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19
Archer
Irub the last remnant of the bruise on my jaw from Rhys’s monster fist and sigh, shoving back from my desk. The paperwork on my desk is unfinished, but my mind is a million miles away. All I can focus on is Lena’s face that night at Miri’s house. That I fucked up feeling has been hammering around in my skull all week. It’s been five days and I’m about to crawl out of my skin.
Rhys is pissed, obviously, but the others are more upset about the secret, as far as I can tell. I haven’t talked to Lena since that night and it’s driving me nuts. She thinks the best thing for us to do is to back off. Go back to being friends. Except that feels like the absolute worst fucking thing in the world. We only just scratched the surface of what things could be like between us. I’ve never experienced anything so hot, so incredible, so right, in my entire life. And now I’m expected to forget it.
My phone rings and I practically leap out of my chair to grab it from the edge of my desk. I don’t even look to see who’s calling before I answer.
“Hello.”
“Arch.” Ezra’s voice sounds strange on the other end.
“Ezra, what’s up.” Davis and Ezra have all but forgiven me for the secret keeping. Ezra slapped the back of my head and called me an idiot. Not sure for what part, though, for keeping it to myself or the fact that Lena and I were hooking up. Probably both. Davis looked me in the eye and told me he didn’t want to know shit about anyone’s personal lives anyway, and that was that. If that doesn’t sum my friends up in a few short sentences, I’m not sure what will.
“Something’s wrong.”
I jolt to my feet, worry punching me in the gut. “What’s up? Is it Lena?”
“Dude, fuck. No. Shit.” There’s fumbling on the other end of the phone and I hear something that sounds like an animal whining. Ezra’s a vet, so it’s possible there’s a dog nearby.
“What’s going on?”
“Ruby and I had a fight.” He stops to breathe heavily. I pull the phone away from my ear and cringe. That’s a little too much like panting for me to handle from one of my best friends.
“Did she stab you?” I mean it as a joke, but shit, did she? I wouldn’t put it past her. She and Ezra have a very tempestuous relationship. Their anger often gets the better of them when they’re together.
“No, man. Just…can you come to my house?”
“Are you going to be okay until I get there?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Just get here.”
“Leaving now.” I don’t bother saying goodbye before I hang up. I’m out the door and in my ATV before my phone’s back in my pocket.
It takes six minutes to get to Ezra’s house, pushing my damn vehicle to its limits. I almost hit a couple of tourists out for a walk along the beach. They definitely got sprayed with a shit ton of sand. I lift a hand in an apologetic wave, but their shouts tell me they don’t accept. My bad.
Ezra’s house is on the edge of the woods, where it butts up to the beach. He’s a few hundred yards from dipping his toes in the water. It’s a traditional cottage with a private dock and walkway that leads down to the water from his back deck. I sold him the damn thing, so I know what a prime piece of real estate it is.
Throwing my ATV in park and turning it off in a rush, I bound out of the seat and sprint up the stone pavers that lead to the back deck. There really isn’t a front to the house. Technically, a front door faces the woods, but no one ever comes that way, so the back of the house, which faces the water, functions as the front.
Full-length windows run the width of the deck. I shield my eyes and peer through the glass before I knock. Without waiting for a reply, I walk inside like I’ve done a thousand times before.
“Ezra. You still here?” It’s almost unnatural to hold in the teasing tone I want to use; that’s just who I am. These past few months have been sorely testing my sunny demeanor. I don’t fucking like it.
“I’m in here,” Ezra calls out from the master bedroom, groaning loud enough that I dash through the living room and down the hallway to his room. It’s unsurprisingly tidy. That’s just Ezra. He’s the kind of guy who makes his bed every morning and picks up after himself. I’m not a slob, but I rarely make my bed. I think it has something to do with my mother’s insistence that my bed always be made with hospital corners. When I finally moved out on my own, I refused to make my bed as a giant fuck you to all the specific demands she had when I was growing up.
I search Ezra’s bedroom but don’t spot him. The bathroom door is closed, and another groan sounds from behind it.
“Dude, are you hungover? Food poisoning? If you crapped your pants, you could have told me. I just about had a heart attack worrying about you. If that’s what the problem is, then that’s so not cool.”
“I didn’t shit myself.” Another drawn-out moan leaks from the bathroom as the doorknob turns, and the door slowly swings open. Ezra’s on the floor, his back up against the vanity. His normally light brown skin looks ashen and sweat dots his brow. I squat down in front of him, my brow creasing with concern.
“Did you eat some bad shellfish or something?”
“No. Fuck, this doesn’t have anything to do with food poisoning or me shitting myself or puking. Christ.” He swipes at his forehead and my eyes zero in on his hand.
“Have you always been this hairy?” I lift my chin to indicate the hair on the back of his hand and knuckles.
