Their eyes meet over my head, and they ignore my comment completely.
Assholes.
“There’s one bed, and I think we can both agree that Fi gets it,” Seb says.
Brantley starts to nod in agreement.
“No, that makes no sense,” I interrupt. “I’ll sleep in my room.”
“Wait, there’s another bed?” Seb asks, looking around.
I nod and walk past the bathroom to a closed door at the end of the short hallway. I lead them inside, though the room is so tiny, the three of us hardly fit. There’s a twin bed in the corner and a little three-drawer tallboy dresser.
“I thought this was a closet,” Sebastian mutters.
“Is this a bedroom for hobbits? It looks like a damn hobbit hole.”
I roll my eyes. “You mean children? Yes, it’s a child’s bedroom, B.”
I turn to look at the guys, who are practically on top of each other. “Anyway, I’m sleeping here. I’ll let you guys hash out your sleeping arrangements.”
“So then, there’s only one other bed,” B‘s brows lower over his chestnut eyes. “And those love seats are really small…”
“Whoa, whoa.” Sebastian steps back. “Like hell are we sharing a bed, Stitch.”
B grins. “I promise I don’t snore.”
“Snoring isn’t really the issue.”
“Oh, is sharing a bed too gay?” B teases, poking him in the ribs.
Seb jumps back farther, glaring at him. “No, I just don’t like you, and I’d rather not see your morning wood.”
“Sounds like a you problem,” Brantley quips. I’m inclined to agree.
“Whatever,” I say with a sweet smile. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed.” I push them toward the door until they’re crowded into the hallway. “Have a nice night, boys.” Seb gives me a dark look as I shut the door with a quiet laugh.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BRANTLEY
Bastian and I look at each other, and then he marches down the hallway with a heavy sigh. I follow. He stops, staring at the little love seats in the living room like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“No matter how much you stare, neither of our grown asses is going to be able to sleep on those tiny couches,” I note.
“Are you really that interested in sharing a bed?” He sounds irritated, but what else is new?
“Look, I know I’m not your favorite person, but it’s not like we have other options.” I step closer to him, my hands resting on my hips. “I’m certainly not leaving her alone here. Are you?”
“No,” he grumbles.
“Great,” I snark. “Then suck it up.”
I walk to the ladder and climb up. The loft is a cozy space, but obviously hasn’t been used in a while. Case in point, I sit on the bed and immediately sneeze. I turn on the bedside lamp and watch Bastian as he joins me, a scowl etching his face.
My stomach is a little queasy. I had a few drinks last night, but nothing since, so this is the longest I’ve been completely alcohol-free in a while. I don’t know what withdrawals feel like,but I suspect there’s no booze here. I never really considered myself an alcoholic—more of a social drinker—and I hardly drank at all while I played hockey to keep my body in peak shape. But after my injury, I’ve been questioning that.
I finger the scar across my neck. My skin tingles with pins and needles, probably from nerve damage, but the feeling always grounds me. As morbid as it sounds, I wish I had died that night. I let my father down. I let my teammates and myself down. And now I have this permanent mark to remind me of my failure.
