Yeah. We really fucking didn’t.
My thumb tightens on the remote. The urge to throw it across the room is almost irresistible.
Instead, I hit pause. The picture freezes on my smiling face.
“Lucky bastard,” I tell past-me.
The only sound now is the wind moving through the pine trees outside. I tap my phone screen, and it shows 3:20 PM.
“Shit.” I scrub a hand down my face. I had not realized I dozed off for so long.
I shove off the bed and stand, my knees cracking in protest. Through the window, the mountain peaks glow in the fading light. It's so beautiful. Too bad the view doesn't match my mood…
Getting dressed takes thirty seconds. Jeans. Thermal. The hoodie I threw on the chair before collapsing into bed.
I head to the bathroom, and damn, these purple smudges under my eyes don't look good.
Cold water on my face. Towel. Doesn't help.
The hallway creaks under my weight as I head toward the kitchen, the boards warm from the hydronic heat under them.
I round the corner.
Felix is already there, leaning against the marble island. The fireplace in the great room behind him throws gold over his face, catching in his honey-brown hair. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a Lakeview Puckers hoodie with a stain on the front from last night’s chili.
“Look who’s alive,” he says, cradling a mug, his voice a little rough.
“Debatable.” I head for the coffeemaker. “Why aren’t you on the ice?”
"Why aren't you?" He emphasizes the last word. "I've been waiting here long enough to wonder if you were hibernating."
Despite myself, my mouth twitches. I can appreciate he's trying to lighten the mood, despite everything.
I reach for a clean mug and pour myself black coffee, no sugar. The first swallow burns all the way down. Good.
Footsteps behind me. Liam appears in the doorway, quiet as a ghost.
Dark jeans, navy sweater, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. His black hair's damp and clinging to his forehead, either from a shower or from sweating through his nap. Hard to say.
His eyes flick from me to Felix.
“Good nap?” Felix asks casually.
“Fine.” Liam moves past me to the cupboards and reaches for a mug.
He's lying. None of us sleep well this time of year. Haven't for the past two years.
Liam opens the canister and tips it, grounds falling into the filter.
“We’re almost out,” he says.
“So?” I take another swallow. "There's probably more in the pantry."
“Regardless, someone was supposed to do the groceries.” His gaze slides to me. “Two days ago.”
Right.
“How about we shoot for it?" I drain the rest of my coffee. "Loser goes.”
