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“What if he can’t?”
I squeeze him tighter but don’t respond. I don’t do false promises.
After finally persuading Xander to go to bed, I strip West down to his boxers, then kick off my shoes and climb into bed next to him. Sitting up with my back against the headboard, I pull him into my arms, resting his head on my chest. He grumbles a drunken protest, but he’s too wasted to offer any kind of resistance.
I brush his damp hair back from his head and cradle him in my arms. “Shut up, you drunk fucker.”
His pathetic glare almost makes me laugh. Seconds later, he passes back out.
I’ve only ever seen him cry once before in my entire life, and that was when Xander almost died from appendicitis. We might have broken her, but she broke us too. We’ve been living in a void since she left. No, not living, existing. Barely. Every spare hour I have is spent on her. Looking into her past, checking in on her. I’ve become her stalker, obsessed with all things Lily.
That’s how I knew she saw West today. I watched her leave our building, and she looked destroyed. Xander was working from home, so it could have only been West who put that look of torment on her face.
Maybe it’s time I stop watching her from the shadows. Time for me to fix this. For her, for Xander and West. For me.
* * *
West groansand rolls onto his side, waking me up. I stayed up watching him like a hawk until the sun came up before I finally fell asleep. Rolling onto his back, he throws his arm over his eyes.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he snaps.
I lean up on my elbow and study his face. “Well, you downed almost a whole bottle of Scotch.”
“That’s not why I feel like shit, Z.”
“No?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Not the only reason, anyway.”
I trace my fingertips over his chest. “You’re not the reason she left.”
He shakes his head. “So, why do I feel like I am? I should have listened to Xander. I should’ve—”
“We both should have.”
He turns his head and looks at me. “You think I don’t know that you just go along with whatever I want to keep me happy, Z? You always have.”
I shrug. “I thought she betrayed us too. It’s not all on you.”
He runs a hand through my hair and tugs my head back. “Thank you for looking after my drunken ass.”
I wave off his thanks.
“What the fuck did I do to deserve you?” It’s not one of those rhetorical questions people who love each other ask. He’s genuinely looking for an answer. And I suddenly understand why he’s always telling me that I’m too hard on myself. Always trying to keep me out of a self-loathing spiral. He never lets me forget how loved I am, by both him and Xander.
I trail kisses across his chest, and he groans, his fingers still threaded through my hair. When I move lower, teeth and tongue swirling over his hard abs, he hisses out a breath.
I rub my palm over his cock, and it grows harder at my touch.
“Zeke,” he warns, but I don’t stop. Moving lower, I shove his boxers down and grip his shaft. I lick a path from the center of his stomach all the way to the base of his dick.
His fingers dig into my scalp. I tug on his thick cock and precum beads on the slit. Darting out my tongue, I lick it off, letting the taste of him fill my mouth.
“Zeke, don’t.”
“Why? Because you think you don’t deserve this?”
