Chapter 8
Iwake up feeling like my head’s been used as a kick drum during one of Leo’s solos—pounding and way too loud. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light and the unfamiliar surroundings.
This isn’t my cabin. The walls are a soft yellow, there’s a vanity cluttered with makeup and jewelry, and then it hits me—I’m in Gracie’s bed.
Panic and pain laces through the hangover as I sit up too quickly and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Fuck,” I groan, my hand going to my pounding head. Why am I here?
“Gracie?” My voice is rough, barely above a whisper. No answer. I check the clock on the microwave as I stumble into the living room. It’s 10:30AM. Shit.
I run a hand through my hair, cursing myself. How did I end up here? What did I do?
Without another thought, I see my keys on the kitchen counter and make for the door, heading back to my cabin. The drive is a blur, my mind racing faster than the engine’s hum. Once there, I take the longest, hottest shower I can stand, trying to wash away the remnants of last night’s stupidity.
Freshly showered and dressed, I can’t shake the feeling of dread. I need to apologize to Gracie. But first, I need peace offerings—her favorites from Sophie’s café.
When I walk into The Sugar Drop, Sophie gives me a look that’s part amusement, part pity.
“Rough night, rockstar?” she teases as she hands over a bag filled with blueberry muffins and a to-go cup of the strongest coffee they’ve got.
“Don’t start,” I grumble, but I can’t help the grateful smile. “Just remind me never to slow dance with good ol’ Jack all alone.”
Sophie nods, her expression softening. “Go fix it, Connor. She’s worried about you.”
My heart stills; Sophie knows something. After paying, I take the bag and the coffee, and head to Chapter One.
My hands are shaking slightly, either from the hangover or the nerves, I can’t tell. I push open the door, the familiar bell chiming above me.
Gracie’s at the counter, and when she sees me, her cheeks bloom with color. It’s like a punch to the chest, realizing she’s embarrassed—because of me. My heart sinks even lower… What the fuck did I do to her? What did I say?
“Hey, Tink,” I start, keeping my voice low, hoping it doesn’t crack. “I brought you breakfast.”
She looks at the bag and then at me, her expression a mixture of surprise and something I can’t quite read. “You didn’t have to do that, Connor, but thank you.”
We stand there, the space between us charged with unspoken words. I need to clear the air. So, I set the bag down, taking a deep breath.
“I’m sorry for last night. I didn’t mean to... I mean, I shouldn’t have come to your apartment like that.”
She takes a deep breath, her fingers idly playing with the edge of the paper bag. “You don’t have to explain.”
I sigh, feeling even worse than before. “But I do. I’m sorry. I was drunk, and I shouldn’t have—“
“Connor,” she interrupts, her tone firm. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks. “I just... I was alone at the cabin… alone with my thoughts, and I just needed to quiet my head for a while. I didn’t mean to end up drunk on your bed.”
She reaches over the counter and touches my hand. “You could have come to me before, Con,“ she says, but I shake my head. “And not only that, but you were reckless driving that drunk!”
I blanch at this, remembering just how her mother… fuck. “Shit, you’re right,” I say, feeling the blood drain from my face. “That was careless of me… fuck, Tink, I am so sorry.”
“Connor—“
“No, I am a fucking idiot,” I shake my head. “I just don’t want to waltz back into town and put my problems on you. There’s no way I’m going to be that needy friend, you don’t deserve that after months of not seeing you.”
That is the worst thing I could do, and now she’s definitely more worried about me.
“But that’s what friends are supposed to do. You were there for me when my mom died, Con. You didn’t have time to come back here, and you did,” she says, biting her lip. “You were pretty out of it when you crashed into my bed, though. Anything you want to tell me?”
I can’t meet her eyes, can’t bear to see the judgment or the worry. “Gracie, I...”
But she’s already shaking her head. “You don’t have to say it, not if you’re not ready.”
I want to tell her everything—about Ava, about Ty, about how messed up everything is. But instead, I just mutter a soft, “Thanks.”
Gracie nods, accepting my apology with a grace I know I don’t deserve. “Eat some breakfast, Connor. You look like you could use it.”
I follow her gesture to the couch, taking a seat as she joins me, placing the muffins and coffee on the small table in front of us. She’s watching me, a question in her eyes, but she doesn’t ask it out loud.
I take a bite of the muffin, the familiar taste grounding me. “I’m really sorry, Gracie. For everything.”
She reaches over, her hand covering mine, her touch gentle. “I know you are, and I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”
But it’s not enough. Not for me. “Did I... did I do or say something to you last night? I kinda feel like I made a fool of myself.”
Gracie’s blush deepens, and she bites her lip. It’s a telltale sign, and my heart sinks further. “Oh, fuck, I did, didn’t I?”
“You might have mentioned… something,” she breathes.
I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Gracie, I—“
“It’s okay,” she says quickly. “You were drunk. People say things they don’t mean when they’re drunk.”
“But I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. You mean too much to me, Gracie. More than I can probably say.”
She holds my gaze then, and there’s a warmth there that eases some of the tightness in my chest. “I’m not uncomfortable, Connor. Just... surprised, I guess.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Surprised?”
She nods. “You’re not usually so open about... things.”
I let out a half-hearted chuckle. “Guess whiskey’s good for something,”
“Maybe,” she says, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “But I prefer you sober. You’re less dramatic.”
“Dramatic, huh?” I quirk an eyebrow, leaning against the table. “Guess I’ll have to work on that.”
We eat in silence for a little while, but the blush on her cheeks doesn’t go away. It gnaws at me that she still seems uncomfortable around me, so I push.
“So, you’re going to tell me what I said, or do I have to guess?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light.
She hesitates, then meets my eyes. “You said... you’ve thought about what it would be like… to wake up with me.”