Page 49 of Sixty Days Of Summer

The silence between us is thick, suffocating. It presses down on me, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything but the raw need clawing under my skin. My fingers strum aimlessly at the strings, but my mind’s a million miles away from the music. I’m trapped in this tug-of-war, torn between the urge to break the silence, to say something—anything—that might cutthrough this unbearable tension, and the fear that if I do, I’ll just fuck it all up. So I stay quiet, letting the silence stretch on, even though it’s slowly killing me.

Then she says my name—soft but clear—and it cuts through the noise in my head like a damn knife.

“Ace.”

The way she says it sends a jolt through me, making my heart race.

My fingers falter on the strings, and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. But before I can stop myself, I’m looking up, my eyes locking with hers. The lump in my throat tightens, and I know I should say something, but the words refuse to form. Instead, I drop my head back down, staring at the guitar as if it’s the only thing holding me together.

She sits down across from me on the small couch, her gaze unwavering, almost daring me to make a move. That jittery feeling rushes through me again, my body on edge like it’s ready for something. I’m trying to play it cool, but the heat of her presence makes it impossible. Every inch of me is wound tight, stuck between wanting her more than anything and fighting like hell to keep it in check. It’s like a battle I can’t win, no matter how hard I try.

“Ace,” she says. “Why have you been avoiding me since that day we did the interview?”

I try to brush it off. “I haven’t,” I say, but the lie hangs heavy between us, and she can see right through it.

“Please, just look at me,” she insists.

I hesitate, gathering the nerve to meet her gaze. When I finally do, the genuine concern in her eyes catches me off guard.

“It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about, if that’s what’s bothering you,” she says softly.

“It’s not,” I say, though deep down, a part of me is screaming that it absolutely is. I can’t stomach the idea of going down thatroad with her, letting her see all the broken pieces I’ve tried to hide for so long. She pulled me back from the edge that day, out of my own fucked-up head in a way no one ever has. She deserves better than the way I’ve been treating her, better than all the bullshit I keep putting her through.

I take my time, setting the guitar aside on the couch. I know I owe her at least some kind of explanation.

I grab the whiskey bottle from the table, hoping it’ll give me the courage to say something—anything—that might explain why the fuck I am the way I am. As I unscrew the cap and take a long swig, the burn in my throat grounds me, preparing me for whatever’s next, though I have no idea how to even start. I’m not about to spill all my baggage—not to her.

“Sometimes… things from my past creep up on me. Stuff I thought I buried a long time ago.” The words scrape out of my mouth, rough and jagged, like I’m pulling them from a place that’s been locked up tight for too long. “Things from my childhood that still mess with me. They just… trigger something inside, and I lose control.”

I steal a glance at her but quickly look away, avoiding the pity I expect to find in her eyes. “I don’t wanna get into it—not because I don’t trust you, but...” My voice trails off as I stare at the bottle in my hand, wishing I could just down the rest to avoid this conversation. She doesn’t need to know all my demons. Scarlet has this light to her, this brightness I don’t want to dim with my shit. I can feel her gaze still on me, and I finally raise my head to meet it. “I don’t want to drag you down with me. You’re better than that, Scar—better than all of this.”

She stands up and comes forward. The moment she sits down beside me, my heat races, and my mind zeroes in on the urge to touch her. But I push those thoughts aside as she turns her head and speaks.

“Ace, whatever it is, I can handle it. I want to be there for you, no matter how dark it gets.” She reaches out, her hand brushing against my arm, and that simple touch ignites something inside me—feelings I’ve been trying to shove aside. Strange feelings that confuse the hell out of me.

“I’ve seen how things get with Theo,” she continues, her voice steady. “I know it’s heavy, but I still want to be there for you, no matter what.”

Footsteps echo behind us, and Scarlet quickly jerks her hand away just before Theo stumbles out, half-asleep. His hair’s a mess, like he’s been through a rough night. He stands there in nothing but his boxers, his bare chest on full display—and, of course, a waking boner. Scarlet immediately averts her gaze, her cheeks flushing.

Theo shuffles over and flops down on the couch, staring straight at me while rubbing his crotch. Why the hell is he touching his junk while looking at me? Is he still half-asleep, or is this some weird sleepwalking shit? With this guy, anything’s possible.

His eyes shift downwards to the bottle in my hand, while he continues to scratch his junk. “Gonna share that shit?” he asks.

“If you stop looking at me while you touch your cock,” I snap, shooting him a glare.

He smirks, that shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “What’s wrong, Ace? Afraid I’m thinking about you while I’m doing it? You should be flattered.”

“Fuck off,” I growl back. “Save your fucking fantasies for someone else.”

Theo just smirks and winks. “Maybe I’m just practicing for your next big show.”

“Alright, you two,” Scarlet interjects, her voice cutting through the banter. “Theo, see that couch cushion over there?”

Theo turns, looking genuinely confused. “Yeah?”

“Grab it and put it in your lap,” she orders. “Nobody wants to see you sitting there in your underwear, especially not me.”

Theo snatches the cushion and hurls it at me, then drags another one over his lap. “Happy now?” he grumbles at Scarlet before turning his attention back to me. “So, are you gonna share that drink or what?”

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