Page 34 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
And later, when the lights were off and the walls were quiet, he lay awake, fists clenched in his sheets, and imagined Harvey's hands on Ana's skin.
He didn't drink that night like he wanted to. He ran.
Five miles until his knees buckled and his chest burned.
He crawled into bed with the taste of blood in his mouth.
***
Months later, Gray sat on the bench, elbows on his knees. He had driven down for a break.
"They are official," he said, looking out at the field .
Byron didn't look up. "Who?"
"You know who."
He did.
That night, Byron broke his own rule.
Twelve months sober. Gone.
It started with a bottle someone handed him at the post-game party. He didn't ask what was in it. Didn't care. The music was too loud, the lights too bright, and his thoughts too full of her. Someone pressed another shot into his hand. They were pouring another one within seconds.
Then another.
Then her.
He didn't even catch her name, just had a vague impression of blonde hair, aggressive hands and the taste of tequila.
Everything blurred.
He woke up in a strange room.
The blinds were open. Too much light filtered through. The headache kicked off first, then his stomach churned.
He stumbled out of bed and made it to the toilet just in time.
When he came back after paying his dues to the porcelain god, she was awake.
"Hey," she said with a sensual half-smile. "I'm-"
"Don't wanna know," he said, not looking at her.
She blinked. "You passed out after I gave you head. Wanna return the favour?"
"Nope."
She pulled her bra on slowly, unbothered. "Dickhead. The door is that way."
He made his way back to his room and swallowed two ibuprofens.
Then he sat on the floor of the bathroom, bare feet on cold tile, elbows on knees, head in hands.
He couldn't remember her name or her face.
He couldn't stop seeing Ana in everything. He couldn't do this anymore.
