“Oh, come on! It’s still early. The party just started!” Santino raises his arms, begging.
“No. She’s had enough.”
Bryson stands up. He seems to be the only other person besides me that’s not stupid drunk. “I’ll help you get her up the steps.”
“Thank you,” I reply. He tosses Charlie’s arm around his shoulder, grabs her waist, and hauls her in the house and up the stairs.
As soon as Charlie is settled in one of the twin beds and Bryson leaves, I lock the bedroom door and place a chair securely underneath the knob. I check the tiny closet in the room. It’s clear. Then I make sure the window is locked and the curtains are drawn before hiding myself underneath the unfamiliar comforter and forcing myself asleep.
It’s quiet in this room, quieter than my own bedroom. There’s no sound whatsoever. No creaks of the floorboards. No rotating blades of the ceiling fan. Nothing. Not even the voices I’ve grown accustomed to are present. Complete silence. Except for my own intrusive thoughts, which are rapidly running through my mind like a hamster on a spinning wheel. There’s no stopping my thoughts of Logan, my mother, and Brooke.
I hate that Logan is even on my mind. He’s no one. No one at all. Yet here he is, present and accounted for, drawing almost every ounce of my attention. I hate it. I hate it so much I almost wish for the voices to come back. At least with the voices I know what to expect for the most part. I’ve adjusted to them controlling every memory, every thought, and every image. And the fact that I’d rather their presence than the chaos of my own thoughts scares the hell out of me.
My chest tightens at my realization and a moan slips out as I force myself to sit up. My eyes scan the room. On a nightstand between the twin beds, bright red numbers blink at me. 5:00 a.m. Great. I groan, rub a frustrated hand over my face, and gingerly step out of bed. Charlie is sleeping away and I don’t want to wake her. Being as discreet as possible, I reach for my cell and tiptoe toward the door, where I remove the chair from under the knob, unlock it, and close it gently behind me as I leave the room.
What now? It’s five in the morning and I’m standing in a dark hallway by myself while everyone else sleeps. I need to wash my face to cool off my damp skin. Bryson mentioned last night that there’s a bathroom on the second level, but with all of the doors down the hall closed, I can’t make out which door leads to which room. Screw it. I’ll just use the one downstairs; the last thing I need is for me to sneak into someone else’s room and accidentally wake them up.
After I use the restroom, wash my hands, and tie my hair back in a ponytail, I step out. Just as I close the door behind me, I hear a loud thump.
I look over toward the kitchen to my right. Bryson is standing by the counter with an apologetic look on his face. He mouths, “Sorry.” Then he bends over, grabbing an item off the floor, and straightens back up. “You’re up early,” Bryson whispers as he waves me over. Looking down at my feet, I slightly sway in place and inhale shakily. What’s wrong with me? He’s not going to attack me. Exhaling, I relax a bit and walk toward him.
“So are you,” I respond as I reach the table. I stand there with my hands crossed behind my back.
He holds up an iPod, ear phones dangling from the device. “Yeah, I’m getting ready for my morning run.”
“Ah.” I nod and take note of his workout gear: sweat pants, a sleeveless T-shirt, and running sneaks.
“Would you like some coffee?” He points to the pot brewing, and then places the iPod on the counter.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink caffeine.”
He smiles. Bryson is just as good-looking as Logan. They’re probably the same height, but where Logan has low-cut brown hair, Bryson has shaggy, dark blonde locks. Logan has blue-grey eyes. Bryson has green. Logan’s arms are covered in tattoos. Bryson seems to have just a few, not nearly as many as Logan. “You don’t drink alcohol or caffeine,” he remarks. A small chuckle escapes his lips. “You’re probably the first person I’ve met who doesn’t drink either.” There’s no point letting him know that caffeine and alcohol have a bad effect on my condition and sometimes worsen my anxiety. It’ll just lead him to questions about my illness.
He backs away from the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee.
“You drink it black?” I ask him. He nods in response with a smile. “No sugar?” He nods again, this time pressing the cup to his lips. “That’s gross.” I wrinkle my nose.
He raises a brow teasingly. “Coming from someone who doesn’t drink it and who’s anti-anything delicious.”
I drop my arms from behind me. Shaking my head, a low, arrogant laugh tickles my throat. I pull a chair from underneath the table and have a seat. “I used to.” I smile matter-of-factly with my arms crossed over the table.
Bryson pulls out a chair as well and sits across from me. “So did you have a good time last night, aside from having to babysit Charlie?”
My fingertips tap along the table. “Uh, yeah. It was okay.”
He places both hands to his chest, feigning a hurt expression. “I’m wounded, McDaniel.”
I shrug. “Sorry. It’s just not my scene. But the place is beautiful. The lake is peaceful. I do love the scenery.”
“Nah. I get it.” He lifts the mug and takes another gulp of his coffee. “Well, if you decide to stay today, it’s going to be awesome.”
I just remembered something. “Today is your birthday, right?” He nods. I grin at him. “Happy birthday.”
His smile spreads wide. “Thanks.”
“How old are you?” I’m not sure why, but this small talk is distracting me from my own thoughts. Why not keep the momentum going?
“Twenty-eight,” he replies.
I wonder how old Logan is. “You and Logan are the only ones related between all the guys?”
“Yep. Logan is my cousin. His mother and my father are siblings.”
“Who’s older?”
His forehead wrinkles. “Between his mother and my father?”
I laugh. Stupid me. I wasn’t clear. “No, between you and Logan.”
He flicks his brows in realization. “Ah. I am. Logan is younger by two years.”
Which makes Logan twenty-six. Five years older than me. I shouldn’t be so curious, but I am, so I take advantage and continue to ask questions. “Are the two of you very close?”