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Chapter 4
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the sheen of sweat coating my entire body. I find this weird because I've always been someone who has to keep their bedroom window cracked wide open year-round, no matter how cold it is outside. It's just utterly impossible for me to sleep unless I feel like I've spent the past year living in an icebox, meds or not.
I find it even stranger how I can feel the wind flowing in through my open window, yet I suspect that if I were to get up right now, I would leave a giant Tyler-shaped sweat-stain in my sheets.
My eyes shoot open, the sun burning them immediately when a small arm snakes its way across my sticky chest. My eyes water from the burn as I glance down at the mess of blonde curls spread wildly across my pillow. The girl's breath hits my ear with every exhale, her mouth barely an inch from my cheek.
I go rigid when a soft moan escapes her lips and her head moves to cover the roaring lion tattoo enveloping my left peck. She pushes the thin sheet that was once covering her lower body to the side as she kicks her leg.
A fist-sized knot forms in my stomach when I drag my eyes up her bare legs. I stare at the hem of a t-shirt—my t-shirt. My breath catches in my throat. I spot the same cursive writing on her collarbone that Gracie has. The carefully written quote only makes the knot in my chest tighten. Guilt and regret make my head throb worse than any hangover can.
I made a promise to myself and an unspoken promise to Oakley that this wouldn’t happen again. I broke both. And for what? Now I have to pretend like I didn't just sleep with my best friend's sister. Again.
My flight or fight response kicks in as I pass a sweaty palm over my face. I'm going to seem like a dick when she wakes up but I can't be here when she does. I am not ready to have this conversation again.
I very slowly lift her arm off of my chest before sliding off the bed. I pause for a second, hovering over her, waiting. When she doesn’t stir, I say a quick thank you to the universe and grab my jeans off the floor, slipping them on. I roll my shoulders and give my head a shake to avoid taking another look at Gracie, regardless of how badly I want to.
After shutting the door softly behind me, I see a pair of leather pants and a black shirt lying on the ground beside the front door. You have got to be fucking kidding; we didn’t even make it past the front door.
Moving towards the couch, I find my phone lying beside a red-laced bra and another frustrated groan echoes through the apartment. I grab the phone with a heavy sigh before unlocking it and calling Adam. He's the only guy that I can talk to about this.
After four unanswered calls and even more unread texts, I run a hand through my hair and give it a hard yank. Of course, the one time that I actually need him to be by his phone, he isn't. I know it isn’t his responsibility to be there to deal with what I’ve done, but I’m desperate to throw my anger towards anything but myself. Why did I think it was a good idea to get blackout drunk last night? And why—of all women—did I bring Gracie Hutton here?
A shiver shoots up my spine as the memories of last summer come rushing back, making my throat itch. I need to get the fuck out of here. Giving my head another rough shake, I grab my wallet off of the armchair. My ringtone blasts through the living room louder than I would have liked, and I almost drop the damn thing as I frantically answer the call before the noise wakes Sleeping Beauty.
"Finally! About time." I force the whisper into the speaker with so much force that I'm surprised I didn't cover my phone in spit. I walk out the door, shutting and locking it quietly behind me.
"Sorry, I was sleeping. You know? Sleep? The thing most people do at this hour?” he says, his voice dripping in sarcasm.
"This is no time for your sarcastic remarks. I'm on my way over. Don’t bother pouring anything into a glass, I’ll drink it from the bottle."
My beat-up Ford shines in the golden light of the morning sun from a few feet down the sidewalk. The chipped paint around the grill mixed with the two loonie-sized rock chips in the windshield should probably embarrass me, considering it really wouldn't be hard to get it repainted or the windshield replaced. But shit like that doesn't bother me. Besides, the exterior problems are the least of my worries. With the engine steaming whenever I drive it further than fifty kilometres, I might as well just wait until the thing kicks the bucket and buy something else.
"It's six in the morning, Ty. We are not getting drunk."
Rolling my eyes, I unlock the doors and hop in, cringing at the creak in the door when it closes. Forcefully slamming my key in the ignition, I crank it until the familiar roar meets my ears.
I scoff into the phone. "You'll change your mind after I tell you what I just did. Be there in fifteen." I don't wait for his response and end the call.
I rap my knuckles impatiently on the front door of Adam’s bungalow, my heart hammering in my chest. The further I got away from my apartment, the guiltier I felt about leaving Gracie there all alone. I feel sorry for now at least. I don’t doubt that that will change as soon she wakes up which lessens my guilt slightly.
"It's open!" Adam calls from inside the house, and I turn the doorknob and walk in. A ball of speckled brown fur is heading in my direction before I even have the chance to kick my sneakers off. Adam's dog, Easton, comes barrelling in between my legs and I crouch down to scratch behind his floppy ears.
"Hey, buddy. Sorry, no treats this time," I apologize, laughing softly when he simply flops over onto his back in response. I stand up and walk towards the kitchen.
"There better be whiskey in that coffee cup," I huff when I see Adam sitting at his small, round kitchen table. He's put together like always; His mousey brown hair is gelled to perfection in a small swoop, even though he has probably just woken up, and his clothes are perfectly smooth—not so much as a wrinkle in the mossy button up stretched along his shoulders.
"You look like shit," he snorts, his eyes looking me up and down.
"Thanks." I sharpen my glare and take a seat at the table across from him.
"What was so important that you had to drive all the way here?" he asks after taking a long sip of what I presume is a latte. Groaning, I let my head fall back. I know Adam won't judge me for what happened last night. He's not that kind of guy. But he's also even closer to Oakley than I am. I just know that he's going to be disappointed. And fuck, it sucks when Adam is disappointed in you.
"I messed up again. Like seriously messed up." I raise my head, eyes glued to the wall in front of me.
His eyebrows raise into his hairline. "What did you do already? You just got back from Europe."
Forcing out a mangled sigh, I rake a hand through my messy hair. "Promise me that this stays between us. Nobody can know. Especially not Oakley."
