Page 42 of In the Net
Me stumbling back, banging on Harper’s door, because I just didn’t know where else to go.
Her letting me in. Letting me vent my guilt and self-loathing to someone who would understand the context. Lending me words of support that I don’t deserve. Taking care of me and even putting me to bed while I was an alcohol-soaked mess.
She let me in while she was still recovering from her cold, let me spew my emotions all over her, and then gave up her own bed.
She doesn’t deserve to be uncomfortable, sleeping in that cheap, crappy hotel chair all night. Looking at the clock, I see that it’s just past three in the morning. We still have a couple hours before we need to get up. She should spend those couple hours comfortable. I shouldn’t.
Even though it makes a new wave of pain explode inside my skull, I force myself up from the bed. I contend with the rolling waves of nausea as I stride over to Harper and scoop her up in my arms, still sleeping.
Fuck. She’s so warm. So soft. The backs of her legs feel so damn good against my forearm. The heft of her weight so comfortable to hold. For a second, all the pain and discomfortwashes away like I’ve just swallowed the most miraculous drug known to man.
Let me emphasize that it only lasts the one second, though.
I know that none of those thoughts are any I should be having for Harper Brees. But, fuck, I’m too damn hungover. If there’s something that’s going to make me feel decent for even a second, I’m going to latch onto it. My brain is too much of a dull, throbbing block to stop me, anyway.
“Sebastian?” Her eyes still closed, she whispers my name as I approach her bed.
“Shh,” I hush. “Any noise is like a jet engine to me right now.”
A tiny, light laugh flutters from her lips. I love the sound, but it makes me wince at the same time.
“Sorry,” she says as I bend down to lay her in her bed. “That probably sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you.”
Against all odds, the side of my mouth hitches. “That’s how your laugh normally sounds.”
“Does not.”
“I’d really call it more of a cackle than a laugh, though.”
Even though talking takes as much effort as deadlifting my maximum weight right now, verbally sparring with Harper like this makes me feel normal. Like I’m back in the world as I knew it twenty-four hours ago. Like I’m out of this nightmare where Bryce is in the hospital, where he might not make it, where I’ll never even have the chance to make up for how I treated the guy who was like a brother to me.
“What are you doing?” Harper asks as I tug a blanket over her.
“Giving you your bed back,” I answer. “Now go to sleep.”
I think about trying to spend the rest of the night in my room. But I don’t know if I have the strength to even make it across the hallway.
And honestly? I don’t want to be alone right now.
I drop into the chair I spent last night in. When I close my eyes, ready to fall back into an uncomfortable sleep and already dreading waking up again, Harper pipes up.
“Hey, Sebastian?”
“Yeah?” I ask, not even able to open my eyes.
“I have a feeling that Bryce is going to be okay.”
I don’t know what to say to that. She has no basis for that claim. They’re just empty words, said to make someone feel better.
But then again, if there’s anyone in the world who isn’t going to sugarcoat things for me, who isn’t going to shy away from telling it to me straight, it’s this girl.
Maybe, for now, I’ll latch onto those words and try to believe them.
The worst,most exhausting, most agonizing practice session of my life had nothing on what I went through getting to the airport and going through security while this hangover is shredding my whole body.
“Sit here,” Harper says. I’ve shuffled like a zombie by her side to one of the cafés in the terminal where our flight is leaving. “I’ll get you a coffee and something to eat.”
I groan, the thought of swallowing solid food making my stomach revolt.
