Page 108 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
I turn onto my side, facing Cole. In sleep, his face is peaceful, untroubled. He loves me. He trusts me. He gave up his best friend for me.
And I'm lying here at four in the morning, unable to sleep because Liam hugged me and my traitorous heart responded.
I close my eyes and will myself to stop thinking. Stop feeling. Stop remembering the way Liam's voice cracked in the parking lot almost a year ago when he said he wants me.
But the guilt stays with me, heavy and suffocating, until the sun starts to rise, and I finally drift off into restless sleep.
42
Breaking Point
Cole
Iwakeuptosunlight streaming through the bedroom window and Harper still dead asleep beside me. She's curled on her side, face peaceful, hair splayed across the pillow. I check my phone—six thirty. Early for a Sunday, but my body's used to the hockey schedule.
The memory of last night comes back in pieces. The party. Liam drunk off his ass. Bringing him here because he wouldn't tell me his address. I should check on him, make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit or something equally horrific.
I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Harper. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes like she didn't sleep well.
The living room is empty.
I stare at the couch where I left Liam last night—blanket folded neatly, bowl still on the floor, but no Liam. The house is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.
"Liam?" I call out, checking the bathroom. Empty.
I walk through the rest of the house, then the backyard. Nothing. I go to the front door and look out at the street. No sign of him.
I pull out my phone and call him. It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again. Same thing.
Standing in my kitchen, I feel this surge of frustration mixed with worry. I don't know where he lives. I don't know who to call. We've grown so far apart that I don't even know basic things about his life anymore.
He probably woke up early, felt like shit, and called an Uber home. That makes sense. He's a grown man. He can take care of himself.
But the worry doesn't completely go away. Something about last night felt different—darker. The way he wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't tell me what was wrong, just kept drinking like he was trying to drown something.
I shake it off and start making breakfast. It's probably for the best that he wasn't here when we woke up. Would've been awkward as hell anyway.
I'm cracking eggs into a pan when I hear Harper's footsteps. She emerges from the bedroom wearing one of my t-shirts, hair messy, eyes still half-closed with sleep. She looks around the living room, taking in the empty couch.
"He left," I say before she can ask.
"When?"
"I don't know. He was gone when I woke up."
Something crosses her face—relief, maybe, or something else I can't quite read. She walks over to me and wraps her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her face against my back.
I turn in her arms and kiss the top of her head. "You okay?"
She nods against my chest but doesn't say anything.
Her hands start moving, rubbing my back, my sides, slipping under the hem of my shirt. I respond automatically, my body remembering what mornings with Harper usually lead to. When she tilts her face up to kiss me, I taste sleep and something desperate underneath.
The kiss deepens fast. My hands slide into her hair, and she makes this small sound that goes straight through me. I lift her onto the kitchen counter, and she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer.
Her shirt comes off. Then mine. Then we're not thinking about Liam or last night or anything except each other. She's moaning my name, her fingers digging into my shoulders, and it's exactly what we both need—this connection, this proof that we're still us.
After, we eat breakfast in silence. Harper picks at her eggs, lost in thought. I'm replaying last night, trying to figure out what I could have done differently.
