Page 75 of Almost Rotten

He opens and closes his fist, his focus fixed on the movement. “Did she let you touch her?”

“She—” I purse my lips, assessing him. “I mean we—we hugged.”

That’s the truth.

I held her.

She held back.

But for the briefest of moments, I had her in my arms.

“Just hugged?” he presses, one brow lifted. “Because that’s what you wanted, or because that’s all she was willing to give?”

I spin my bottle on the wooden bar, noting the rings the condensation leaves behind. “She was trying to be professional.”

Right?

Now that Mercer has voiced his concerns, I’m starting to question my recollection of the encounter.

My best friend stares at me as if I’m an idiot.

Dread trickles through my insides, collecting low in my gut.

Is he right? Am I reading this all wrong?

Somberly, he hangs his head, his shoulders drooping. “We’re losing her.”

No.

We aren’t.

We can’t.

He slaps the bar top, the sound loud in the relatively quiet space. “We’ve barely fucking had her, and we’re losing her.”

“Hey.” I grasp his shoulder and shake it. “You’re overreacting.”

He straightens, his dark eyes searching mine, sorrow and pity emanating from him.

“I’ve known real loss,” I remind him. “This isn’t it.”

It can’t be.

“Let’s pick up a pizza and go back to the house.” I can’t let him go home alone tonight. “We’ll invite Sawyer over this weekend, then we’ll see what transpires.”

I indicate to Charlie that we’re ready to close out, then quickly take care of the bill.

On our way out, I keep one hand on Mercer’s shoulder, guiding him forward.

It’ll all work out.

It has to.

Chapter twenty-eight

Sawyer

“Who did you sit with at the game?” Tytus asks, focus fixed on the road.