Page 118 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
The bottle is half-empty when I finally pass out on the couch, Harper's name still on my lips, the apartment silent and cold around me.
45
The Truth Comes Out
Harper
Ican'tsleep.
I've been lying on Maddie's couch for hours, forcing my eyes closed, but my mind won't shut off. It keeps replaying the fight, the look on Cole's face when he stormed after Liam, the sound of fists connecting with flesh. The feeling of running away when everything fell apart.
Running away was a mistake.
I sit up, grabbing my phone. Three in the morning. Maddie and Sirus are asleep in their bedroom, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.
I can't do this. Can't lie here pretending I'm okay when Cole is at home alone, probably thinking I've given up on us. He fought for me tonight—stupidly, violently, but he fought. And I repaid him by packing my bags and leaving.
On a whim, I grab Maddie's keys from the counter and my bag from beside the couch. I scribble a quick note—Went home. I'm okay. Sorry for stealing your car. —H—and slip out the door.
The drive back to Cole's feels both endless and too short. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel. What am I going to say? Sorry I ran away? Sorry I made everything worse? Sorry I'm the reason you’re spiraling?
When I pull into the driveway, all the lights are still on. My heart leaps. He's awake. He's waiting for me.
I grab my bag and hurry inside, Rex greeting me with enthusiastic tail wags at the door.
"Where's Cole?" I whisper, scratching behind his ears.
He leads me to the living room, and my heart squeezes so tight I can barely breathe.
Cole is passed out on the couch, still in his clothes from the party, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table beside him. His face is turned toward the back of the couch, one arm hanging off the edge, knuckles bruised and swollen.
"Cole," I breathe.
I grab a blanket from the basket and drape it over him carefully. He doesn't stir. I sit on the coffee table, just looking at him—at the dark bruise blooming under his eye, the split in his lip, the way even in sleep his brow is furrowed like he's in pain.
This is my fault. All of it.
I'm about to stand when his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
"You came back?" His voice is rough, slurred with sleep and alcohol.
"You should sleep."
He struggles to sit up, eyes unfocused. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"How much did you have to drink?"
He blinks at me, trying to make sense of my face. "Are you?"
"No." I reach down and grab the half-empty whiskey bottle from the floor. "Did you drink this by yourself?"
He nods slowly. "Took a shot for everything I fucked up."
"Cole," I mutter, setting the bottle aside.
"Harper, you packed your stuff and left."
"I'm here now."
