Sam is gone. My only friend in the world is dead. And I didn't even do it. This one wasn't my fault. Was it?
Maybe I should have told Dove how much he was struggling. Maybe I should have gotten him more help. Maybe, maybe, maybe... I can't change anything now. He's gone. I'm all Dove has left. Just like I fucking wanted.
I groan, the sound barely audible in the room, and pray Dove won't notice. A part of me wonders whether I'm really at fault for this, because I wanted her to myself. Well, I got my motherfucking wish. But at what cost? Losing the only damn friend I'd ever had.
I haven't cried in a fucking long time, but tonight I feel like I could. I feel the loss of Sam deep in my soul, where it hurts most. I force myself to push it to the back of my mind, where it can't cut me anymore. I'm not the priority right now. Dove is.
Soon after, her breaths get deeper and I realize she's asleep. She must be fucking exhausted after the night she's had, but there's no way I can sleep. So I gently extricate myself from her arms, and she fitfully turns to her side. I cover her up with the blanket again, tucking her in. Her expression is troubled, but she's certainly asleep.
I head down to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. The knock comes just as I down the cool liquid, and I wonder who the fuck it could be as I head for the front door. If that piece of shit photographer has the nerve to show up here tonight, I might up my body count before tomorrow morning.
My instincts weren't wrong. I open the door to find the prick on Dove's doorstep.
"Can I help you?" My voice comes out gruff and I do nothing to better the impression. The guy's brows furrow when he sees me standing there, and he glances behind me, searching for her.
"Where's Dove?"
"She's asleep." Not that it's any of your goddamn business. "What do you want?"
"To talk to her."
I realize then the guy is fucking hammered, smirking to myself. Oh, if only Dove could see him now. That illusion of the perfect billionaire playboy would be shattered in seconds. But I'm not going to wake her up just so she can see what a mess her almost-boyfriend is.
"She's asleep," I tell him again. "It's the middle of the night. I suggest you get an Uber and go home."
"I need to tell her something."
"Now's not the time. She just had some terrible news."
"About Robin?"
"No," I grunt. "About a friend of hers, Sam."
"Who?"
This piece of shit knows nothing about Dove, and I'll be damned if I let him disturb her.
"You need to get the fuck home."
"You don't tell me what to do." He almost lunges at me but loses his balance at the last second. The prick would look a lot fucking scarier if he wasn't standing on wobbling feet, close to passing the fuck out. "Who the fuck are you anyway?"
"I'm Dove's boyfriend," I lie easily.
"Bull-fucking-shit," the shit laughs. "She'd tell me if that was the case."
I shrug with a grin. "Guess you aren't important enough for her to fill you in."
His eyes flash with anger and for a moment, I'm convinced he really will try to knock me out. But I can take a pussy like him, easy. I hope for his sake he doesn't try, because he'll end up dead if he does.
"If you aren't letting me in right now, I'm calling the cops."
I laugh at the idiot. "And tell them what, exactly? That some girl you want to fuck is with someone else now and you're fucking butthurt? Nah, I don't think so, man. She's been through enough today. Go fuck yourself."
Something takes over him then, and a look of madness flashes across his face. He steps forward, all up in my face. He looks like he's about to throw a punch, but at the last second, he changes his mind. Without saying another word, he turns on his heel and staggers away. With the greatest pleasure, I slam the front door after him.
"Who was that?"
I turn around at the sound of Dove's voice. The sight of her makes my mouth water. She has an almost see-through silky wrap around her. And she’s put on fresh black panties.
"It was your date," I say. "Checking up on you."
"What'd you tell him?"
"That you needed space. What are you doing up?"
"I'm a light sleeper," she mutters. "The talking woke me up."
"You need to get some rest."
"Don't tell me what to do." She walks past me into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of ice-cold water. I follow behind, leaning against her and placing my hands on the sink, caging her in front of me.