex has been doing her part with apologies, but unlike with them, I found it a lot easier to avoid responding to hers. Not because I love Bex any less, just because her reasoning for keeping secrets was a lot less complicated than theirs.
She didn’t have a list of powerful families breathing down her neck like they did. The head of a mafia family trying to kill someone she loved like Saint did. Or arson being held falsely against her like Archer still does.
It may not be an ideal one, but Bex got her happy ending with Crayton, therefore had very little reason to lie about something that happened before mine began with Saint.
“Can I come in?” she asks after I greet her back.
This talk is not something I’m ready for, but what’s the point in denying? The universe has already decided today will be the day for apologies.
“Sure.”
When Bex appears before me, it’s with her holding out a care package full of trashy magazines, comic books, and snacks.
“Just a little something for you to pass the time.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
She nods, placing the gift down on the only empty space Mom left in my room—the floor—then gestures to a chair beside the bed.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Sure.”
A stretch of awkward silence passes between us as I lay here, watching Bex link and unlink her fingers on her lap. “So…how are you feeling?” she finally asks, keeping her voice low to not wake Archer.
“Like I was tortured for over an hour.”
Bex frowns. “I’m so sorry this happened to you…and for being a contributing factor.”
“I mean…you weren’t the one torturing me in a basement.”
“Just the catalyst that brought you there.”
Is this partly true? Yes.
But the lucid me knows breaking girl code doesn’t quite fall in line with going on a murder spree.
Carlo dying on the other hand…
“You should’ve told me,” I say honestly.
“I know, and I did try once I found out you and Saint were together. Even after you broke up. But then I spoke…” She clears her throat. “I realized I didn’t want you to hurt even more.”
“Saint told me about your conversation in the locker room, Bex.”
There’s a spark of relief in her bright eyes, but not enough to rid the guilt in them. “I didn’t want to sound like I was finding an excuse.”
“There is no excuse to find. Saint was wrong to make you feel bad about telling me what happened between you guys on your birthday. But you, as my best friend, should’ve known me better than to listen to him.”
“You’re right, and I swear if I knew you guys already hooked up it would’ve never happened. I would’ve found another way to cope.” Bex pauses, eyes glistening. “To be honest…I’d take back that whole dreadful night if I could.”
A slew of horrible memories from Bex’s eighteenth birthday put my heart in a chokehold, confirming how I’d sooner go back and die in that basement than ask her to relive her trauma for my sake.
So, after choosing my words carefully, I respond with, “I know how hard that night was for you, which is why I would’ve understood.
” Archer stirs, so I lower my voice to a whisper.
“You were the first friend I made in Riverside, Bex, and quickly became my best friend. This wasn’t from the process of elimination.
Or to avoid being alone. It’s because I felt like I could trust you.
” With a huff, I add, “Don’t you see? I’m not hurt by you hooking up with Saint. I’m hurt by your lack of trust in me.”
“I trust you with my life, babe. I swear it. I’ve just been a shit best friend lately.
” Bex climbs on the bed to sit next to me, then squeezes her hand over the one I have resting on the pillow.
“But please, is there any chance you’ll allow me to make it up to you?
I promise to be open, make more time for us, check in when I’m with Crayton. Everything. Anything.”
“You’re not a shit friend, Bex. You made a shitty decision. And as much as I can relate to shitty decisions, I just can’t give you an answer right now. I’m sorry.”
Tears full-on spring from her eyes, and she releases me. “Of course.”
“I do love you, though, babe. That hasn’t changed.”
“I love you so much too, Hendrix. I can’t imagine my life without you as a best friend…and hope I won’t have to.”
My eyes water too, and, like with my mom, the urge to hug Bex slowly creeps up on me.
“Just give me some time, yeah?”
Bex’s exhale is shaky, but she nods. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
More stirring comes from Archer, but this time he’s awake.
“Oh, hey Bex.” He grins sleepily. “What a coincidence that you showed up just after I subdued our fist-happy best friend.”
Of course.
Leave it to Archer to play the role of the universe.
Bex gives him a dry look. “Dude…you literally called me and told me to show up at eleven-thirty on the dot.”
“Yet there you were…showing up at eleven-thirty-five.”
I slap the arm he’s got draped over me. “So you were pretending to sleep?”
“I may be selfless, Hen, but not without a thirst for some tea.” He snorts. “Well, any tea except that nasty crap you were drinking.”
I’m about to use whatever annoyance I have to push the idiot off me, but familiar tingles erupt from my bones making me smile. Seconds later, his presence is at the doorway.
“Odd way to ask me to kill you, Good Guy, but yes I will,” Saint all but growls.
Archer groans, mid rolling off me as he says, “Oh yeah? You and what arm?”
Either Archer learned to fly, or Saint is using his only good arm to yank him off the bed. Judging by the curses spewing from my best friend’s tongue…I’d have to say it’s the latter.
Right before I attempt to roll over too, the mattress dips from Saint’s weight, holding me in place as he scoots to sit behind me.
As for Archer, he’s dusting off the arms of his Gucci hoodie at the foot of the bed.
As for Bex , she’s standing with an uncomfortable clearing of her throat. “I’ll, uh, give you guys some privacy.”
Saint pays her no mind, not quite intentional, but because he’s already amidst an examination of my head.
“Thanks for coming to check on me,” I tell Bex honestly, because I do appreciate the effort as difficult as it must’ve been for her.
“Of course, babe, I’ll text you later if that’s okay.”
My only response is a smile, unsure if I can continue the honest thing.
Guess time really will have to tell for us.
“Want me to stick around?” Archer asks, more to piss off Saint than anything else.
“Want me to follow through on your request to die, motherfucker?”
I chuckle, growing fond of the bickering between these two.
Especially knowing Saint, as much as he hates it, has zero intention on following through with anything other than egotistical threats against Archer.
“Have fun with your panther and broken caveman.” Archer winks at me, then, side by side leaves the room with Bex.
When I shimmy around to face Saint, I find him with his gorgeous blue eyes sharpening on the pillow. “I hope you enjoyed cuddle time with the panther, because I’ll be burning it.”
“You’re gonna burn my pillow for cuddling? Seriously?”
“That or Good Guy, baby. You choose.”
The fact he’s serious is not only hilarious, but downright concerning. Mostly for the pillow.
“You slept late today.”
“Nah.” Saint gestures his chin to the arm in a sling. “Just a meeting with the doc downstairs.”
A golf ball sized knot rises in my throat as I sit up. “What did he say?”
“Eh, nothing for your fine ass to worry about.”
“Saint…”
“ Jimi …”
“What’s the damage?”
Unlike me five nights ago, Saint was rushed to Thornvale to get his arm examined, which resulted in emergency surgery to repair his broken shoulder. The fear of him never being able to play football again has been eating away at me like a cancer ever since.
“Too soon to tell if there will be nerve damage, gotta wait for the swelling to go down.”
“Does he think you’ll be able to play again?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because playing football is the last thing on my mind right now, Hendrix. I’ll worry about that after I know you’re okay.”
The genuineness in his statement does nothing to ease the guilt of Saint practically asking a psychopath to hammer his throwing arm in an attempt to save me.
“I am okay, though.”
He shrugs. “Not as long as there’s still a bruise on your body.”
Exhaling a defeated breath, I switch the subject… kinda .
“How have you been feeling since…you know…”
“Since I bashed in a piece of shit’s skull and shot three guys in the head?”
“That’s the one.”
“Like I wish I could do it on repeat. You?”
Hiding all remnants of the doubt from earlier, I echo, “Like I wish I could do it on repeat…”
A smile tugs at Saint’s lips, but with a hint of dejection, making me wonder if, like me, he’s over playing nonchalance to hide his true feelings about what he did.