Or maybe it’s a side effect of sleep deprivation.
Tossing and turning all night will do that to a person. The worst part? My sheets still smell like Scarlett, her floral scent clinging to the soft cotton, a reminder of what I’ve lost.
Every rustle of the sheets—every floral note—is more painful than the last.
They need to be laundered, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Can’t bring myself to erase her scent from my bed.
From my life.
Not when her words—and those of my brothers—have taken up residence in my head. I’ve replayed those conversations a thousand times, and there’s only one possible conclusion: I fucked up.
I was so caught up in my twisted sense of self-preservation that I did everything they accused me of and more. I put up walls. Iced people out. Fought for control in every aspect of my world.
And despite all of it, Scarlett barreled into my life like a Mack truck.
Christ. I never meant to fall for her, never meant to let her slip past my defenses, but that’s exactly what she did.
If only I’d been able to see the truth sooner…
What? Then I might not have thrown her out on her ass?
I was the worst kind of prick, piling my emotional baggage at her feet and assuming the worst—doubting her—without giving her the opportunity to explain.
And when she tried, I shut her down.
I wasn’t ready then, but now…
Now I’ve had time to think. To calm down. To realize my need for control is driven by fear.
Fear of losing everything I’ve worked for. Fear of losing those who matter most. Fear of losing the woman I love.
My chest tightens and I throw back the sheets. I can’t do this anymore. Can’t lie here tangled in my thoughts.
I need todosomething.
Oreo snuffles from her spot at the foot of the bed.
Right. It’s five thirty in the morning.
Doesn’t matter.
I slip out of bed and go straight to my closet, dressing in the dark. I’ll go for a run and then, once the sun has risen, I’ll figure this out. I’ll make a plan.
I’ve never been a quitter, and I’m not about to start now.
Forty minutes later, I find myself at Beck’s door, sweat slick and prepared to do whatever it takes to earn Scarlett’s forgiveness. I don’t have the first clue how to make it right, but I don’t have to do it alone. I’ve got my brothers.
We’ll figure this out—together.
I knock and when Beck doesn’t answer, I text him.
He’s always been a night owl, so he’s probably still in bed. It is Saturday, after all.
Shit. I probably should’ve brought coffee, but by the time I realized where I was headed, it was too late. I texted Miles, told him to meet me here, and that was that.
There’s a quietthwackas the deadbolt slides back and when my brother opens the door, eyes at half-mast, one hand scratching the back of his head as he yawns, guilt nips at my conscience.
I shove it aside.
