Page 69 of End Game
The room is dark, but I can see through to the hallway. A little light is plugged in out there and I feel my way through until I’m in the hall. The room I stayed in is two doors on my left and Layla’s is three on my right.
My heart thunders as I realize she could shoot me or scream bloody murder and I don’t know what to do to not completely freak her out over my breaking and entering. But when I hear her sobs coming from her room, I forget about all that and knock gently on the door.
“Layla, it’s me.”
I hear a rustle of blankets and the cries stop.
“It’s Branch. I’m going to open the door, okay? Don’t shoot me.”
I give her a moment to tell me no, but she doesn’t. Carefully, slowly, I move the door into her room. My hand drops to my side when I see her thanks to the glow of a candle from a desk a few feet away.
She’s lying on her bed, blankets pulled tight around her. Tears trickle down her cheeks as she watches me come into her room.
She looks so small in the bed, so frightened like a storm is coming that might take her life. Only . . . I am the storm in her opinion and that pummels me.
There are so many things I want to say—things I didn’t even come up heretosay. Things I didn’t even realize I felt. Things that feel absolutely necessary to get out at this moment, yet I can’t. The look of misery on her face stops me and all that matters right now isher.
The girl from that weekend, the one I couldn’t stop thinking about, the one whose laugh made me feel alive and spontaneous fed something that was dormant inside me for a long time, is hurt because of me. Because I’m an asshole.
I wait for her to tell me to fuck off as I pad across the carpeted floor of her bedroom and expect her to slap me across the face as I kneel at the side of her bed. Assuming she’s going to rip into me, I lay my left arm around her narrow hips and slide her to theedge with a frazzled breath. There’s no way I don’t believe she won’t tell me what a dickhead I am as I pull her into my chest.
But none of that happens.
Her cries are hushed against the fabric of my shirt, the same fabric she knots up in her hands. She shakes as she empties her soul into the cotton blend and presses her knuckles firmly into my chest, biting at my skin.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hold her tight. Saying anything seems wrong and probably would be wrong because this is all new to me. This is territory I’d have to ask Finn about, and he won’t speak to me.
Little by little, her hands ease on my shirt and her stifled sounds become quieter until she’s completely still and quiet in my arms.
I scoot her back from the edge and tuck the blankets around her once more. She snuggles into the sheets. Rocking back on my heels, she lies motionless before me. She’s so goddamn sweet, so simply perfect that I remember just a few days ago I was angling every which way just to see her again.
“You are a fool,” I whisper to myself as I get to my feet.
Knowing I shouldn’t, but being the rule breaker that I am, I bend forward and plant a single kiss to her cheek. “Iamsorry,” I whisper against her skin. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
With a final look at her tucked in bed, I leave her room and let myself out the front door into the night.
CHAPTER 22
LAYLA
Squinting at the brightness of the sun, I yawn and then rub my eyes to try to wake up. My face feels puffy and I pause, remembering Branch getting inside somehow last night.
The softness of his touch, the tenderness in his arms as he held me against his sturdy chest, is so fresh in my mind. He didn’t have to do that . . . but he did.
After a quick scan of my room, the only thing I see is that I’m alone and the only thing I hear is the outright pounding of my heart.
It almost feels like I dreamed it, like I needed comfort so much I made it up in my mind, but I smell his cologne on my hands and I know he was here.
Maybe he still is.
Yanking back the blankets, I climb out and head to the window. His car is parked next to mine, lined up in a row like it’s supposed to be there.
“Fuck,” I mutter, not sure how I feel about that or what it means or where he is or whatthatmeans. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”
Switching from my long nightshirt into a cute and easy denim romper, I race to the bathroom and wash up and get my hair into some semblance of tidiness.
I peek into the room he stayed in before and it’s undisturbed. Door to door, I glance into each bedroom, bathroom, and even closet to find them all empty of life.
