Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

Is she dead? Is that what he’s saying?

He doesn’t deny nor confirm my suspicions, pinching his eyes shut as though he can’t bear for me to see him like this.

“It’s all my fault.” He sounds pained.

“What is?”

“She trusted me. And I betrayed her.”

“What’s your fault, Will?” I insist.

“God, I… I wanted to be mad at you, Kass. I tried. I tried so fucking hard this week,” he rambles. “What you did… It’s not okay, but then… Then you send me one text. One stupid text that sounds like I’m losing you and I’m right back to…” He clamps his lips together, scolding himself for saying too much—feeling too much.

His red, exhausted blue eyes find mine.

“And I thought I would never forgive myself, but when I’m with you… I do. For that one, blissful second, I don’t feel guilty anymore. And I hate it. I hate that I’m happy. I shouldn’t… I don’t deserve it.”

I don’t have the slightest idea of what he’s going on about, but I decide to play along. “That’s normal, Will. It’s hard to move on after losing someone and Lyla.” Her name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?”

He doesn’t reply for the longest time. I secure his hand into mine, interlacing our fingers.

“Yeah, she was,” he admits.

The confirmation hurts a tad more than expected.

“But with you,” he rasps, his eyes falling closed. “With you, it’s different.”

“How am I different?”

He releases my hand, his answers growing apart. His body twitches with spasms, a clear indicator that he’s drifting off to sleep. Then, seconds before he passes out…

He says something that splits my heart in two.

“You’re different because I love you.”

Kassidy

I didn’t sleep a wink after he said it.

I lay in Morgan’s bed for three hours. Tossing. Turning. Overthinking. Not that my best friend minded. She never made it up to her room. Pretty sure she spent the night on the couch with Alex.

I must’ve asked myself a million questions—Did he mean it? Was that the alcohol speaking? Is he going to remember any of this tomorrow?—all of which had the same answer: Only time will tell.

It’s past ten when I drag my exhausted, zombie-looking ass down the stairs to quench my thirst. I assume I’m the first one up by the complete absence of noise in Morgan’s house. Passing through the living room, I find Morgan and Alex asleep on the pull-out couch, snuggled up together.

I crack a smile.

Her thank-you better be epic.

I pad into the kitchen, flinching at the sun shining through the bay window, and down a glass of water. Then I make coffee. Resting my elbows against the counter, I sip on my espresso, listening to the only audible sound in the house: cars driving by.

Will’s voice pops into my head. You’re different because I love you. What I wouldn’t give to hear him say that when he’s sober.

“Morning.”

I jerk in surprise, a splash of coffee flying out of my cup and onto the kitchen counter. Will stands behind me, in last night’s outfit, his hair a tousled mess, and his eyes rimmed with his lack of sleep.

“Hey… you’re up,” I state, but it comes out as a question. Even pale and exhausted, he looks like that. How?