Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
I fell asleep with Nash’s cock still buried inside me.
So when I wake to darkness and a cold bed, alone, it’s no wonder I’m somewhat surprised.
The darkness is already causing my head to spiral, threatening to push me into a full-blown flashback slash panic attack.
I jump off the bed and almost make a dive roll for the light switch and bang my little toe on the dresser while doing it, cursing under my breath.
However, the light flickers on, and I can already feel the fear ebbing away.
Thank fuck.
Sitting on the edge of the bed panting, I rub my little toe and realize I’m naked as what I did with Nash comes rushing back to me.
I shouldn’t have.
Allowing him to have his second ride was just plain stupid.
But also so damn good.
Of course, he’s not here. He fled the scene as soon as possible, which tells me everything I already knew would happen.
He got his joyride, and now I’m not interesting anymore.
He proved himself to his buddies, and I’ll definitely hear about how he was able to fuck me again from my coworkers.
Let’s hope that doesn’t make the others think I’m easy.
Their eyes on me are one thing, but their propositioning me is another.
I slip into my leggings, a shirt, and Saylor’s green hoodie, ready to try to sleep again, but my head hurts, and my mouth is parched.
Probably from all the tequila.
I need a glass of water.
Opening the door to my room as silently as possible, I gaze out into the dark and silent hallway. Nobody seems to be awake, so I grab my phone to light the way, noticing it’s already after three a.m., and I have two new text messages.
Nobody ever texts me. I furrow my brows as I open them, the first is from Tally.
Tally
North went after you, and Nash followed a few moments later. Since Hunter is home, I need the tea tomorrow about that hat trick.
And the second one is from Tim, coming in just a bit later.
Tim
WE need to know.
I snort with amusement.
Tally will love what just happened.
I don’t know how Tim will react because Nash obviously isn’t reformed, and I may have ruined his dream.
Not that it was a possibility in the first place.
I make my way down the hall and switch on the kitchen light, thinking it shouldn’t rouse anyone in their rooms. I grab a glass from a cabinet and fill it with water from the tap, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking out the window in front of me.
The street lamps cast a somber glow on the left-over snow outside, and the frigid temperatures show no sign of relenting.
“You know, you could just ghost him.” Saylor’s voice startles me as it comes from behind me, making me jump and nearly drop the glass.
I take a deep breath and turn to look at him. “Dammit, Casper.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, and the hurt is evident when his eyes find mine.
“What are you even talking about?” I ask, setting the glass down, feeling uneasy about the frustration coming off him.
“Nash,” he replies, his voice low, and his eyes drop to the floor. “I popped in to him sneaking out of your room.” I cringe, twisting my mouth. “He’s my brother, Slo, and I love him, but he doesn’t fucking deserve you. He’s playing with you.”
“I know,” I admit, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“Then why did you let him in your bed? Why did you fuck him again?” Saylor’s emotions hit me like a wave, and I feel the sting of his words deep in my chest. There’s a tightness gripping my heart, not just from the truth in his words but from the pain I see reflected in his eyes.
It’s like looking into a mirror, seeing my own conflicted feelings staring back at me, magnified by his frustration.
I wrap my arms around myself, a meager shield against his concern. His words are a reminder of my own weakness, echoing the internal battle I’ve been fighting. I want to be angry, to defend my actions, but his pain is too raw, too real, and it resonates with the emptiness I’ve tried to ignore.
I bite my lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. “I… I don’t know. I can’t help how he makes me feel. It wasn’t planned, okay? I wanted to resist, but it was the situation, and—”
“The tequila?” he interjects, raising an eyebrow, his tone sharp.
I could lie, but I choose honesty, my own frustration mounting. “Even if I was sober, I’m not sure I would have acted any differently.”
Saylor scrunches up his nose, and I release a long sigh, sensing the tension escalating between us.
“Why would you do that, Slo?” Saylor’s voice is strained, his fists clenched at his sides.
“I get the first time it happened. You didn’t know each other, and one-night stands are a thing, but you know him now.
You know he’s a player. You know he doesn’t give a fuck about you.
How many times are you going to let him use you? ”
A surge of anger and defensiveness comes to the surface. “You don’t understand. It’s not that simple. And if anything, I used him right back.”
Saylor’s eyes flash with frustration. “Then explain it to me! Help me understand why you get back with him, even when you know it’s wrong.”
I can see the protective instinct raging behind his eyes. It’s not just frustration—it’s fear. Fear for me, fear that I’ll get hurt beyond repair.
Tears well up in my eyes as I struggle to find the right words.
“I’m lonely, Saylor. And he makes me feel less lonely, just for a few hours.
I know I shouldn’t let it happen, and I should be stronger.
I should leave as fast as possible. But it’s so nice not to be lonely for once.
Even if it will hurt in the future. Or maybe even tomorrow. ”
Saylor’s anger seems to waver, replaced by a deep sadness.
“You’re not alone, Slo,” he whispers, taking a step closer and reaching out to hold my shoulders.
A warm, tingling sensation runs through me as he does.
“We have each other. I’ve got you, and I swear I won’t hurt you.
Not today, not tomorrow, never. Isn’t that enough? ”
I lower my head. “I can’t just turn off my feelings. And you, you’re going to move on. You will leave me someday. Because that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
Saylor’s shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair, clearly torn. Guilt gnaws at me for sleeping with Nash again, even though I could sense it would hurt Saylor. I could tell while we were dancing. Yet here he is, still telling me he’s here for me.
“I just hate seeing you with someone who doesn’t value you,” Saylor mutters, furrowing his brows.
I hate that I’m the cause of that look in his eyes, the one that’s a mixture of disappointment and concern. I hate that I’ve made him feel helpless, that I’m adding to his burdens when he’s already got enough of his own.
I take a deep breath. “I know, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Saylor.”
I turn back to the kitchen counter, resting my palms on it, and look out the window.
I’m the worst.
Saylor steps up behind me, his arms coming around my stomach as he whispers in my ear, “I understand. I’m not mad… or not anymore.”
I turn to face him, his arms still wrapped around me, chills coursing through me as he puts his forehead to mine. “How can you say that? I hurt you,” I whisper, trying to look into his eyes, but he has them closed.
He releases a long breath. “It’s not your fault.
I’m just… jealous because he can give you things I can’t.
He can hold you for real,” he whispers, and a deep shiver runs over my back before I realize he is trying to squeeze me against him, which doesn’t work, of course.
“But I want all of that for you. You need someone with a pulse to hold you tight, to keep you warm. I’ve been alone long enough too, remember?
I get it. It just makes me mad that he doesn’t value what you give him.
What he can have. He never values the important things.
” His eyes open, and his thumb comes up to gently touch my birthmark, making my cheek tingle.
“You’re my best friend, and you’re not getting rid of me that easily just because you slept with my little brother again. ”
I groan. “Karma, right? Reminding me that he’s the little brother.”
“He’s still twenty-five,” Saylor mumbles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “He hasn’t magically aged five years.”
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back. “I’m the worst.”
“You know, just because he’s good for your hole doesn’t mean he’s good for your soul,” Saylor teases, bringing humor back into the situation.
Out of reflex, I slap him on the chest, but my hand goes right through him, making him shudder. “Gosh, that was fucking creepy. My insides tingled.”
“I’m so sorry.” I pull my hand back to put it over my mouth, but he just chuckles.
“I’m fine. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” I nod and place the glass I used in the dishwasher before turning on my phone’s flashlight again and switching the light in the kitchen off. When we walk by the living room, I peek inside, slowing my steps. “Wanna snoop?” Saylor asks, amused.
I was here twice before but never really had the time or nerves to look around. There isn’t much decoration-wise, like the rest of the house, but picture frames are lined over the fireplace.
I let my phone’s light pass over the first one, an older, friendly looking couple with gray hair smiling at the camera.
“My parents,” Saylor states from beside me.
“They’re living far deeper into the country now.
I heard they couldn’t stand living so close to the ocean anymore after everything happened. I haven’t seen them in ages.”
I furrow my brows at him. People all grieve in their own way. I get that they needed distance. But why can he hang around his brothers but not his parents? It doesn’t make sense.