Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SADIE
Sunlight peeks through a gap in the curtains, blinding me.
My head feels like it’s splitting open from the inside out, and my entire body is achy.
I wince, turning away from the glaring light and shifting to sit up, but I realize too late that was a cosmic mistake.
The entire room tilts, my mouth begins to sweat, and I barely make it to the bathroom in time.
After rinsing my mouth, I reach for my toothbrush—but it’s not there. In fact, my entire toothbrush holder is missing.
Where the fuck is my toothbrush?
My eyes snag on my reflection in the mirror and I freeze.
This is not my bathroom.
A small groan slips past my lips as I take in my disheveled appearance. My hair is a chaotic and tangled mess, and I’m dressed in only a baggy Nirvana T-shirt that barely covers my underwear.
Not just any shirt. Emmett’s T-shirt.
My eyes round in horror and I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle my shriek.
Oh, fuck.
Everything comes flooding back to me in a montage of slow-motion flashes.
Emmett’s hands all over me. His mouth on my neck, trailing down my body. The memories go dark after he presses his lips to my hip bones, starting to slip my panties off.
I lean closer to the mirror, taking it all in, and then I see it. My neck. I climb onto the vanity, getting as close as I can, confirming my deepest fear has been brought to life.
A dark, unmistakable bruise placed on my neck, just above my collarbone.
“Fuck me,” I hiss, rubbing the mark as if that will magically erase it from my skin.
I climb down and blow out a shaky breath, pacing the tiny bathroom. Squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can, I try to hold back the tears threatening to spill out.
My head throbs, a cruel reminder of my reckless decisions lately.
After a few more laps, I gather my wits and tiptoe out of the bathroom, picking up my clothes off the floor and sneaking to the bedroom door.
It hadn’t even crossed my mind to check if he was still in the bed before I ran into the bathroom. My hand grips the doorknob as I look behind me at the rumpled blankets.
The pressure in my chest dissipates when my eyes settle on the empty bed.
Maybe he was having some regrets, too and wanted to spare us both from the awkward morning-after-conversation.
The hallway is clear and quiet, but I hesitate outside my bedroom door when I hear voices carrying up the stairs from the front porch. I lean toward the sound, taking extra caution not to be seen.
They’re not speaking loudly enough for me to make out their words, but I’d know Wesley’s warm, deep voice anywhere.
I risk leaning just a little bit closer right as the screen door is yanked open.
Emmett steps over the threshold and freezes when his eyes land on me. He scans me up and down, up and down, eyes pausing on his shirt hanging loosely on my body before meeting my face again.
He smirks, his perfect dimple making an appearance, and I can’t fight the blush that blooms across my cheeks.
I am weak.
He takes the steps two at a time, stopping in front of me before I can casually slip into my room. My hand still tightly grips the doorknob.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, leaning into the doorframe.
I let out a humorless chuckle, rolling my lips between my teeth. “Like my brain has been put through a wood chipper.”
The thought alone makes my head throb with a vengeance.
“I figured.” He fiddles with a lone boot in his hands and my brows pinch.
“What’s with the boot?”
His eyes hold mine like he’s searching for something, and he deflates when he doesn’t find it.
“You don’t remember.” He says it like it’s a statement, not a question.
I shake my head. “Not everything. I remember you…kissing me.” I hesitate, looking at him for any hint of how he’s feeling, but he’s unreadable. “Then it gets a little muddled after you…pulled down my underwear.”
He nods, rotating the boot in his hands. “Well, that’s most of it, actually—except I never fully took them off. You, um—” He runs his hand through his tousled hair before gesturing to the boot. “You got sick.”
I glance down and my stomach rolls as the dots finally connect.
“I am so sorry. I’ll buy you a new pair—an even better pair, I promise.”
“You already apologized last night. It’s not a big deal, just a boot.”
“Well, I’m double sorry. About everything. I was a wreck last night.” My words trail off at the end. I’m relieved that we didn’t actually have sex, but I’m still not sure whether it meant anything to him or if he just saw me as an easy hook up.
Everything is such a mess.
If Mia were here, she’d tell me the only way out is to fuck them both.
Thankfully, Emmett starts talking so I’m not left drowning in my thoughts.
“It really is okay. I meant what I said last night.” His eyes drop to my lips, then a little lower—noticing his handiwork, I’m sure.
My breath catches and I clear my throat, tightening my grip on the doorknob until my knuckles turn white.
“Okay. Well, um, I should shower.” I tilt my head toward my door.
Emmett straightens. “No, yeah, of course. I’ll, uh, let you get to it then,” he stammers before giving me a flirty grin. “Unless you think you might need some help?”
“I think I’ll manage this time. Really kind of you to offer, though.”
“One might even say charitable.” He winks, heading down the hallway and into his room.
I’m smiling as I twist the glass doorknob at the same time the screen door is yanked open again. Only this time, when I look down the stairs, I’m met with sad, deep amber eyes.
My feet are rooted into the hardwood floor and I swear time stops.
Wesley’s usual stony expression twists into something somber when his eyes fall to my shirt.
The edges of my vision blur, unable to focus on anything other than him. He looks gutted, like he’s in physical, visceral pain.
Before I can think of anything to say, he slowly nods once and storms right back out, letting the door slam behind him.
I shove myself through my bedroom door, following his lead and using my back to slam it shut. I hold my breath, worried Heath will be upset and say something about all the door slamming, but the house is eerily silent.
My back slides down the solid wood until I crash onto the floor, bringing my knees to my chest. I let my head fall into my hands and don’t attempt to hold back the sobs as they pour out of me.
What the fuck have I done?
Sunday mornings were my favorite.
I loved the slow pace and the lightness of it all. Making a big breakfast and starting my day with giggles and the company of the people who have unexpectedly become a very special part of my life.
Sunday mornings were my favorite.
Until now.
Now there’s a melancholy aura floating in the air.
After my shower, I come downstairs, giving Heath a tight-lipped smile and hoping my puffy, red eyes aren’t too noticeable.
He nods, tipping his head toward the fruit waiting to be sliced. If he has any suspicions, he doesn’t bring it up.
He’s so great about that. I know he’s not oblivious, and I’m sure he’s aware of a lot more than he lets on, but he doesn’t call attention to things without a good reason.
I’m going through the motions, slicing fruit and adding it to a bowl while Heath works on scrambling eggs and flipping bacon at the stove.
The room feels smaller the moment Emmett walks in, the tension in the air thick and unavoidable, like the way steam clings to glass.
His hair is still damp from his shower, curling at the nape of his neck, and he’s swapped his gray sweatpants for black ones. He leans against the other side of the island, flashing an easy grin that only makes everything worse.
I glue my eyes to the strawberries I’m slicing, refusing to meet his gaze. I can’t look at him. Last night happened—whether I want to admit it or not—and now we’re here.
The guilt gnaws at me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do I say good morning? Pretend like nothing happened? Is there a how-to book for this situation? What to Do After Hooking Up With Your “Kind Of” Ex’s Brother. That screams New York Times Bestseller.
I go through the motions, setting the table with four place settings and arranging the bowl of fruit in the center next to a glass pitcher filled with freshly squeezed orange juice.
When I reach for the platter of eggs and bacon, Heath places his hand on my shoulder to stop me.
“Don’t worry about this,” he says, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Will you tell Wes breakfast is ready? He’s out on the porch.”
He grabs the platter, taking it to the table, not waiting for my response.
I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath, in and out, before slowly opening them again. But it doesn’t help. So I stare out the kitchen window, delaying this moment as long as I can. Then finally I collect myself and step out onto the porch.
He’s sitting in one of the rocking chairs, leaning forward with his elbows resting against his thighs, seemingly lost in thought as he looks out onto the pastures. The summer crew are doing a cattle rotation demonstration in the distance.
I don’t say anything at first. I don’t think I can. What could I even say that would make this easier?
My bare feet drift across the weathered planks of the porch, and I lean against the wooden column directly across from him.
His chest rises and falls for several breaths before his eyes finally slide to meet mine. His jaw tightens as he sits up, clenching his hands into fists.
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” he asks, voice icy and bitter. I hardly recognize him like this. I hate it.
I wince at the insinuation in his tone, tears already rimming my eyes. A lump swells in my throat as I shake my head, inhaling a stuttering breath before it breaks into a humorless laugh.
He stands up rigidly, staring at me for a long, loaded moment before brushing past. The faint scent of his shampoo trails behind him, flooding my senses, and whatever strength I had left unravels entirely.
Tears cascade down my cheeks in hot streams. It feels like I’m losing him all over again—like my heart is being ripped straight out of my chest, right in front of me.
His hand wavers on the door handle and he glances back. “Tell me,” he asks. “Did you think about me while you were with my brother?” His voice is layered with hurt and malice.
I choke on a sob, unable to breathe. His question lingers in the air like smoke, echoing down the dark corridors of my mind.
“Yes.”
The word is barely a whisper, but it hangs between us like a noose tightening around my throat.
His jaw tenses, and for a heartbeat, I think he might walk away without saying anything at all.
Then his expression flattens. All the fight drains out of him until all that’s left is a sad, defeated smile.
“Goddammit, Sadie…I would’ve given you everything,” he says, voice cracking on the last word as if it hurts to force it out.
The confession splinters through me, almost laughable in its cruelty. Everything? He couldn’t even give me the one thing I desperately needed—those three stupid fucking words.
He slips inside, the screen door closing behind him with a soft, inevitable finality, sealing off the last fragments of my already shattered heart.
I can’t breathe.
The air is gone.
The light is gone.
He is gone.
I’m left standing alone, disbelief and despair tangling inside me until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
The morning breeze cuts across my skin, but I barely feel it. I clutch my chest, wondering if my heart will ever beat the same way again.