Page 53 of The Lodge

“I might need it for a while if mine really is dead, just warning you.”

“It’s more necessary for your work right now than mine,” he says. “Promise.”

He puts one hand on the small of my back, and I inch closer, closer, until there’s no space between my body and his.

“Text me if there’s anything you need, even if it’s six in the morning,” he says. “Puffin seems like an early riser. And I can bring you breakfast, or coffee, or… anything.”

That’s just the beginning of the list of things that might be painful and/or difficult to do one-handed.

“You’re the best,” I say, tilting my head up to his. “And you’re right, Puffinisan early riser.”

My smile is contagious, and I’m not prepared for how radiant his looks up close. I’m still smiling when he leans in and presses one perfect, warm kiss onto my lips.

“I’d better get to bed, then,” he says. “Sounds like I’m going to need my energy tomorrow.”

I give him one more kiss to match the first, tempted to tell him not to go home at all, that he can stay right here—we are, after all, practically roommates.

But he tells me good night, and then he’s gone.

As soon as he leaves, I want him to come back.

I’m in bed, almost asleep, when I suddenly realize what seemed different about him. It wasn’t just his glasses—I was so distracted by the fact that he was wearing them at all that I didn’t fully register what had changed beneath them.

Behind his lenses, his irises were a deep, striking blue.

15

Not brown with subtle blue flecks—not brown at all.

Tyler’s eyes are cobalt blue, each with a starburst of gorgeous Caribbean teal: unnaturally beautiful, a color I’ve rarely seen on another person.

But I have seen it before, I’m sure of it.

I’m just not sure where.

16

I hardly sleep.

My mind races with questions: Why would Tyler opt for brown contacts when his actual eye color is so beautiful? Did he think I wouldn’t notice they’d changed—or is his nighttime routine so deeply engrained that he didn’t think about it at all?

On top of that, my wrist hurts. Like,hurts. I keep accidentally rolling over on it in my sleep.

At five o’clock, I give up.

Even though I’d planned to write first thing this morning, it seems best to throw some ice on my wrist and rest it instead.

I know Tyler said I could text him if I need anything, but five in the morning seems a littletooextreme—surely I can make a fresh ice pack all on my own. The doctor gave me a reusable one last night, but like Puffin’s treat jar, it has a screw-on cap. I rummage around in one of the cabinets, find some Ziploc freezer bags: perfect. Between this and the automatic ice dispenser in the fridge, I’m good to go.

I settle onto the armchair where I left my work supplies last night, shifting Tyler’s laptop bag to the floor. I’ll write later, but for now, I figure I might as well flip through one of my True North research books.

This particular book was published nine years ago at the height of the True North frenzy and is full of old photographs from their early days in the studio and on tour, along with even older photographs from each of the members’ childhood days.

Sebastian’s eighteen-year-old face stares up at me from one of the recording studio photos, bright-eyed and laughing, and in the blurry background, there’s the barest glimpse of his long-lost bandmate, Jett Beckett. Must be one from the early days when the band was flying high on the promise of their potential, before all the envy and resentment and rivalry grew into tangled roots between them.

I make my way through the Sebastian pages, which run the gamut from his talent shows to his infamous high school musical performance to album covers and tour shots. There’s even one serious throwback—a Christmas morning photo of him as a toddler, hugging a guitar that’s bigger than he is.

I flip through the bulk of the book, scanning the other band members’ sections for any additional places where Sebastian might come up. I start with River Wu’s section.

---