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Flames lick at my skin as ice flows through my veins. The heat is unbearable, and yet a vicious chill settles in my bones. It’s suffocating—the warmth, paired with a bitterness that steals my breath. A jolt has my eyes flying open, and I expect to be relieved of my dream, but the sensations remain as I shiver, coated in sweat.
“Harlow, shit.” Ezra lays his forehead against mine, as gross and sweaty as it is, closing his eyes in what looks like relief. He pulls back, and I see Sawyer nervously watching from just behind him.
“Are you okay, Angel?”
I nod, swallowing with difficulty, my throat parched and my stomach rolling.
They talk among themselves, but I don’t pay any attention, my head thumping behind my eyes and my nose and throat scratchy. It goes quiet, and when I peel my eyes open again, Sawyer has disappeared. He comes back a minute later as Ezra sits me up gently, my shoulders peeling from the sheets, which are definitely damp.
“Take these,” Sawyer says softly as he hands Ezra a glass of water and me two tablets. I look at them warily. It’s been a long while since I’ve willingly taken any kind of drug, legal or not, but this hangover is kicking my ass. “Please.”
Sawyer has his puppy dog eyes on, and I relent and take them, although it’s not exactly a hardship. I gulp down the refreshing, cool liquid and let it soothe my throat. When I’ve drained the whole thing, Ezra takes the glass and lifts me gently, carrying me to the bathroom.
“Are you okay to stand?” he asks.
I nod, although I’m not totally sure, but when he takes his hands away from me, I manage it, even if I am clinging to his biceps as he undresses me. Fuck... how much did I drink? I’ve never had a hangover even close to this bad before.
The bath has already been run, and Ezra gets in first, sitting against the back before holding his hand out for me to get in. He pulls me back against him, cocooning me in his arms and legs as Sawyer returns. He passes me a cold flannel that drapes delightfully over my forehead and another glass of water that I gulp down gratefully.
“Please remind me to never drink again,” I groan. I can’t fault them for tending to me as if I’m dying, because I feel like I might be. Ezra’s arms tense around me at my words, and Sawyer’s eyes harden. Are they pissed?
“You’re hungover?” Ezra asks, but they were there. They must’ve seen how much I had to have drunk to feel this awful.
“I guess so.” I shrug as Sawyer takes the now empty glass from me. “I don’t remember much.”
“Whatdoyou remember?”
I think back to the club, arriving with the guys and the others. Having a couple of drinks and a dance. Coming out of the bathroom and seeing them together. My eyes flick up to Sawyer, and his jaw clenches as he guesses what I’m remembering before I pull my eyes away. The snide comment I made before my phone rang to save me from making it worse.
“The last thing I remember is speaking to Fleur outside. What happened after?”
I grimace, not loving the fact I can’t remember, but when I look back at Sawyer, he’s looking past me to Ezra, something unreadable in his eyes. I pull away from Ezra, turning so I can face them both. “What? Was I a bitch?” I know I can be, especially when I feel threatened. I’m working on it, I swear.
“No, you weren’t a bitch,” Ezra says softly, which makes me frown. What’s with the kid gloves?
“We don’t know what happened after,” Sawyer finishes for him, as I blink blankly at them both.
“What do you mean you don’t know? Did we all get that drunk?”
Maybe it’s the next day and we all blacked out. I have no idea what the time is, and I can’t recall whether there was daylight breaking through the curtains or not.
“No. You left to call Fleur and never came back.”
What? Where else would I have gone? “That makes no sense. How am I here, then?”
“Nico found you passed out outside the apartment,” Ezra says gently, but the words are like bombs in my ears. If I wasn’t sitting down right now, I think I’d have passed out. Again, apparently. They don’t know what happened? Nico was here? Where did I go? I ask them both, but I know before they’ve even opened their mouths what the answer will be. They’ve already told me, haven’t they?
“We don’t know, Angel.” Sawyer’s words are soft, as are his hands as he takes the flannel from my burning forehead, soaking it in cold water before replacing it. The thoughts whirring away inside my brain probably aren’t helping, and they’re certainly making my headache worse. I disappeared outside the bar and turned up outside the apartment? How long was I gone for? Did I go with Fleur? Surely not—she wouldn’t have just left me on the floor outside. So where the fuck have I been, and why don’t I remember it?
Yes, I was pissed at Sawyer, but that’s because what I saw hurt my feelings—hurt myheart. I wasn’t pissed enough to warrant disappearing on him and getting blackout drunk without them. Or was I? Maybe something else happened after that made me that way. But it seems so unlikely. I justdon’t know. The feelings of helplessness and anxiety claw at my chest, so I do what I do best when I’m feeling too much—I bury them deep down.
The flannel has warmed up again by the time I speak into the quiet bathroom, pulling it from where it sits to wipe at my face, my makeup coming off in smudges. I must look a state. “Can we go to bed?” I ask.
They look relieved that I’m not freaking out, if not slightly surprised, and I feel like a bitch for instinctively shutting them out, but I can’t help it. My coping mechanism is to fold into myself and only needme.
Sawyer leaves, and Ezra gets out of the tub, folding a towel around his waist and holding one out for me. I sway as I stand, not feeling drunk anymore, just unstable. He grabs my waist, and I wince as the pounding in my head evens out. Then he lifts me out gently and wraps me in the towel. I brush my teeth, and he dries the ends of my hair that dipped into the water, raking his fingers through what is undoubtedly a bird’s nest, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m suddenly so tired every bone in my body feels heavy.
When I get back to my room, there’s a fresh glass of water on the bedside table, the condensation showing it’s just as cold as my body is craving, and Sawyer is straightening the fresh bedding, the sweaty stuff no doubt already in the laundry. He really is the best.
