Page 44 of Sixty Days Of Summer

“I don’t know,” I say, downing my shot, not wanting to admit it was because of how I hurt Scarlet. Someone so shiny and bright, getting fucked over by someone like me. One minute, I was ready to dive into some pussy, and the next, the look on her face—the pain I caused—sent me spiraling back down like a wave pulling me under. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t sleep,” Xander says, lifting his glass and taking a long sip. “I talked to Poppy not too long ago, then figured I’d swing by here for a drink.”

“It’s different now on tour for you, I guess,” I say.

“Yeah, it is,” he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But I wouldn’t change it. I’d never survive if I lost them.”

“How the hell did you do it, man? How’d you let someone in?” I grab Xander's bottle and pour myself another shot, glancing up at him with a mix of curiosity and envy before setting the bottle back down on the table.

“You mean letting Poppy in?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I reply, eager to avoid diving into the details too much.

“I don’t know. It just kind of happened,” he replies, shrugging it off. “It snuck up on me, I guess you could say. Why?”

I don’t answer. While I respect his honesty, it’s a far cry from the old what-if bullshit we used to ramble on about as kids. But now it’s different between us; now Xander lays bare his heart on the table, and it feels like a whole new level of realness.

“Hey, I thought you’d left earlier with two groupies,” he says, giving me a look. He knows I usually get out of my head by fucking my feelings away.

“Yeah, I did. Just didn’t feel like it once we got here.”

Xander smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Guess even your cock's got standards now. Never thought I’d see the day.”

I chuckle and down the shot. “Yeah, well, I guess it turns out even my cock’s got a conscience. Who knew?” I grin at Xander, appreciating the rare light moment, feeling grateful to have my best friend sitting with me. “Glad you’re here, man. This shit’s easier to handle with you around.”

There’s a relentless pounding at the door, or maybe it’s just the thumping in my head from a late night with Xander. The knocking comes again, louder this time. I roll over in bed and shout, “Whoever the hell that is, better fuck off!” But the knocking continues, each thud amplifying my headache and fueling my irritation. If it’s Theo, he’s really going to get it.

I push the covers aside and, with my head pounding and eyes still half-closed from barely a few hours of sleep, drag myself to the door.

“For fuck sake, stop the damn pounding!” I yell, yanking the door open. “What the fuck do you want?” Through my half-closed eyes, I see Kit standing there. She just brushes past me, not giving a shit that I’m fuming.

“Don’t you ever check your phone?” she snaps.

I turn slightly, keeping the door open as I watch her step further into the room. With a resigned sigh, I close the door, realizing she isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

She grabs my scrunched-up jeans from the floor, and tosses them at me, hitting me square in the chest.

“Put these on. As manly as you are, I’m not having a serious conversation with your dick out.”

I bend over, shove a leg through, and almost lose my balance. Fuck, if I had to guess, I’m still hungover as hell. Xander and I finished that whisky bottle and didn’t drag our sorry asses out of the bar until around four this morning. When I finally manage to get dressed, I look up and see Kit in the kitchen, making coffee.

“What time is it?” I ask, scanning the room for a clock. Not spotting one, I make a beeline for my phone.

“Eight,” she says, just before I grab it.

“What the fuck, Kit?” I growl, stumbling over to the couch and flopping down, my palms rubbing at my sleepy eyes. “What’s so fucking important that you had to drag me out of bed at this hour?” I check my phone and see eight missed calls, all from Kit. She comes back with a cup of coffee and hands it to me. The fact she’s bringing me coffee tells me something is seriously wrong. I take the cup from her as she sits down on the couch beside me.

Taking a sip, I keep my eyes on her. This isn't the usual Kit. She’s usually a no-bullshit, take-no-prisoners type, but the look on her face and the fact she’s been bombarding me with calls this morning has me on edge.

“Just fucking say it, Kit,” I tell her. “If it’s about those girls from last night, nothing fucking happened, no matter what they say.”

“It’s not about that, Ace.”

“Then just fucking tell me.”

“How’s your relationship with your mother?” she asks, her gaze steady. No one but Xander knows about the shit that went down with my mother—I've kept that locked up tight all these years, buried deep where no one can reach it.

“Why the fuck are you asking?” I snap. I fight to keep my anger in check, every muscle in my body tensing. It takes all my willpower not to hurl the coffee cup across the room, but my mind’s racing, trying to figure out why she's digging into this now, after all this time. What the hell has happened to make her think this is okay?

---