Page 74 of Gorgeous

I should have overcome the demons in my head.

I should have comforted her, but I didn’t.

Instead, I let Hayes carry my girl out of the room and do it for me. But no matter how bad I beat myself up about it, the fact remains the same. I couldn’t ease her pain when I couldn’t even ease my own.

All I saw washerface.

All I could hear werehiscries as he held my hand and gurgled out what an honor it was to serve by my side as he took his last breath.

Because of me. Because ofher, my team lost their lives.

And I’ll have to live with that fact for the rest of my life. I blow out several deep breathsand attempt to scrub away the memories before pushing up on my elbows to look around. My bedroom is clean—not that I keep it dirty—but my discarded clothes and the sports drink I left on my nightstand have all been picked up. The only thing out of place is the green detox drink sitting on my bedside table, letting me know Anniston has recently been in here.

I’m already dreading the seaweed-like cleansing drink. It’s supposed to help clear the after-effects of the sedatives from your system. I don’t believe it. The taste is unlike anything I have ever tasted. It’s putrid and reminds me of when my mom used to make Drew and I eat the cold zucchini we’d leave on our plates.

Chugging this beast of a drink down first thing in the morning seems like a punishment, but it isn’t. Anniston just wants me feeling better as quickly as possible, and for her, I’ll drink it, as much as it pains me to do so.

The muscles in my legs ache when I drape them over the edge of the bed, a side effect of having a flashback. I’ve been told I clench and stay locked in a position until I’m able to pull out of it. I’m grateful for the help but I’m also not, all at the same time. I deserve to suffer for being a murderer, not get a free pass of a good night’s sleep.

But like every other time I’ve been sedated, I tell myself that today is another day. Another start to be better. So I grab my puke-like drink and drag my tired, sad ass downstairs toward the kitchen.

Theo is perched on a chair in the breakfast nook when I lumber stiffly into the kitchen. A tablet in one hand and coffee in the other, he watches the screen intently. “Morning,” I greet him gruffly.

He pulls his gaze from the screen and says flatly, “This prick is going to make me a fuck-ton of money.”

I pull out the chair next to him, leaning over to see what he’s talking about. It’s scouting footage of a college kid, pitching a no-hitter game. “Is that the kid that propositioned you for Ans?”

Theo called me over his honeymoon ranting about some brazen kid who had the audacity to ask him, as a condition of his signing, for one night with Anniston. I don’t know all the details, but I can assume he did not let that happen since the kid is still alive.

“Yep. The devil himself,” he mutters.

“You got him to sign?”

Theo makes an offended noise that makes me smile. “Of course I fucking did, Jameson. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

I take a long pull of my detox drink, only gagging slightly. “Gross. Ans making you drink that poison?”

I nod, swiping my hand across my mouth, checking for any spills. “Yep.”

Theo’s face screws up in disgust. “Pour that shit down the drain. I’ll be your witness that you drank it all.” I give him side eye and he laughs, correcting his statement. “I’ll be your witness until it benefits me to rat you out.”

“That’s better. For a minute there I thought you were going soft,” I observe, taking another sip, trying to empty my cup quickly so I can wash it down with some coffee. “You run yet?”

Theo, back to watching his new rookie, shakes his head at me. “No.”

Any other time I would give him shit about waiting to run with me, but this morning, I’m feeling gracious. I heard him last night, sought out his voice, like an anchor to my new life, trying to pull me out the madness. It’s not the first time he’s talked me through an episode. He and Ans have both become instrumental in my recovery. Theo and I never speak of it, though, because Theo doesn’t do thanks or sentimental chats. So when he does something like waiting to run with me after a rough night, it reminds me of what a great guy he is underneath all the sarcasm and rude commentary.

I push down the emerging emotions and ask him, “Wanna go in a little bit? I need to find Breck first and apologize, make sure she’s okay after last night.”

Theo looks up from his screen, a knowing smile tugging at his dimple. “I wouldn’t sweat it. She handled it like a lady.”

I’m confused with his reassurance, and the way he says it sounds like he knows something I don’t. “What do you mean, ‘handled it like a lady?’”

Theo snorts, pressing the button on his tablet and laying it down on the table. “I mean, she handled it like a woman scorned.” He draws out the explanation, watching me, waiting patiently for the reaction he wants. I don’t give it to him though. I wait him out until his grin morphs into a wide, beaming smile before he makes my world explode. “She and Hayes got shitfaced at the bar. I heard her snoring from his room this morning.”

I see red.

Blood. Fucking. Red.

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