Chapter 33
Ispend a long time after the gala just sitting on the bed, still in my dress. My feet ache. My hair is still crisp with hairspray.
I know I should change or shower, but I let the silence settle around me like a weighted blanket. The only sound is the distant rumble of elevator machinery.
I get up and peel off my heels. The dress is a nightmare to get out of. When it finally pools at my ankles, I step out of the puddle of fabric.
I sift through the closet for the hotel’s bathrobe, then wrap myself in it, too tired to care that it’s too big.
I open the minibar and take the first tiny bottle I can find. I crack it and knock back half, ignoring the burn.
There’s a knock at the door. I ignore it, convinced it’s just room service, or a lost drunk, but the knock comes again, harder this time.
I shuffle to the peephole, squint, and can only see a tuxedoed shoulder. I can’t tell if it’s Nash or James, so I open the door an inch, chain still on.
It’s both of them.
Nash is a mess, jacket off, hair wild, tie completely removed now. James stands next to him, perfect as ever, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on me. Neither of them speaks.
“What are you both doing here? Wait. How did you even know what room I’m in?”
Nash snorts, and it cracks the tension just enough to let air back into the hallway. “Front desk didn’t take much convincing to give us the room number. We told them it was an emergency. We need to talk,” he says.
James nods. “All of us.”
I leave the chain on, considering. Then, with a sigh, I close the door, slide the chain off, and open it wide.
“Fine. But if you’re going to fight, please do it in the hallway. I’m not paying for any damages in here.”
Nash takes the invitation, striding in first. James follows, moving slower, more controlled.
I stand at the foot of the bed. Nash paces, hands on hips. James sits at the end of the bed, elbows on knees.
“Alright,” I say, “which of you wants to start?”
Nash looks at me, then at James.
“Me, I guess.” He takes a deep breath, then blurts, “I know you’re not over him. And I get it, he’s—” He gestures at James. “—whatever the fuck he is. But I want you, Avery. I want to be with you.”
James’s jaw ticks, but he lets Nash finish.
Nash keeps going. “I know I was a dick after I found out about him. I screwed up, I got jealous, but I don’t want to walk away. Not unless you tell me to. So if you want him, or if you want me, or even if you want neither, just…tell me. Please.”
The vulnerability in his voice lands like a blow. I want to reach for him, but James’s voice cuts in, low and steady.
“Avery,” he says, “I made a mistake. I thought if I kept things professional, if I gave you space, it would make everything easier. Cleaner.” He looks at me, and for the first time in months, the mask is gone.
“But I was wrong. All I did was make things worse.” He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture so tired it hurts to watch. “I want you, too. If you’ll have me.”
Nash laughs. “Jesus, could you be more dramatic? Just say you love her and get it over with.”
James stares at him, then back at me. “I love you, Avery.”
There. The words hang in the room, naked and irreversible.
Nash turns to me, voice gentler than I’ve ever heard. “I love you, too.”
I’m shaking. My mouth goes dry.
I sit down on the bed, hands knotted in the robe.
“This is insane,” I say, and I can hear the tremor in my voice. “I can’t choose. Not right now.”
James moves closer to me, keeping a careful inch of space. “You don’t have to. Not tonight.”
Nash stands over us, then finally slumps down on my other side, the bed dipping with his weight. “So, what do we do?” he asks.
I look from one to the other, their faces so different and so familiar. “I just need some time to think.”
James nods, solemn.
Nash sighs, then nudges my bare knee with his own. “Can I at least kiss you?” Nash asks, surprising me. “I mean, I’ve never confessed my love for someone before, and I need to know I’m not crazy.”
I nod almost imperceptibly. He leans in, no hesitation, and his lips are familiar, insistent.
His hand cups my cheek, and the kiss is desperate, grabbing for something to anchor us.
I let myself fall into it for a beat, until James’s hand finds mine, threading our fingers together.
I pull back from Nash, breathless, and turn to James, whose mouth is so close I can see the tremor in the corners.
He kisses me softer, and the difference is enough to make me ache.
His palm lands on my thigh, steady, possessive.
I realize that both of them are now touching me, Nash’s hand tangled in my hair, James’s fingers still burning into my thigh.
My head spins with the heat of it, the way their bodies bracket mine, the sense of being seen and claimed by two men at once.
For a moment, I lose myself in the fantasy of being with both of them at the same time. But truthfully, I know that will only complicate everything further.
I’m so out of my depth I can’t even see the surface. I want to keep them here, to freeze this moment. But the weight of the night is starting to catch up, my eyes heavy with exhaustion, my limbs going numb from the aftershock of confessions I never thought I’d hear.
We sit there, the three of us, in stunned silence.
“I should…” I start, but I have no idea how to finish.
James lifts my hand to his lips, placing a kiss to my fingers. “You should sleep,” he says.
He stands first, but doesn’t let go of my hand until the last possible second. Nash takes it as his cue, rising and offering me a lopsided smile.
James lingers in the doorway, one hand bracing the frame, eyes on me. “If you need anything,” he says, and I almost laugh at the inadequacy of it.
But I just nod, and watch them file out in silence.
The door clicks shut. I lock it, then slump down against the door with my head in my hands.