Chapter 54
HARLOW
“Harlow? Are you okay?”
I drop my bags and sprint for the bathroom, dropping to my knees and making it to the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach.
I wasn’t expecting to walk into my apartment to Spencer and Jameson sitting on my couch chatting like old friends.
I didn’t lock the door behind me in my haste, and cool fingers brush the back of my neck, pulling my hair away.
“Are you sick again, baby?” Jameson asks.
Sick over my own actions? Yeah. Sick the way he means? No.
“Must be food poisoning,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I flush the toilet, and he helps me up to wash my hands and brush my teeth.
When I turn, I nearly puke again because Spencer is in the doorway watching.
“Are you okay?”
If someone asks me that one more time I might walk outside in front of a car. A quick exit from this world is less than I deserve for what I’ve done.
“I didn’t know you were coming over tonight,” I tell Jameson. I hate that it sounds accusing.
His brows furrow. “I didn’t think I needed to? I usually only tell you if I can’t.”
“Right.” I press a hand to my forehead. “I need water.”
Spencer quickly turns and his long legs eat up the small hallway. Jameson holds onto me like he thinks I might faint as he guides me to the couch. I nearly burst into tears when he kneels in front of me and gently removes my shoes.
I don’t deserve him.
I don’t deserve Spencer.
They’re both far too good for me, that much is obvious.
I begin to hyperventilate, struggling to get air into my lungs. Is this what a panic attack feels like? Have I finally well and truly cracked?
“Babe.” Jameson cups my face between gentle hands. “Are you okay?”
“Water.” Spencer hands the glass to my boyfriend.
I feel like I’m going to throw up again.
Jameson holds the glass for me, encouraging me to take a few sips. I do and then manage to ask, “Where’s Roe?”
“Sleeping,” Spencer answers. “She went to play with her dolls and the next thing I knew, she was asleep. I think the stress of her appointment got to her. When they brought out the saw, I think she thought they were taking her whole arm.”
I give a small laugh.
Jameson presses his hand to my forehead, and I force myself to make eye contact with him.
“You don’t seem to have a fever.”
No, I just have the I’m-a-Cheater-flu.
“It’s just food poisoning.” I look toward Spencer, and he cocks his head to the side, clearly not believing me. “You should go.”
“I was going to wait until Roe woke up from her nap. I don’t want her to think I just left her.”
He has a valid point, but selfishly I can’t help but wonder if he just wants to hang around to see me crash out.
“Oh, okay,” I reply.
“Go lay down, babe,” Jameson says, entirely too sweetly. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
Oh, God—and leave them alone out here?
“No, I’m okay right here. The couch is great. Fantastic even.”
Out of the corner of my eye I catch Spencer sliding his arms across his chest and shaking his head. I’m aware I’m crashing out epically, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
They’re here.
Together.
In my apartment.
And Jameson doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know that I slept with my ex.
He doesn’t know that I’m not sure I regret it.
He doesn’t know I’m a cheater.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know.
Do I truly think Spencer would tell him just to spite me? No. But I also think if he’s still as in love with me as he claims, that desperate people do desperate things.
“Whoa, whoa. You’re hyperventilating again. I think this is more than food poisoning. Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”
“No,” I say forcefully. “I’m fine—or I will be. The hospital is drastic.”
Jameson looks over to Spencer like he’s silently asking his opinion. Spencer shakes his head no. With a shrug, Jameson stands.
“All right, no hospital. But I’m keeping an eye on you.”
At least him keeping an eye on me, means I can do the same to him.
“I’m going to check on Roe and see if she’s still sleeping,” Spencer says, already turning down the hall.
“Do you want a ginger ale?” Jameson asks. “A peppermint?”
“No,” I sigh. “I just need to sit here for a little while.”
“Okay,” he says, but it has a questioning tone to it. He has a right to be doubtful of me.
He barely forgave me for kissing Spencer. He’ll never forgive me for sleeping with him. And I can’t say I blame him, not at all, in fact. I wouldn’t be able to forgive him if he did the same thing.
I’m not sure how people who constantly cheat on various partners can handle this kind of feeling.
Maybe serial cheaters are just built different.
I feel like my insides are being split open and scraped against hot concrete.
This is painful and I hate myself for being so confused that I would even do such a thing in the first place.
The clearing of a throat has me turning to find Spencer standing near the door.
“She’s starting to wake up, so I went ahead and said goodbye.
She’s a little groggy so she might not remember, but I do.
” He runs his fingers through his hair, and the shaggy chestnut strands fall perfectly back into place. “I hope you feel better, Harlow.”
“Thanks,” I manage to squeak out and he dips his head in a nod.
He probably hasn’t even made it to his car when the text comes through on my phone. Luckily Jameson is occupied digging a ginger ale out of the fridge despite my protests, when it comes through.
I would never tell him, and I hate that you think I would. I’ll break my own heart a thousand times over before I ever break yours.