Page 116 of Stroke of Fate

I flood my bedroom with light, causing Pia to stir under the covers. She sits up, her hair in disarray, and she pushes her long, dark bangs out of her face.

“Bear?” She squints at me as her eyes adjust. “How was your time with Levi?”

At the mention of his name, a fresh wave of silent tears streams down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away, but it's futile; they fall too fast, and more follow with every swipe of my hand.

Pia’s face twists with panic. “Care Bear, what’s wrong?”

I open my mouth to tell her, but the words refuse to come out. I physically can’t say them. Either out of fear of breaking down further or because saying it out loud will make it even more real.

So, I show her.

And while she watches, I sit with my head in my hands.

I know it’s over when she wraps her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, over and over.

I turn into her, my tears soaking her cotton shirt, but she doesn’t care. She holds me as I quietly cry myself to the point of exhaustion.

But even when I’m under the covers, sleep doesn’t take me away. I stare at the ceiling, listening to Pia’s steady breathing while silent tears fall wherever gravity takes them.

How did my night go from the highest high to the lowest low?

33 | LEVI

I can’t tell if it’s the knee digging into my back or the pounding in my head that wakes me up first. Either way, I’m forced to blink my eyes open, which is a mistake because the bright light only intensifies the throbbing in my head.

A pained groan leaves me as I shift and spot a familiar head of brunette curls lying next to me.

How the hell did I end up here? And why the fuck am I sharing a bed with Mack?

Scratch that. It’s not a bed but a damn air mattress wedged between two twin beds. A pale white arm sticks out under one of the covers, and I instantly recognize Sam's Roman numeral tattoo.

I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like sandpaper, and my body feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

I rack my brain, trying to figure out how I got here with what feels like a hangover from hell. The last thing I remember is using the restroom. And then, nothing.

No, not nothing. More like quick bursts of memories: me being led to a dark room, a flash of blonde hair. That must have been Bear.

The images come and go too fast. No matter how hard I try, I can't hold on to them long enough to make sense of the whole picture. Trying only makes the pounding in my head worse.

But if I was with Bear, why am I here in Sam and Austin’s dorm room and not with my girlfriend?

Fuck, Bear!

We were supposed to meet at my apartment, but clearly, I never made it there.

I sit up too fast, and my head spins, causing a wave of nausea to pool in my stomach. Every muscle in my body protests as I shift, but I don’t care. I need to get ahold of Bear.

Except I don’t even know where my phone is. It's not on me, and it's not wrapped in the blanket on my side. Unless...

“Mack,” I hiss, shoving his shoulder.

He stirs but doesn’t wake up.

“Mack!” I shout louder and shove harder, ignoring the pain slicing through my head.

“What the fuck—ow!” He jerks upright, rubbing his shoulder.

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