No, please, God.
Theo approached and turned me around, gently brushing his fingers over the welts I knew were on my backside. Louie had taken a belt to me two nights ago, and the bruises were still there. I shivered in panic.
“Who ffffucking did this to you?” Theo asked.
I turned to face him and was met with eyes that were pained yet woozy. His eyelids drooped, and I thanked my lucky stars that he was so trashed.
“Nothing. Nobody, I mean. It’s nothing.”
I started backing away, but Theo approached. I would have pushed myself against the wall to hide my back, but Rowan’s outfits were still soaring on their Goddamn conveyor belt.
Theo looked at me again and whispered, “Asher, who hurt you?”
The tears were about to spill down my cheeks, but Theo’s head suddenly rested on my shoulder. He pulled me in for a hug, running his fingers along the bruises on my back. “Tell me who. I’ll ffffucking…” he squeezed me tighter, then planted a kiss on the top of my head. I wrapped my arms around him, not wanting to ever let go, but then the big boy went limp in my arms.
“Ugh…soooo drrrruunk,” he groaned.
I was crushed when the moment ended. I felt so safe in hisembrace—like I could just collapse into him and he’d carry me away from all of my troubles. But I was also relieved that there was a chance he might not remember any of it. He was so damn drunk. “Come on, Big Boy. Let’s put you to bed.”
I helped Theo to Rowan’s bed and lay him down. Even in the king-size bed, Theo looked massive. His eyes slowly closed, and he fell asleep. His face looked so serene—everyone always remarked about Theo’s hulking, muscular body, but nobody ever took notice of how truly handsome he was. He was perfect. I lowered myself and kissed his forehead. I wanted to kiss his lips, but he passed out, and that would be creepy. As I rose upright, he whispered, “Who hurt you?”
Oh no! Did he feel that? Did he know I just creepily kissed him as he slept? Could this night get any worse?
I spoke on a hushed whimper. “Theo?”
His head didn’t move, and his breathing slowly morphed into a cute snore.
Thank God.
I rose from the bed and made my way back to Rowan’s illustrious closet. I clicked the button, stopping the absurd clothing conveyor, and grabbed a top and shorts to put on. As I passed the bed, the urge to lie down and cuddle with Theo was palpable, but I squashed it.
Like I did everything.
I needed to go back downstairs and act normal. I had to have looked like a weirdo as I ran out of the party after Theo kissed me.
I’d go downstairs, play it cool, and pretend that kissing my best friend, who was also the love of my life, wasn’t the most incredible feeling in the world. I’d pretend like his fingers caressing the welts on my back weren’t the most soothing feeling I’d ever experienced.
I’d pretend, because that’s what I had to do.
Chapter 4
Theo (18)
I woke up nestled in the softest comforter, but it did nothing to ease the searing pain in my head. Jesus Christ, had someone taken an icepick to my fucking skull? Where was I?
A quick scan of the space told me I was in Rowan’s bedroom. The New York Rangers logo on the comforter cocooning my body was a dead giveaway, not to mention the posters of hockey greats like Alex Ovechkin and Sidney Crosby.
I tried to sit upright in the bed and quickly realized that I was going to have to wait. Thank God the curtains were closed. The glimmer of sunshine making its way through the edges of the curtains was enough to induce a migraine. A full dose of that shit could kill my ass.
I looked at the white ceiling above. The curtains moved ever so slightly because of the central air conditioning pumping through the mansion, creating a dance of shadows hovering above my war-torn body.
What the fuck even happened last night?
I remembered arriving at the party. I remembered getting naked and hopping into the jacuzzi with Emily and Cynthia. Ivaguely remembered tossing Asher in, too. I bet he was pissed.
Was that where the feeling was coming from? It wasn’t the age-old pain of a massive hangover consuming my body. There was something else. Something bad. Wrong. I felt uneasy, like I needed to go and fix something. Did I piss Asher off when I threw him in the Jacuzzi? I must have because I woke up feeling like I needed to go to him, to make something right, but I couldn’t figure out what.
That was the worst part about drinking: waking up the next day and trying to figure out if you needed to apologize for your actions. I once blacked out and tried to fist-fight Rowan and woke up the next day with no recollection of any of it. I apologized for almost an hour, but he just laughed it off—said it was just the booze-demon rearing its ugly head.
