“Yeah? So?” I ask as I flash my own screen at him with my forty-two missed calls and two hundred thirty-one unread text messages. Don’t even get me started on the number of unread emails I have in my inbox. I just thought this was how people operate.
“I don’t usually have the little red bubble notifying me of how many missed messages I have. I always respond as soon as I’m able to,” he says quietly.
“So those are all since you went to bed?” I ask, and he nods.
“Well, are you going to deal with them?”
“Dammit.” He rubs his forehead. “I should’ve known better than to do something in front of other people that we weren’t ready to announce.”
“Who would’ve thoughtthiswould happen?” I ask, shaking my phone. “There was hardly anybody even on that boat. What are the chances?”
“Apparently pretty good.” He sighs. “I just wanted to get ahead of it and tell Archer first.”
“Then let’s call him and tell him,” I suggest.
He nods, and he picks up his phone. He dials his brother, and my heart pounds as I wait for him to answer.
He doesn’t.
That’s not unusual for Archer. He often ignores calls, especially from his family. But deep down in my heart, I have a pretty strong feeling that he already knows. He’s seen the video. Someone showed it to him.
Someonehadto have shown it to him. Someone close to him who knows we were together for as long as we were.
He hangs up rather than leaving a voicemail. “There’s not much we can do tonight, so let’s just try to get some rest, and we’ll deal with it in the morning. I’ll check the texts and listen to the voicemails then.”
Right. We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Because surely I’ll go straight to sleep and not freak out at all over this. My parents might find out before I can tell them. It’s late here—after midnight now, and I don’t want to call them in the middle of the night and wake them up. What good would that do?
Tomorrow. He’s right.
“Come here,” he says softly. He pats the bed beside him, and I climb in.
I should go back to my room and turn off my light.
But as I settle into the bed and Ford wraps me in his arms, I’m finding I don’t have any motivation at all to get up and walk out of here.
And so I don’t. Rather than tossing and turning in my own bed, I feel safe here in Ford’s arms. And as I drift off to sleep, it feels like everything’s going to be okay.
Only…it’s not.
Ford’s not in bed when I wake up. He’s an early riser, and he’s usually at practice by now, so being up early isn’t exactly out of the ordinary.
I pad out to the kitchen, and I find Ford sitting there at the counter with his head in his hands. My brows dip together as I realize how much this is affecting him.
I wonder how many views that video has now.
I walk over to him, and I set my hand on his back. He startles a little, and when he pulls his head out of his hands and turns to look at me, I see that his eyes are rimmed in red.
“Ford, what is it?” I ask quietly.
“Those calls and texts last night…they weren’t about the video.”
“They weren’t?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “My mother died.” His voice breaks a little as he says the words.
“Oh, no. I’m so, so sorry, Ford.” I wrap my arms around him as I feel torn between comforting him, being here for him…and being there for his brother.
I’ve never felt torn between them. Not in the time since Archer and I broke up, and not in the time since I’ve been doing…whatever this is with Ford.
