We almost stumbled into something real.
But almost has never been enough.
And that hopeful, floaty naïveté that yearns for more no longer has the privilege of curiosity. Not at the expense of their well-being.
I peek down at my phone and sigh. The battery is down to 7 percent. I feel just as drained, honestly.
With a deep breath in, I will my eyelids to stay open. I can’t fall asleep again, no matter how inviting that option may be.
I have to go.
I have to re-erect the boundaries around my heart, put physical space between myself and all three of the men who have played starring roles in my life this semester. It’s time to start the nauseating work of being on my own once again.
I swallow past all the emotion threatening to spill out, willing myself not to so much as sniffle.
Easing up gently, I dust my lips over Ty’s.
When I pull back, his eyes are still closed, and that uncharacteristic hint of a smile is still painted on his face.
With slow movements, taking care not to jostle him, I silently, regretfully, painfully peel myself out of the hospital bed and collect my few belongings.
It’s time to go.
Chapter thirteen
Tytus
Forcing my eyes open and blinking, I internally scan my aching body. My muscles hurt like they have all night, but the pain is dulled. My throat, on the other hand, is on fire. And if I focus hard enough, I can feel each incision on my abs and my side.
I’m fucked.
But at least—
A low grunt cuts into my thoughts. It’s followed by a whisper.
Adrenaline kicking in, I find myself scrambling to sit up. Immediately, my body protests, sharp pain zapping through me.
“Here.” Atty steps up to the bedside, offering a hand.
I grip it, and he wraps me in a half-hug, using his other arm to lift and support my weight. Without asking, he adjusts a few pillows behind me.
Once I’m sitting up and the pain from moving has subsided, I scan the room, my pulse hammering away against a potential threat that isn’t there.
Five people surround me.
Atty, of course. His presence calms my nerves slightly.
Coach is here as well.
Fuckin’ A.
Swayzee, Tanvers, and Haas round out the rest of the group, and every one of them is silent.
Warmth creeps up my neck. Fuck. I don’t want any of them to see me lying in a hospital bed.
“What?” I snap, my defenses clicking into place. They’re all looking at me like I’m a specimen to be studied. Or worse—someone deserving of their pity. “Jet and Ricki-Rick had class?”
Haas scoffs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We all had class. But we decided being here for you was more important.”
