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An hour.
His quiet companionship offers nothing but support, but my conscience hears the question he refuses to ask. The question I keep asking myself.
Why did I leave the party?
Everything after that moment in the foyer is blank, a dark room in the corner of my mind where shadows of truth live, but I can’t grab hold of them—they slip through my fingers like sand.
I tilt my head up to find him watching me still, tears silently bathing his cheeks. Guilt strains his expression, compresses his mouth into a severe line of regret.
“I should have never taken my eyes off of you.”
I’m about to tell him it’s not his fault when his cell dings. He fishes it out of his pocket and checks the message.
“The phone call earlier,” I say. “Who…?”
“It was Liam. He’s on his way to Los Angeles.” Clenching his jaw, he sets the phone on his nightstand. “I told him not to come, but he didn’t listen.”
No, I doubt he would, under the circumstances.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I close my eyes. “I’m so tired.”
“You were drugged, baby.” His embrace tightens. “But the doctor said you’re going to be fine, physically. It’ll just take some time for your system to get back to normal.”
“A doctor came to see me?”
“You were in and out of consciousness, so Tate brought in a physician.” His brows furrow. “You don’t remember any of this, do you?”
“No.” I’m nodding off, my head too heavy, and that’s when Sebastian tucks me into bed.
The next time I awaken, the room is dark and vacant. My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten in a while, though I have no idea how much time has passed since my last meal. There’s a fresh cup of water on the nightstand, and as I take a long drink, I notice Sebastian’s cell phone is gone.
I don’t like this feeling of being alone.
Alone and in the dark.
Rising panic propels me from bed. Bad move. The room spins, and I sink back to the mattress until the walls stop whirling. But I don’t like this isolation, so I get back to my feet, ignoring the throbbing at my temples, and make my way toward the door.
He left it open, and soft light illuminates my way down the hall. As I descend the stairs, one hand on the rail for balance, angry voices rise above my quiet footsteps.
“You shouldn’t have left her alone there!”
“Don’t you dare point out the obvious when you should have been there, too. She’s your responsibility this month!” Sebastian’s tone turns harsher, louder. “You were the one who wanted to go to that fucking party in the first place, all so you could get your dick wet inside that adulterous whore.”
“Don’t talk about Claire like that. She has nothing to do with what happened to Novalee.”
“You’re right. That was our fuck up, Tate. This is on both of us.”
“No.” My voice halts their argument, and they turn to stare at me as I stall on the bottom step. “It’s on me.”
Sebastian curses under his breath, and he’s in front of me in an instant. “What happened is not your fault, princess.”
“It’s not yours, either.” My attention turns to Tatum. “Or yours. It’s Axel’s.” As my voice breaks, I wrap myself in my arms, only now realizing I’m wearing one of Sebastian’s oversized T-shirts.
He blinks rapidly, his eyes threatening to overflow, while Tatum hangs his head.
And that’s how Liam finds the three of us when he enters the penthouse. He sets his travel bag on the floor, his dark gaze taking in the scene, no doubt assessing the tension in our body language.
“Guess it’s a good thing I came after all.”
