Lying on my side, I focus on my breathing, mentally preparing for the worst. I remember enough about the first few hours of the party to have an idea about what I’ll find when I finally take a good look around.
When I’ve found the courage, I crack my eyes open and take in the room.
I suck in a breath, scanning the posters on the walls. The sunshine pouring in through the windows illuminates one featuring the Goo Goo Dolls, another with an image of Dave Matthews Band, and a third: Counting Crows. There’s a tidy desk with a black monitor on top, as well as a painfully familiar acoustic guitar resting against the desk chair.
A quiet, sincere hope hums under my skin.
I know this room.
Am I dreaming?
Eyes closed, I say a little prayer to the universe and continue taking stock of myself and my surroundings. I’m no longer wearing last night’s velvet bustier and mini skirt. Instead, I find a familiar thin, well-worn light gray Savage Garden T-shirt clinging to my body.
Slung over my waist is a heavy arm, the large hand—clearly a man’s—resting gently on my thigh.
Tentatively, hopefully, desperately, I grasp it.
“Mercer?” I ask on a broken whisper.
The body behind me stiffens, the grip on my hand going limp. “No.” A defeated sigh escapes him, making the hairs at my nape flutter. “It’s me.”
Tytus.
Memories slam into me like one physical blow after another. I’m in Mercer’s room, at Noah’s house, sleeping in Tytus’s arms.
They came to the party.
They carried me out.
Fuck. I think one of them may have even punched JD.
We were in the back seat. A car backfired.
It startled me. Scared the shit out of me, really. I begged Ty—I fucking begged—and then when he gave me what I wanted, I decided I also needed Mercer.
Good fucking grief.
The urge to coil in on myself and bury my head under the covers is overwhelming. So much of what occurred last night is shameful. Not only what I set out to do, but then what actually transpired. None of it was fair to anyone involved.
My heart sinks. I made such a mess.
A silent tear tracks down my cheek.
I lift my hand to swipe it away, but Ty beats me to it. Even though he can’t see me, even though I don’t deserve any semblance of comfort, he’s right there. He’s always right there, eager to take care of me.
He plants a soft kiss on my crown.
It’s the invitation I need to face him.
Gingerly, careful not to bump him or hurt his still-healing body, I turn.
He keeps his head resting on the pillow, so I do the same.
Onyx eyes bore into me, the depths of them so achingly familiar yet so distant and despondent.
“Hi,” I whisper.
Ty says nothing in response.
