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“It’s a competition, and three in the morning.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll try to catch it if I can. I’ll see you ladies around?”
“Sure thing.”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer. “It was good seeing you.”
With that, he’s gone, and I finally let out a shaky breath.
“You okay?” Grace asks softly.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
She opens her mouth to protest, most likely, but I stop her. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”
CHAPTERFORTY-SEVEN
JADE
Waking up just shy of three in the morning? Not my best decision. We didn’t plan to fall asleep, but at some point during the Twilight marathon, we did just that. Well,Ifell asleep, but apparently, Penelope and Grace didn’t have a problem staying awake. But I guess, whether I want to admit it or not, my body is still healing.
I bury my face in the mug of freshly brewed coffee, willing the smell of caffeine to wake me up when there is a knock on the door.
“Who else is coming?” I call out to Grace, who went to get something in her room.
“Probably Mason. Can you open it?”
“Sure thing.”
Mug still clutched in my hand, I make my way to the front door and pull it open, only to come to a stop.
“Spence—” my words die down when I look over his shoulder, and my eyes meet that familiar dark gaze. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs.
A month.
It’s been almost a month since I’ve last laid eyes on Prescott.
He’s here.
At my front door.
He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.
My fingers clench around the doorknob to the point of pain as I just stare at him. I’m not sure who’s more surprised, him or me. Because the look of shock on his face? It’s the real deal.
“W-what…” My voice breaks, so I clear my throat before trying again. “What are you doing here?”
“Well…” Spencer scratches the back of his head uncomfortably. “I got up to watch Rei, but you know how our TV can get. Of course, today the signal decided to be shitty as fuck, so I figured I might come here since I’m up and all.”
“Right.” I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes glancing toward Prescott, who’s still watching me, before I quickly look away.
His eyes give the impression they see everything, too unyielding, too intense… Just too much.
“He was up, so…” Spencer explains.
At three in the morning?
My gaze snaps up to his, and I give myself time to actually take him in. He seems to be doing better. His beard is trimmed to a scruff, and he must have had a haircut recently because his hair isn’t all over the place like it used to be. The circles are still under his eyes, but they’re no longer deep, dark smudges, and his cheeks aren’t as hollow as they were the last time I saw him. But maybe the biggest difference is in his eyes. That glazed, haunted expression? It’s gone. Not completely, I don’t think people like us can ever completely chase away the demons haunting us, but they’re dancing around the edges, present but under control.
