Page 78 of Seeing Grayscale

“Are you falling asleep?”

I lean down so I can see his face, and sure enough, his eyes are closed, his mouth slack. “Hey,” I bark, and he snorts, slurping up some drool and lifting his head. “Hey,” I say softer. “Don’t go to sleep standing up.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he argues, then groans. “I feel horrible.”

The color drains from his cheeks; a loud rumble goes off in his stomach, followed by the wettest hiccup I’ve ever heard. “Come on,” I urge, grabbing his arm and guiding him to the sink.

Just as he grips the edge, he throws up. Thankfully, it’s mostly liquor and foam, but he whimpers between purges. His knuckles blanch as he holds on for dear life. My hand flies to his back, and I rub up and down to try to soothe him. When I’m confident he isn’t going to throw up more, I pull the retractable hose out of its slot and rinse down the sink.

“All better?” I ask, grabbing a paper towel and wiping his mouth.

He nods. “Thank you.”

“Those crackers might be a good thing.”

I help him stand, my arm around his waist while he grabs the crackers. We make a pit stop at the fridge for water first, and together, we then limp into the living room and collapse onthe stiff couch. I nibble on the crackers while feeding some to Hunter. We sip our waters and end up cuddling again. It feels so natural to me, soright.I can't muster up the mental strength to combat it any longer, so I accept it for what it is—the end of our day.

Tomorrow, I’ll reevaluate.

Tomorrow, I’ll know if this is worth it.

THIRTY-FOUR

Theshrillringingofmy alarm jolts me out of my sleep.

My neck cracks painfully as I lift my head, blinking through the blur of last night and spotting Gray curled up next to me. His face is smooshed against my thigh, the broken leg straight, while the other is tucked up under it.

I quickly grab my phone out of my pajama pants, silence the alarm, and gaze down at him again. His hand holds my leg possessively, a nice-sized drool puddle staining my pants. An empty wrapper is wedged under his arm. Water bottles are at my feet.

Fuck.

It all comes back to me in a surge.

It isn’t that I was so drunk that I couldn’t control myself, but it certainly didn’t stop me from exploring these feelings I have for Gray—feelings that are too intense, too real. While my heart kicks against my chest, I gently run my fingers through his tangled locks, pushing them away from his face. Much like every other time I’ve watched him sleep, he looks angelic and serene. And as I suspected, there was no trace of nightmares.

I don’t even remember passing out, only that I must’ve. Warmth swirls low in my stomach as I recall Gray taking care of me. He made sure I ate the crackers, hand-feeding me when my body grew too weak.

None of the men in my past ever cared.

None of them even considered what I might need past sex. Granted, I never allowed it to get that far, but this beautiful person beside me has given me endless firsts.

He’s made me want more.

But I can’t have more.

It physically hurts to replace my leg with a pillow. And it hurts even more as I shower, get dressed, and write a note for him while waiting for my coffee to brew. If I’m late, my dad will come sniffing, and I can’t allow that to happen. If he finds out that Gray is here…fuck, I don’t know what he’ll do. So I let him sleep and silently slip into the garage. The three-minute drive to my parents’ house only makes the pain and anger at my situation grow.

All I can do is get through this morning. After that…I can decide what I’m going to do about Gray.

If I could, I’d never let him leave. He could stay with me like he has been, and I’d gladly take care of him. Anything he wants, I’d give freely. It’s a silly dream.

I park in my parents’ driveway, pull up the Instacart app, and place an order. Afterward, I text Gray, telling him to help himself when it comes. A random delivery driver shouldn’t cause too much fuss over seeing him. With any luck, Gray will still be asleep when the driver gets there and will leave the stuff on my porch.

I’m fucking stalling now; I know that I am, but I don’t want to do this.

Press conferences are a drain no matter what time or plans you have waiting, but knowing I had to leave Gray alone to dothishas my mood tanking so far down I don’t know how I’ll get it back up. When my dad throws open the front door, beckoning me to hurry, I grind my teeth.

Get through the morning.

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