21
Trent
Ithrow back another whiskey, letting the burn claw its way down my throat. It hurts—God, it hurts—but not enough to drown out the sting of Aubrey’s words.
She fucking hates me.
And I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive that.
I came into this trip stupidly hopeful, thinking maybe the long stretches of highway and empty hours would give us space to fix what was broken between us. Instead, all I got was silence sharp enough to bleed on and flashes of anger that hit harder than the damn whiskey.
I drag a hand through my hair and stare at the amber in my glass like it might have answers. It doesn’t. Nothing does.
And the look on her face when she walked into the hotel room—when she saw there was only one bed?
Jesus.
She didn’t even try to hide it. That gut-punch of disappointment. Like being stuck here with me was the last thing she wanted. Like she’d have gladly taken a night on the sidewalk over sharing four walls with me.
I finish my drink, slap some money down on the bar, nod to the bartender, and decide it’s probably time to head back to the room and face the music.
The elevator ride up is quiet, the soft hum and ding of the floors only making my stomach tighten more. On the third floor, I step out and walk slowly down the corridor, letting my footsteps echo against the carpet. When I reach our door, I exhale and swipe the key card.
The lock clicks, and I push the door open.
The room is dark. A glance at my watch tells me just how long I stayed at the bar trying to outrun my own head.
I move deeper inside and see Aubrey already curled in bed, covers tucked all the way to her chin. She looks peaceful—soft, unguarded—and for a moment I just stand there, staring like an idiot. It takes everything in me not to crawl in beside her and pull her close.
But that’s not my reality anymore.
So I grab the blanket and pillow from the closet, head to the couch, strip down to my boxers, and hope—maybe stupidly—that when morning comes, things won’t hurt quite so damn much.
A low, insistent vibration drags me out of sleep.
For a second, I can’t remember where the hell I am. The couch is too small, the room too quiet. I groan, rubbing a hand over my face, and fumble around for whatever’s buzzing.
My fingers brush against my phone wedged deep between the cushions. I pull it free and squint as the early light spills through the curtains. A single notification pulses on the screen—Clay. I exhale and swipe it open.
Clay: Rumor has it you're stranded with a certain someone's little sister for the weekend…
I roll my eyes at the message and glance over at Aubrey. She’s still out cold—face-down on the mattress, letting out those soft little snores she swears she doesn’t make, probably drooling on the pillow.
I force myself to look away and sit up, reaching for my clothes.
I pull on my T-shirt and jeans, then sink back onto the couch. My leg gives a dull throb — annoying, but familiar. Honestly, I should count myself lucky. From the height I fell, things could’ve turned out a hell of a lot worse. If this ache is the price for being back on my feet, I’ll take it.
A soft buzz rattles against my palm—another message from Clay lighting up the screen.
Clay: I’d say ignoring me is a good sign, but I can see you read the message, motherfucker.
Me: Take the hint, then.
Clay: Good morning to you too, princess…
Clay: Nice to know you're alive. How’s Pinecrest treating you this weekend?
Me: Why are you even up this early, pestering me with questions?
Clay: Walking back to my truck.
Me: Dare I ask?
Clay: Probably best you don’t. Memory’s a little hazy.
Me: Jesus.
Clay: Anyway, enough about me. Let’s get back to you…
Me: There’s nothing to tell.
Clay: There’s always something to tell when it comes to you and Aubrey.
I shake my head, slide my phone into my pocket, and lean back into the couch, lifting my leg just enough to take the pressure off the ache. I let out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut for a moment.
“You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.”
Aubrey’s voice cuts through the quiet, soft but unexpected. I jolt slightly and turn to look at her. She’s propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“It was fine,” I say, trying to sound casual as I lower my leg.
She studies me for a beat, her gaze dropping to the leg I’d been holding off the cushion. “You sure? Is your leg okay?” she asks, nodding toward it.
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug. “It just aches sometimes—mornings are the worst. But it’ll be alright soon.”
Aubrey chews on her bottom lip, hesitant. “Tonight you can share the bed with me. I don’t want to be the reason your leg’s giving you trouble.”
“I’m all good, I swear,” I tell her, even though the couch springs dig into my back like they’re calling me a liar.
“Even so,” she says, shoulders lifting in a small, uneasy shrug, “I’d feel less guilty if you just… shared. I thought you would’ve last night, when you came back.”
I sit forward a little, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “We hadn’t talked about it,” I admit. “And after how we left things, I didn’t want to assume anything.”
Aubrey looks down, her fingers worrying the edge of the blanket like she’s trying to work up the courage to say something.
Silence settles between us—awkward and heavy, pressing right against my chest. There’s so much we need to talk about, the giant damn elephant sitting between us, but I know this isn’t the moment.
Not when everything still feels so breakable.
I clear my throat and push myself up from the couch, my muscles protesting the movement.
Stretching my arms above my head, I try to work out the stiffness in my back and leg.
When I glance over at Aubrey, her gaze is already fixed on me.
But the second she realizes I’m looking back, her eyes dart away.
Yeah. I still affect her. I can feel it.
And she still wants me—I’m almost sure of it.
But I don’t know how deep the damage runs, or if I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from.
I’m not ready to ask. Not yet. Not when the answer might wreck me.
Instead, I walk over to the hotel phone and rest my hand on the receiver. I glance back at her, keeping my voice as steady as I can.
“Want breakfast?”