My job is here. My house. My whole fucking life is here. For now, at least.
I wish she would stay. But how could I ask that of her? To uproot her entire life to be here with me?
She’s made it perfectly clear these last few weeks that she has been—and will be—just fine without me.
I was ready to move on and respect her decision, but last night changed that. Because she still listens to the playlist from that night.Our playlist.That has to mean something, right?
I’m not letting go of that one remaining shred of hope—and I think she’s holding on, too. I saw it glimmer in her eyes when I accidentally touched her thigh in my truck. Maybe this isn’t over yet.
I’m mid-sip when Emmett busts through the screen door, letting it slam hard behind him. He holds a boot out far away from his body, grimacing. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants as his bare feet pad across the porch.
My brows pinch together as I study him.
He’s never up this early.
I usually have to pound on his door to wake him up and get the day started. He’s been better about it since Sadie got here, though. Like he’s trying to impress her and it’s the only way his underdeveloped brain can come up with.
Men do stupid things to get the attention of pretty girls.I would know.
I have to turn my head and look away as he proceeds to dump an obscene amount of what I can only assume to be vomit—given the consistency—over the side of the porch.
The splatter of it hitting the ground makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Jesus Christ, Emmett,” I say, unable to hide the disgust in my tone. “You couldn’t make it to the bathroom, eight feet away from your bed?”
He tosses an unamused look over his shoulder as he shakes the remaining bits out of his boot.
“Chill out, man. It’s obviously not mine,” he mutters, glancing back at the door like he’s waiting for someone to walk out and overhear us. “I didn’t even drink that much and I can handle my liquor just fine, fuck you very much.”
I raise my hands, backing off. “Alright, then whose puke did you just pour out of your boot? Did you call a girl over after we got back?”
He moves to the outdoor spigot and twists the water on, glancing at the door again.
“Dude! Keep your voice down,” he hisses. “I didn’t call over some random girl, alright? Dad would kill me for doing that in his house.”
He takes a deep breath and lowers his voice to almost a whisper. “Sadie is the girl, okay? I don’t want her to hear you out here talking shit and making her feel worse than she already does. She wasreallyfucking upset last night.”
I think he keeps talking but his words are distorted—muddled and distant.
I’m completely numb. My fingers tingle and I feel sick, like my body is rejecting his words, refusing to believe them.
My thermos slips out of my hands. The loudcrashit makes when it meets the porch snaps me back into my body.
Coffee splatters everywhere, a tiny river running along the grooves in the wood floorboards.
“Wes! What’s your deal, man? How are you supposed to hold onto the reins with those butter fingers?” he says in a teasing tone, bumping his shoulder into mine. He picks up my thermos and rinses it off after he finishes with his boot.
But I’m a millennium away from being in a joking mood.
Sadie was the girl.
She was with my brother last night.
In his room.In his bed.
They were drunk and alone in his room while I was on the other side of the wall.
No matter how many times I say it in my head, it still doesn’t feel real.
