My phone vibrates and she eyes my pocket. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“If you could be with one person, who would you be with?”
“Damn,” I say through a laugh. “Hitting me with the hard questions.”
“The fact that you think it’s a hard question says a lot.”
I let her words soak in. She’s right. I should’ve immediately said Brayden. He should’ve been the obvious answer, but that would mean never being with Ashton again, and for some crazy reason, the thought of not being with Ashton again doesn’t sit well with me. Then there’s the fact I was just sporting a chubby over Mia touching me. Jesus fuck, she’s right. We’re a hot damn mess.
“What about you?” I ask without answering.
She raises a knowing brow. “If I had to pick one person…” She considers her answer for several seconds. “I want to say Ashton…”
“But…”
“But I think it’s clear I’m missing an important piece he obviously needs, and I want him to be happy. I don’t think I could ever truly make Ashton happy.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling as she tries to stop herself from crying, but she fails, and the tears skate down her face. I reach over and wipe them with my thumbs, hating how badly she’s hurting. Hating how fucked up this situation is.
“Nothing has to be answered tonight.” I pull her into my chest. “Why don’t we pick a different movie and just tune it all out for tonight? Tomorrow, all this bullshit will still be here.”
She nods in agreement against my chest. “Okay.”
I find an action flick and press play. Not even twenty minutes into the movie and Mia is snoring softly. Carefully, so I don’t wake her up, I lift and carry her to her room and lay her down in her bed.
I’m pulling the blanket up when her eyes flutter open. “Stay the night,” she says groggily.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she insists. “It’s safe here.” In other words, if I go home I’ll be forced to face Ashton.
“Thanks.”
I climb into bed with her and she rolls over, her head landing on my chest and her soft body snuggling against mine. I try to ignore the way my entire body relaxes at her touch. She curls up closer, and her arm falls across my torso. I close my eyes, trying and failing not to notice how perfectly she fits against me.
It makes me wonder how Brayden—or Ashton—would feel in this position. Could I give up women altogether in order to be with Brayden? Could he? As my eyes close in exhaustion, my thoughts go back to Mia’s question: if I had to pick one person to be with, who would I pick? If only that question had a correct answer, then we all wouldn’t be in this damn situation.I wake up to the sound of my alarm going off. Fuck, it’s 4:00 a.m. Practice. I glance over at Mia, who at some point rolled over and is facing the other way, and carefully climb out of the bed so I don’t wake her up.
I consider going straight to practice without changing and then remember my keys are at the apartment. The only other person with a set of keys who would be there as early as me would be Brayden, but I’m not sure if he’ll be showing up to practice.
After leaving Mia a note that I had to go to practice but will be by after to check on her, I lock myself out of her apartment and walk next door to my own.
Shit, no keys means I don’t have keys to my apartment either. I try the doorknob and sigh when it opens the door. At least at this hour, he’ll be asleep.
But the moment the door clicks shut behind me, I know I’m wrong.
Ashton is not asleep.
He’s fucking wrecked and waiting.
“Where were you?” His words are cold and filled with accusation. He pushes his hair back from his face, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine.
“You know where,” I mutter, not wanting to look at him, yet unable to look away either.
Not when he’s like this.
Burning with a mixture of anger and something else.
His hair is messy and sticking up. Dark circles ring his eyes. He’s shirtless and wearing his swim sweats. Despair practically drips from him. A perfectly tormented man, and somehow too beautiful to look away from.
“Did you sleep with her?” Hate ripples from him, but the pained expression on his face indicates it’s directed at himself. As though he’s hoping for the lash of my words.
Rather than hurt him, I walk over to him, gently clutching his shoulder. “No.”
He doesn’t say anything. Simply bows his head. I squeeze the powerful muscle that only years of swimming can create.
“I’m sorry I fucked everything up,” he whispers, barely audible. “I’m a fuck-up.”
“Everyone’s fucked-up,” I say with a sigh. “Including me.”