He jumped, eyebrows climbing as he showed his palms. “Hey. Take it easy. I’m not interrogating you. I’m just saying, if there’s something going on?—”
“I had too much to drink and I did something stupid. I’m sorry for that. That’s all there is to discuss.”
I didn’t expect—or understand—the hurt in his expression.
Was there something else? Something I was missing?
Cautiously, and without the anger in my voice now, I asked, “What, um… What all happened last night? Because my memory is…” I tightened my arms and shifted a little. “I don’t remember much.”
Peyton took a deep breath. “You were in the bar by yourself. I asked if you were heading up, and you realized what time it was, so you closed your tab and…” He waved a hand. “Anyway, when you tried to get up…” He chewed his lip.
There was a dreamlike memory that might’ve been that moment. Something about standing up and the whole room spinning until strong arms helped me upright.
“I got you back to your room,” he said quietly. “Then you, um…” His cheeks were bright red and he refused to look at me.
“Jesus,” I whispered. “I am so sorry.”
“I know you are.” He hesitated, then managed to reclaim eye contact. “I know it wasn’t, you know, you. Butsomethingwas going on last night.”
I could read between those lines. He didn’t mean something was going on between us. Something had driven me into a bottle, and he was worried about it.
Christ. I knew I should’ve gone up to my room to get drunk.
I sank onto the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m fine.”
Why did I have a sudden sense of déjà vu? As if I’d been sitting right here, Peyton looming over me while I told him that same damn lie?
This time—somehow I was sure it hadn’t played out this way last night—he sat beside me, keeping a few inches between us. I couldn’t look at him, but I could feel him watching me intently.
“What’s going on?” he pressed gently.
“I’mfine,” I insisted.
He studied me for a painfully long moment. “Does this have anything to do with Leif?”
I flinched, my throat suddenly tight with the immediate threat of tears.Absolutely not,I told myself. Peyton wasalready too aware that I was a mess. He didn’t need to see the waterworks too.
“It was a rough night.” I stared at the floor as I spoke. “It’s been hard, you know? I’m good most of the time, though.”Liar, liar. I took a deep breath, then turned to him. “I just had a bad night. And morning. But I’m fine.”
“You’re fine.” There was a hard edge to his voice now.
I bristled. “Yes.”
“Everything is under control.” Sarcasm didn’t drip off his words—skepticism did. “You just… got shitfaced by yourself last night, in a hotel bar, and then?—”
“I got drunk,” I snapped. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? It happens. But that doesn’t mean I’ve got a problem or I’m out of control. It wasonenight.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that, but nobody gets fucked up alone on a road trip when they’re?—”
“I’m sorry, am I not allowed to fuck myself up when we’re not playing?” I glared right back at him. “Youdrink when we?—”
“I don’t get blackout drunk the night before a game,” he threw back. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t wandered into the bar last night? Huh? How exactly were you getting back to your room?”
I hated myself for not having an answer to that.
Peyton watched me with a look of anger and… was that disgust? I couldn’t read his expression, never mind his thoughts, but the way he was staring at me made my skin crawl. It made me want to puke just thinking about how last night had gone down.
Way to go, Calds. Blow any possible shot you ever had with this guyandfuck things up with a teammate. 10/10, genius.
