Chapter 31
Audrey
The morning after the therapy session felt like waking up from a car crash.
Audrey sat at her kitchen island, staring blankly at an untouched cup of tea.
Her entire body ached with a heavy, hollow exhaustion.
Hearing the truth—the pathetic, mundane reality of the hotel room—had stripped away the last of her defenses.
She didn't feel angry today. She just felt entirely depleted.
Miranda walked through the back door, carrying a brown paper bag from the local bakery. She took one look at Audrey’s pale face and set the bag down on the marble counter with a soft sigh.
"It was that bad?" Miranda asked quietly, pulling out the stool next to her.
"I don't know if I can do it anymore, Miri," Audrey whispered, her voice cracking as she traced the rim of her mug.
"I thought hearing the whole truth would set me free.
But hearing him say how easy it was to just throw us away.
.. it broke something else inside of me.
I don't know if I have the strength to sit in that room for another month.
I just want to walk away and make the hurting stop. "
Miranda reached over and covered Audrey's cold hand with her own. She didn't offer advice. She didn't tell her to stay or to leave. She just looked at her sister with fierce, protective determination.
"You are emotionally hungover," Miranda declared, standing up and pulling Audrey’s tea away. "You have spent two months carrying the weight of the world, and yesterday you let it crush you. You are done thinking for the day. Go take a shower. Put on that black dress I bought you for your birthday."
Audrey blinked, confused. "What? Why?"
"Because you need to get out of your own head," Miranda insisted, crossing her arms. "Lily is at her grandparents' house until tomorrow.
We are going out. We are going to drink too much, we are going to listen to loud music, and you are not going to think about Simon, or therapy, or the rest of your life for the next six hours. Go."
By 10:00 PM, the heavy, suffocating grief had been successfully drowned in tequila.
The downtown lounge was crowded, pulsing with a deep, rhythmic bass and bathed in dim neon light.
For the first two hours, Audrey actually let go.
She was on the packed dance floor with Miranda and three of their oldest friends, the music so loud it vibrated through the soles of her heels.
They took shots at the bar, laughed until their sides ached, and spun under the flashing lights.
The rigid perfection she forced herself to maintain every single day was completely gone, leaving her feeling loose, reckless, and incredibly vulnerable. She closed her eyes, letting the heavy beat of the music drown out the endless, exhausting loop of her own thoughts.
But eventually, the physical exertion caught up with the alcohol. Her head began to spin, and the crowded dance floor suddenly felt too warm.
She excused herself, leaving her friends laughing over another round, and retreated to a curved leather booth in the back corner of the lounge. She sat down heavily, swirling the remnants of her third margarita in its salted glass.
Audrey dug into her small clutch and pulled out her phone. The screen blurred slightly at the edges. Without thinking, driven entirely by the raw, unedited ache in her chest, she found Simon's contact and pressed call.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Rey?" Simon's voice was sharp, laced with immediate concern. He could hear the loud, thumping music in the background. "Where are you? Is everything okay?"
"I'm at the Velvet Lounge," Audrey mumbled, leaning her head back against the leather booth. She closed her eyes, the room spinning a slow, lazy circle around her. "I had a lot of tequila."
Simon let out a sharp exhale. "Are you with Miranda?"
"She's dancing," Audrey said, her words slipping together softly. "You told me you just wanted an escape. You just wanted to feel something different. I get it now. I wanted to escape tonight, too."
"Audrey, listen to me," Simon said, his voice dropping into that deep, calming register he used whenever she was overwhelmed. "Don't drink anymore. I am coming to get you right now. Tell Miranda I'm on my way."
The line went dead. Audrey dropped her phone onto the table, rubbing her temples.
A moment later, Miranda slid into the booth beside her, pushing a tall glass of ice water across the table. Her sister took one look at Audrey's flushed face and the phone resting on the table.
"Hey," Miranda said softly, her protective instincts immediately flaring. "Who were you just talking to?"
Audrey picked up the water, taking a slow sip. "Simon."
Miranda froze, her eyes widening in surprise. "Audrey, why did you call him? I thought the whole point of tonight was to forget he exists for a few hours."
"I know," Audrey whispered, staring down at her lap. "But I'm so tired, Miri. I'm just so incredibly tired of being angry. I drank too much, and my walls are completely down, and I just... I called him."
Miranda let out a long, heavy sigh, reaching over to push a stray lock of dark hair behind Audrey's ear. "What did he say?"
"He told me to stop drinking," Audrey mumbled, a small, humorless smile touching her lips. "He said he's on his way to get me."
Miranda studied her sister’s face, searching for any sign of panic or regret. Finding none, she nodded slowly. "Okay. If you want him to take you home, I won't stop him. But I'm waiting right here with you until he walks through that door."
Twenty minutes later, Simon pushed his way through the crowded bar.
He spotted them in the back booth. He wore a dark jacket over a simple t-shirt, his hair slightly messy from the wind.
He looked at Miranda, who offered a small, resigning shrug, gesturing to Audrey, who was resting her head on the table.
"I've got her," Simon told Miranda quietly.
Miranda grabbed her purse and stood up. "Take her straight home, Simon. Make her drink water."
Simon slid his arm gently around Audrey's waist, helping her stand. She swayed, entirely off-balance, and he pulled her flush against his side, letting her lean her weight on his chest.
The drive back to the house was quiet. Audrey stared out the passenger window, watching the streetlights blur into long streaks of gold. She felt a strange, profound sense of safety wrapped up in the familiar scent of his car and the gentle heat radiating from the driver's seat.
When he parked in the driveway, he walked around to her door, unbuckled her seatbelt, and guided her up the front steps. He unlocked the door and walked her up the stairs to her bedroom.
"Sit," Simon murmured, easing her down onto the edge of the mattress.
He knelt on the floor in front of her, carefully unbuckling her heels and slipping them off her feet.
He went to her dresser, pulling out a large, worn-out gray t-shirt that used to belong to him.
He handed it to her, turning his back to give her privacy while she fumbled with the zipper of her black dress.
When the dress hit the floor, Audrey pulled the soft cotton shirt over her head. "Okay."
Simon turned back around. He pulled the heavy duvet back and helped her slide into the sheets, tucking the covers up to her shoulders. He brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from her flushed face, his touch lingering against her cheek with a devastating, heartbreaking tenderness.
He started to pull his hand away, ready to leave the room, but Audrey reached out, her fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist.
"Why?" Audrey whispered, her dark eyes entirely stripped of their anger, leaving only pure, desperate confusion. "Why do you want us back so badly, Simon? After everything you did... why are you fighting so hard for this?"
Simon stopped. He sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress. The dim light from the hallway illuminated the sheer, naked honesty in his face.
"Because I love you," Simon said, his voice thick and wavering.
"Because the thought of waking up for the rest of my life and not seeing you is the only thing that has ever truly terrified me.
What I did in that hotel room... it wasn't a lack of love, Rey.
It was cowardice. I was weak, and I broke under the pressure of my own life.
But there was never a single second, even at my worst, where I stopped loving you. "
A single tear slipped out of the corner of Audrey's eye, soaking into the pillowcase. The alcohol made it impossible to build her walls back up.
"Sleep here," Audrey breathed, her grip tightening slightly on his wrist. "Just sleep."
Simon’s breath caught in his throat. He looked at her, searching her face to make sure she meant it. Slowly, he took off his jacket and his shoes. He walked around to the other side of the bed, lifted the duvet, and climbed in beside her.
Audrey shifted closer to the warmth of his body.
Simon hesitated for a fraction of a second before carefully wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her back flush against his chest. He buried his face in her dark hair, holding her as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the world.
Within minutes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Audrey finally opened her eyes the next morning, the room was bathed in bright sunlight. Her head pounded with a fierce, throbbing ache, and her mouth felt like cotton.
She shifted in the bed. The space beside her was empty, the sheets already cold.
A sharp pang of disappointment flared in her chest, but before it could fully settle, the bedroom door gently pushed open.
Simon walked in, still wearing his t-shirt from the night before. He was holding a steaming ceramic mug and a small glass of water. Two white ibuprofen pills rested in the palm of his hand.
He walked over to her side of the bed and set the coffee on the nightstand.
"Drink this," Simon said softly, offering her the water and the pills.
Audrey sat up slowly, pulling the duvet over her chest. She took the pills from his hand, their fingers brushing. She swallowed them down with the water, then wrapped both hands around the hot mug of coffee.
She looked up at him. The intense, alcohol-fueled vulnerability of the night before was gone, replaced by the sober, complicated reality of the morning. But the heavy, suffocating hostility that had defined their relationship for the past two months was missing.
In its place was a fragile, incredibly tentative truce.