Page 152 of The Illicit Play
She’ll realize she wants something better—someone more exciting—and I’ll be left alone all over again.
Shit. I don’t know what the fuck to do.
CHAPTER 52
BLAKE
I stayed in my room all day, only sneaking out for a small amount of sustenance when my stomach was growling so badly I couldn’t stand it.
I crept down the stairs and stole into the pantry, making it back up to my room without encountering my brother. Thank God for that.
He tried to connect with me earlier in the day, knocked on my door and called my name. I couldn’t face him, not after that horrible phone call with my parents, so I pretended to be asleep.
Having spent most of the night awake, it wasn’t hard to play dead. I’m seriously exhausted. Wily watched me pretending to sleep for so long, I think I did actually drift off for a while there.
I woke up with a growling stomach, did a sneaky food snatch, then retreated to my room and have spent the rest of the day glancing at my phone while trying to watch movies off my laptop.
I still haven’t turned my phone back on since texting Cleo a proverbial “fuck you.” And I’m too scared to do it. There’s probably a message on there from my parents, and I don’t want to face them right now either.
It’s a miracle they haven’t driven up from Denver to see me. Maybe they still will.
A flush of tension runs through my body as I imagine that scenario—their ashen faces, their deep disappointment.
Ugh. I can’t face it!
I just want to hide away from the world until I feel like I can breathe again. Is that really such a bad thing? I told the truth like I was supposed to, and it’s been a complete shit show! Let me wallow, for fuck’s sake!
Although, wallowing is killing me.
My body is aching from being in bed all day. My head is pounding from lack of sleep and fresh air. This room is making me claustrophobic, but leaving it only means angst and drama and?—
The sound of a Jeep pulling into the driveway catches my attention. Rushing to the window, I peer out and spot Grady hopping out with his bag.
Closing my eyes in relief, I press my forehead against the glass and bite my bottom lip.
Thank God he’s back.
It’s been the longest day ever, and I need a hug, some reassurance that I can survive all of this.
Rushing to get dressed, I throw my stinky pajamas into the laundry hamper and spray on my best-smelling deodorant. I then pull on my favorite pair of yoga pants and the baggy sweatshirt Wily gave me when he left for college. I used to steal it all the time because it was so bigand comfy. He ended up giving it to me the day we dropped him off at Nolan U, and I nearly cried. He grinned down at me, gave me the biggest hug, and told me, “I’m only ever a phone call away. And you better call me, butt face.”
“I will,” I promised, knowing we’d stay in touch because we told each other everything.
Until I started fucking up my life and keeping secrets.
Shit.
The sweatshirt flops down to my mid-thighs as I run fingers through my tatty hair.
Seriously?
Glancing in the mirror, I gape at my horrid reflection. I look like a ghost with red-rimmed eyes and scarecrow hair.
Quickly snatching my makeup bag, I do some hasty work, tidying myself up. I keep the look natural, because going overboard would be so damn obvious. I just want to take the edge off by covering the gray bags under my eyes and running a pick comb through my hair.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m looking at least presentable and ready for a Grady hug.
I hope he’s up for talking to me. He was so sweet yesterday afternoon when we hung out with Sienna and Zander. They were pretty nice about it all, although it’s clear they want things amended with Wily as soon as possible.
