Page 73 of Enemy
Now they’re all demanding breakfast, and I cover my ears in despair, sitting up in the bed.
Nutter is right back, this time adamant that he’ll sit on the pillow my head has just vacated. If he thinks his furry butt is going anywhere near Clyde’s T-shirt, he has another thing coming, so I shoo him away.
I pick up the top Clyde left me with at the motel and press it to my face in hope of it soothing my hangover. It still smells like him—of whiskey, smoke, rosemary, and the unique aroma of his own flesh, but the scent is fading with each passing day, slowly replaced by that of my own body. If only the ache radiating deep inside me was as easy to cover.
I roll to my side as the cats rearrange themselves on top of me. It’s not my favorite way to wake up, but it beats having a girl here, or once again staring at the empty space next to me like a lovesick puppy.
It’s not like I’ve spent many nights with Clyde, and I’ve only ever woke up next to him a handful of times—most of them after naps between one fuck and another—but it always felt so satisfying to see his face next to mine. I would often just watch, then wake him up by pulling my fingertips over his stubbly skin.
Couldn’t it have been like that after our night at the motel?
Why? Why did I fucking have to get all honest about Roy’s death, even though it changes nothing?
My face buries deeper into the fragrant folds of the T-shirt, and I groan in helpless anger at myself. Before it happened, Clyde told me we were more than fuckbuddies, that he wanted to make things work, that he wanted tobe with me, and I had to ruin it all by the stupid desire to know he’d still choose me if he knew the truth. That he’d want me no matter what happened in the past. That I wouldn’t have to lie to him any longer.
Fat fucking chance.
It’s been three days since I came back home, and all I can think of is the warm apprehension in his eyes when I entered him. The perfect way he felt around me, the warmth of his arms, and the sweetness of his fast, shallow breath on my lips.
All things I can never have again.
I should have salvaged it somehow, made up some fucked-up reason for Roy’s death to obscure the truth that I can’t tell him. He would have believed me. I know it. I could see the yearning to forgive me in his eyes. But how could I lie to himagain?
Where would that lead me?
Between his legs, an ugly voice in my head suggests from behind the throbbing headache, but that’s not the only thing I want.
I groan at the memory of him gripping me with his thighs, moaning for more of my dick and kissing me so fervently. I didn’t want to steal his affection with another lie.
Still, right now I would make up any bullshit just to hold him, just to feel him stroking my head with so much affection my heart can hardly take it.
I message him often, I’ve tried to call, but there’s no answer, so I’m guessing he’s turned his phone off, and I don’t have his other number. I wouldn’t dare use it even now, because it could put him at risk. I did try going to his house, sat in the bushes nearby for hours, but he’s not been home once. As far as I know, he’s staying at the Butcher clubhouse, where I can’t reach him.
Nausea makes me unwilling to leave the bed yet, but as I’m about to doze off, a loud thump forces me to sit up so fast Nutter rolls off my chest and onto Bagel’s pudgy body resting in my lap. The sudden change of position makes my world spin, brain rattling in my skull as if it’s a bit of plastic floating in a snow globe. I fall back onto the pillow just as confident yet unhurried steps move through my house.
Whoever invaded my space doesn’t try to hide their presence, so I relax and force my eyes open to see Rooster as he stands in the open doorway to my bedroom. He freezes, seeing that my eyes are open, then offers me an awkward smile.
“Heeey, Road! Sorry, the door was open,” he says, entering with a large tray full of plates, cups, and bowls. “Thought I’d bring you breakfast since… you know, it’s already afternoon.”
Is it?
I pinch the bridge of my nose in vain hope that this could somehow help with the congestion and ache I’m feeling, but it’s no use. “I… had a headache.”
“My mom made it.” Rooster puts a big plate of food next to me along with cutlery. Bacon, eggs, a waffle, and even a toast with cheese. All of it reminds me of what Clyde fed me. I’ve never had better bacon than the one he fried for me. I almost see his bright smile as he hands me a plate, and the steaming food in front of me feels bland in comparison.
In fact, the smell of butter makes me a bit ill, but I don’t stop Rooster when he waves Nutter away from the plate.
“Uh… thanks? Did we party together last night, or something?” I ask, reaching for the cup of black coffee, which might be my only salvation right now. It’s bitter, strong, just like I like it, but it can’t help with the emptiness I feel each time my thoughts drift to Clyde.
What ishedoing? Does he miss me? Was I a mistake to him? Is he plotting revenge with his brothers? Is he considering another lover now that he’s eased into—
I must have clenched my fingers on the cup handle too hard, because it breaks, and the whole fucking cup of coffee falls into my lap, spilling all over the comforter.
“Oh fuck!” Rooster exclaims and tries to grab the T-shirt off me to dab the bedding, but my instinct kicks in and I growl at him like a damn dog. I pull away with it so fast, only Rooster’s reflexes save the plate of food.
He takes a deep breath and stands back awkwardly with my breakfast in hand.
“So… I can take this to the laundry later if you want.”
