Page 41 of In the Net
“I wish he knew how sorry I am. Even if he doesn’t care, even if he still wants to hate me. I just wish he knew.”
“Bryce is strong. He can get better, and you can tell him.”
A sad, defeated sigh that seems to deflate his broad chest escapes his lips.
A pang of sympathy expands in my chest. I wish there was something I could say to make what Sebastian is going through easier, but there isn’t. The person he was close as a brother to for years is in the ICU while he’s across an ocean, utterly powerless to do anything about it, facing down the possibility that he’ll never be able to make amends for how their friendship ended.
If I were in his shoes, I’d be feeling the same.
“Come on, you need to get to sleep,” I tell him. “Our flight is early.”
I help Sebastian hoist himself onto my bed. I think he might have already passed out, but as I’m tugging off his shoes, his voice rasps, “Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“I really was a jerk freshman year. You were right to hate me.”
My lips press together. “I didn’thateyou.”
He grunts. “Wouldn’t like to see how you act toward people youdo, in that case.”
There’s a slight twitch at the edge of my mouth. “Well, I wouldn’t let them sleep in my bed.”
Sebastian groans. “I shouldn’t take your bed. That’s not fair.”
“Yeah, well, what do you think the odds of you making it across the hallway before passing out are?”
A low, rumbling snore is my answer.
With sympathy for Sebastian and concern for Bryce swirling through me, I settle into the hotel room chair and close my eyes, just like Sebastian did last night.
17
SEBASTIAN
My entire head is nothing but a pulsing throb. It feels like it weighs two hundred pounds, swollen to twice its size. It also feels like there’s a railroad spike jammed right in the middle of my brain, and every time I even think about moving, a giant mallet hammers it in one inch deeper.
My eyelids must be welded together. I can’t open them. It feels like an hour passes as I tell myself I’m going to finally force them open and see just where the hell I am and what I’ve gotten myself into, but every time I try, my strength fails me utterly.
At least I’m not nauseous yet. But that’ll come. I know that’ll come the minute I sit up.
How much did I drink? And why?
Then the memories come back. Bryce.
The agony and guilt that I used the alcohol to dull tear into me.
I open my eyes and sit up in the bed I’ve found myself in. The spike in my brain gets hammered deeper, pain bursts behind my eyes, and a wave of nausea crashes over me, but all of it pales in comparison to the emotional pain corroding my chest.
When my eyes focus, they point to the bed. It looks familiar. The hotel I’m staying at. At least I found my way back to my room.
Or did I?
My head is so heavy that my neck feels like a rusty joint as I lift it. Now I can see this isn’t my room. I recognize it as Harper’s.
Then I see her. She’s slumped down in the chair by the desk, just like I was last night. Looking every bit as uncomfortable as I remember being.
More memories flood back. Me drinking myself into a stupor, the only way I could think to cope with the news I heard about Bryce.
