Chapter 21
Something's wrong.
It shouldn't be wrong—last night, before I fell asleep, everything was better than it had ever been.
But there's a tight tugging in my chest. All our bonds are there, quiet as they are most mornings. But there's a tightness. And… something's… missing.
I don't want to open my eyes. But… I think I have to.
Allen's muscular thigh is warm under my head.
He's sound asleep, judging by the slow meter of his breathing, but I can hear tense murmurs from the bedroom.
Whatever it is I'm feeling, from the sound of James' terse mutter and Zeke's hissed whisper, and from the little tugs of tension in our bonds, they're feeling it, too.
My mind whirls as I slowly force my eyes open. Nothing's obviously wrong. At least, not on the surface. The room is bright from the beams of morning sun peeking over the horizon. The room still holds the scent of freesias, though growing faint.
A cold prickle edges up my spine.
Oh no. Please, no. Not that.
Something tightens in my chest. No. I glance around the room, frantically, trying to crane my neck to see into the kitchen without waking Allen.
It's empty.
The bathroom door is ajar. The bedroom door is open. Zeke is pacing back and forth like a caged lion, his hands folded on his head, squashing down his curls. James is slumped on the end of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed.
Seb is sitting on the floor, leaning against the mattress. His face is… blank. His gaze is locked on the doorframe.
I can't see her.
Why can't I see her?
Cold dread trickles through me. James lifts his head. His expression is grim. Redness rims the edges of his eyes.
Zeke's eyes catch mine. His face hardens. He storms into the bathroom, and emerges, holding something black, and places it on the coffee table in front of me.
Allen's breath pauses at the slight click. I don't want to wake him. I want him to have one more good dream.
Zeke's eyes are… unfathomable. Or maybe I'm afraid to read his expression. My bond with him is silent. It almost feels like it's been switched off.
I ease myself up from Allen's lap and pick it up. It's my phone. I glance up at him, confused. He pulls his own phone from the kitchen bench and sends me a message, glaring at me.
My phone vibrates and chimes. There are four alerts. Three from the Heatseekers app, announcing booking requests from early this morning.
And a message:
Zeke
You forgot to put your phone on silent
5.56am
My insides freeze.
The booking alerts. From Heatseekers. She must have seen them…
The only time they run the morning after when they find out what we do is when they think we're…
escorts… And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with being an escort, and sex work is real work, there can be some stereotypes that require dispelling.
I hadn't explained the situation to her yet.
But every time they've run out, and we've caught up, it's been the reason why.
Every single time.
… this is my fault. They'll never forgive me.