“He ok?”
I swallow thickly. I’m tired of lying. I don’t know how good I am at it. I didn’t have to face Penn after I’d seen the pill in Travis’s wallet. Liv told him I hadn’t found anything, and he never mentioned it again. But she’s always talking about how much of a human lie detector he is. I wonder if it works on everyone or only her.
“Uh, I think so,” I manage to say after far too long.
He tilts his head, then his eyes move back to Travis. “Would you tell me if he wasn’t?” I want to tell him what’s going on. I’m not sure if I’m helping or harming Travis more by keeping his secrets. But I also don’t want to betray Travis’s trust.
“I’m worried about him,” he admits.
Guilt slams into me, tears threatening again. “Me too.”
He glances at me. “You’re good for him, Ellie. He cares about you.”
A gripping pain squeezes my chest. Damn feelings. It’s painful to hear, yet brings me hope at the same time, and hope is a dangerous thing to have. I know Travis well enough to know he doesn’t make anything easy for himself. I’m not immune to feelings—love—as much as I’d like to think, but admitting them is scary as fuck. I can’t fault him for being afraid. Feelings make you vulnerable. Prone to injury, if you will.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Penn says, backing away. Somehow, I just know he knows.
51
TRAVIS
My mouth is drierthan the desert when I wake up. There’s a steady pounding behind my eyelids as I force them open against their will. My limbs feel heavy and the urge to go right back to sleep is strong. But when my vision finally focuses, I find Ellie next to me. Her head is tucked under my arm, her lashes fluttering as she sleeps with one palm pressed flatly against my chest—right over my heart. The other hand is clutched tightly in my shirt, as if she was afraid I was going to run away.
The night before crashes into me like a violent wave, threatening to drag me under. The coke. The euphoric feeling that seemed to pass within seconds, replaced by an overwhelming panic.Ellie. The worry etched on her face. I texted her and asked her to stay with me.
My heart thumps harder, remembering the feeling all too well. I thought I was dying. What the fuck was I thinking? Coke by itself is bad enough, even the small amount I used. Doing it on top of Addie? Ballsy.Dumb as fuck, you mean?
Sucking in a shaky breath, I bring my hand to herbeautiful round face, letting my fingers trace her jawbone. Her eyelids flicker before opening. She glances at me and a relieved gasp spills from her open mouth. Shock. She’s shocked that I’m alive.
A painfully thick lump attempts to slide down my throat, but my mouth is so fucking dry that I can’t get it down.
I’m a piece of shit.
My ribs constrict, squeezing my heart as it tries to rattle free. Nausea swirls in my gut, guilt eating the lining of my stomach when I notice tears pooling behind her cat-like gaze.
I try to send her an apology with my eyes as my grip on her face tightens, hoping it’s reassuring. I’m here. I’m ok. I’m sorry.
Her bottom lip wobbles. She bites it, trying to hold back a whimper, but it comes out, devastating and strangled. And it cuts right through my bones. My eyes squeeze shut.
Seeing her this tore up over what I did is like a gunshot straight to the chest. Leaving me exposed—raw and bleeding—with a gaping hole that I deserve.
“You really scared me...again.” Her voice cracks, and I feel a drop of something hit my thumb that’s currently stroking her cheek.
My eyes fly open. She’s crying. Goddammit. The sight would make my knees buckle if I weren’t lying in this bed. I bring my other hand up, catching the tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” I rasp, not giving a fuck about the damage I might be doing to my vocal cords. It’s been nothing but humidifiers, water, and zero talking since I left the doctor.
But my words are empty and useless. How many times have I apologized to her in the last few weeks? Dozens, probably, and it doesn’t mean shit. I’ve been a fucking disaster. Blowing shit up left and right and leaving her to pick up the mess.
“Don’t talk.”
I have to. She needs to hear my words, to know howserious I am this time. “I’m never going to put you through that again. I swear.” My voice comes out ragged, my pitch higher than normal, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as it did.
She searches my face and I hold her gaze. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her. I’ll fling myself off the fucking bus before I make her cry ever again. The only tears I want to see coming from her are happy tears. The kind that come out when she’s on a laughing fit, cackling, deep and throaty with her head tipped back. Or when I’m tickling her so hard she can’t breathe. When she kicks and claws at me, wheezing until water leaks from her eyes. Blissed out orgasm tears are ok, too. After I've pushed her to the brink, ate her out, and made her come over and over. But not sad, painful, gut-wrenching tears caused by my dumbass actions.
“I will murder you myself if I catch you doing that shit again, Travis William Beckett.”
My brows shoot up at the seriousness of her tone along with the use of my middle name. My dick would be chubbed up, too, if it weren’t for her sadness. There’s not one thing about seeing her broken up like this that turns me on. I hate it. I hate myself even more knowing I’m the cause.
I clear my throat, preparing to exercise my voice even more. She shoots me a warning glare when I open my mouth, but I ignore it. “I’ll let you. You can take a baseball bat to my kneecaps, bash in my skull, cut me with your knife. Do whatever you want to me.” It would probably hurt less than the pain I feel right now.
