Page 55 of Endgame

I heard him sigh heavily. “Sleep it off, Six.”

I WOKE SEVERAL hours later to the feel of my mattress dipping and someone climbing into bed with me.

“I know I shouldn’t be in here,” Rourke whispered in the darkness as he curled his body around mine.

“Then why are you in here?” I managed to squeeze out as my body burned beneath his touch.

“Because…” he slurred, nuzzling his body against mine.

“Because?” My voice was barely more than a whisper and I could hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart. Rourke’s hard, warm body so close to mine felt familiar and insanely right.

“I’m drunk as fuck, Six,” he whispered.

“I know. I can smell it.”

“You’re one to talk,” he snorted.

“You were an asshole tonight,” I whispered in the darkness. “Sometimes I really hate you, Rourke.”

“I know you do,” he slurred, tightening his hold on my waist. “But if you could pretend to love me, just for tonight, I’d be really fucking grateful.”

Those words.

That plea.

Itkilledme.

I turned to face him and whispered, “Why do you need me to pretend I love you?” My eyes were locked on his face. It was dark, but I hadn’t drawn my curtains so the moon illuminated his face. “Rourke?”

“Because.” He was breathing hard and fast now, his breath fanning my face, bathing me in the heavy stench of alcohol.

My heart slammed against my ribcage. “Because?”

“Fifteen years today,” he finally choked out, clenching his eyes shut. “Still…hurts.”

“Since your mom passed?”

He nodded.

Trembling, I reached up. I cupped the back of his neck with one hand, and bunched the front of his shirt with the other. I pressed my forehead to his chest and whispered, “I love you, Rourke.”

He shuddered violently before slumping forward, resting his chin on my head.

Several minutes passed by and Rourke’s breathing turned deep and slow. He had passed out, I realized. In my bed, with his body curled around mine.

I shouldn’t have said it.

I shouldn’t have told Rourke I loved him.

Not when I didn’t mean it.

And I was almost certain I didn’t.

Rourke

“OWENS, WHAT THE HELL is wrong with you today?” Coach Joe roared from the sideline on Thursday night. We were on our second double session of the day and running through formations. “You got pussy juice on those fingers or something, boy?”

“No, sir,” I replied, running back to the line out.

---