Chapter 23
AUSTIN
Death would be a mercy. That was my first coherent thought when I woke up with what felt like an ice pick lodged in my skull and sandpaper coating my tongue.
My second thought was that I needed water immediately or I was going to die right here in my stupidly expensive bed.
One would think I would learn my lesson.
How many times had I been in this exact position?
The hangovers were brutal. And usually I would tell myself I wasn’t going to do it again.
The cotton mouth. The pounding headache.
The queasiness. I started the usual process trying to remember the events of the night before.
I slowly reached my hand out, praying to all the gods there wasn’t a body next to me.
There wasn’t.
But I did remember a woman. If she wasn’t in my bed, did that mean she was somewhere else in the penthouse?
I tried to sit up. The room spun and my stomach lurched. I fell back against the pillows, groaning.
“Fuck,” I muttered to no one.
Except someone answered.
“Mmmph,” came a sound from my bathroom.
I forced my eyes open—a Herculean effort—and turned my head toward the bathroom door. I saw legs. I blinked, trying to focus. Man legs. Or a really hairy woman.
I stumbled out of bed and pushed the door open a few inches. There, sprawled on the marble floor like a crime scene victim, was Rodney.
“What the hell?” My voice came out like gravel.
“Floor’s comfortable,” Rodney mumbled, not opening his eyes. “Marble’s cool. Nice.”
“You slept on my bathroom floor?”
“Passed out. There’s a difference.”
I closed my eyes again, trying to piece together the night before. The club. The drinks. Too many drinks. Dancing.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Time for you to stop talking so loud.”
“I’m barely talking.”
“Any talking is too loud.”
I walked back to my nightstand where I would normally keep my phone.
There was a half-eaten hamburger smeared with ketchup on top of the bun.
I didn’t even want to know how that got there.
I tried to move it, expecting my phone to be underneath and ended up knocking over a glass of water in the process.
It clattered to the floor. Both Rodney and I made sounds of pain at the noise.
“Fuck,” Rodney groaned. “You’re a terrible host.”
“Where’s my phone?”
“How should I know?”
I needed to find my phone. Needed to—what? Check if Melody had texted? Called? Forgiven me for whatever stupid shit I had done last night?
I ignored the man on my floor that was in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. I had on a pair of sweats that I didn’t remember putting on.
I left Rodney and walked out of my bedroom. I stumbled a few times, catching myself on the wall.
Fuck. I was really torn up.
My first stop was the kitchen. I didn’t see my phone on the counter, but the refrigerator was right there. I opened it and found a carton of orange juice.
“Thank God.”
I grabbed it, twisted the cap, and sucked down huge gulps straight from the carton. My head felt like it was going to explode. Once I quenched my thirst, I left the carton on the counter and once again started the search for my phone.
I found it on the living room floor, battery at three percent. The screen was cracked. When the hell had that happened? When I unlocked it, I was met with approximately three thousand notifications.
Instagram. Twitter. Text messages. Missed calls.
But I ignored all of it, going straight to my thread with Melody.
And there it was. The message that made my hangover feel like nothing compared to the sick feeling in my gut. A photo. Me and that blonde from the club, dancing too close, her hands on my chest.
And below it: This isn’t going to work anymore. I wish you all the best, Austin. Thanks for everything.
It was sent three hours ago.
“Shit.” I stared at the message, my brain struggling to process through the fog of alcohol. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?” Rodney called from the bathroom.
“I fucked up.”
“Yeah, you fucked up a lot last night. You made your daddy real proud, buddy.”
I looked up at that. “What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” There was a pause. “Can you bring me some water? And maybe a bucket? And possibly a priest?”
I ignored him, reading Melody’s message again. This isn’t going to work anymore.
She’d ended it. Ended us. Ended the arrangement.
Because I’d done exactly what she’d expected me to do. Exactly what everyone always expected me to do. Fuck it up.
I’d gone out. I had gotten drunk and let some random woman put her hands on me while cameras caught every second of it. And now Melody had done the logical thing and cut me loose.
I screwed up. Like I always did. Like my father and Cash had always known I would.
But this time, it wasn’t just my reputation on the line. This time, I’d hurt someone else. Someone who didn’t deserve it.
Fuck.
I had to fix this. Somehow, I had to make it right.
“Rodney!” I stalked back to the bathroom, where he was now sitting up against the wall, looking green. “I need help.”
“I need to die. We can’t both get what we want.”
“I’m serious. I fucked up with Melody. I need to fix it.”
He cracked one eye open. “The girl you were moping about all last night? The one you refused to stop talking about even when I told you to shut up?”
“I talked about her?”
“For like two hours straight. Very pathetic.” He rubbed his face. “What happened?”
I showed him the photo with the message.
Rodney winced. “Ouch. Yeah, you fucked up.”
“I know that. I need to know how to un-fuck it up.”
“Can you? Un-fuck it up, I mean?” He looked at me with something like pity. “She seems pretty done, man.”
“I have to try.” I was pacing now, my hangover momentarily forgotten in the face of this new crisis. “I’ll beg. I’ll grovel. I’ll—”
“Ew, no. Never beg. That’s embarrassing.”
“Then what? Flowers? Chocolates? A sincere apology?”
“Feels not good enough.” Rodney was inching toward the toilet now, his face going from green to slightly gray. “You hurt her, Austin. And not in an oops I forgot your birthday kind of way. You just gave her confirmation.”
“Confirmation?”
“You’re a playboy. A bachelor that will never change his ways.”
He was right. Melody had been careful with me. She’d built walls and made rules because she knew better than to trust guys like me. And what had I done? Validated every fear she ever had about Bancrofts. About playboys.
“I need a grand gesture,” I said, thinking out loud. “Something big. Public apology? Self-criticism on social media?”
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Rodney was definitely going to throw up now. His whole body was tense. “Dude, if this girl matters to you—and I mean actually matters—you can do way better than some Instagram post.”
“Like what?”
“You’re Austin fucking Bancroft. You have access to everything. Private jets. Yachts. Islands, probably. Whatever ridiculous shit rich people do to prove they’re sorry.” He looked at me with watery eyes. “Put your money where your mouth is. Show her you’re serious.”
“How?”
“I don’t know! I’m about to vomit. I can’t be your romantic advisor right now.” He waved a hand weakly. “Just think about what she actually wants. Not what you think she wants. What she actually cares about.”
“Her career. Her platform. Helping other women.” I was pacing faster now, ideas starting to form through the hangover fog. “She wants to make a difference.”
“Great. Start there.” Rodney made a gagging sound. “And close the fucking door so I can puke my guts out in peace.”
I left him to his misery, my mind spinning.
What did Melody actually want? What would prove to her that I was serious? Last night had been a mistake—a stupid, drunken mistake that meant nothing.
I pulled up Instagram on my cracked phone screen, scrolling through the posts about me and that blonde. The comments were brutal.
Poor Melody.
Once a player always a player.
She dodged a bullet.
Bancrofts never change.
Everyone thought they knew what had happened. Thought I got bored and moved on to the next pretty face. They were certain the whole relationship had been a joke from the start.
Technically, they weren’t wrong. I wouldn’t classify it as a joke, but it had been planned.
I opened my text thread with Melody, staring at her message.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. What was I supposed to say?
Sorry I’m exactly the disaster you thought I was?
Sorry I got drunk and let some random woman dance with me because I was trying to convince myself I didn’t have feelings for you?
Sorry I’m falling for you and I have no idea how to handle it?
Instead, I typed: Can we talk? Please?
Sent it before I could overthink.
Delivered.
Read.
No response.
I tried again: I know how it looks. But it’s not what you think. Let me explain.
Delivered.
Read.
Still nothing.
“Fuck!”
I threw my phone on the couch, then immediately retrieved it because I needed it to fix this mess.
Think, Austin. Think.
What would actually matter to her? What would prove this wasn’t just another Bancroft playing games?
Rodney emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, looking slightly less green.
“You still here?” he asked.
“Where would I go?”
He was still wearing nothing but his underwear. “Can you put some clothes on?” I asked irritably.
He ignored me and picked up the orange juice carton. I watched as he finished it off.
I wasn’t going to tell him I had drank straight from the carton earlier. I had a feeling it wouldn’t matter.
“I can’t get dressed,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know where my clothes are.”
I stared at him. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, I don’t know.”
“I’ll get you a pair of my sweats. It’s a little weird. I don’t want to see you in your underwear.”
“Call one of those IV people. I’m dying here.”
“You call,” I said and walked back to my room.
I grabbed a pair of sweats and tossed them at him.
“Did you call?” he asked.
“You call.”
“I think my phone is in my pants. And since I don’t know where those are.”
I frowned at him. “How did you lose your clothes? Did we come back here with you like that?”
He smirked. “I have no idea.”
I shook my head and grabbed my phone. The battery was down to one percent. I plugged it in and then called the IV place and ordered the emergency service for two.
If I was going to save this thing with Melody, I needed to be properly hydrated.
And fed.
I ordered room service and then dropped onto the couch. My head was still spinning but I was going through a mental list of things I needed to do to save the relationship with Melody.
If it was even possible.