Page 155 of Dream On

I dig my forehead into his chest. “You didn’t do anything.”

He tenses up, holding me closer.

My hands hover a centimeter away from him, the heels of my palms pulsing with pain. Emotion blankets me in waves of heat. My eyes sting, my face throbs, my mind reels. Blood begins to dry on my lips and tongue, and I can’t even kiss him.

Lex exhales a defeated sigh and inches away from me. “I’ll help you clean up.”

He disappears into the bathroom.

I disappear into myself.

Chapter 37

Stevie

A text from Rudy comes in just after two a.m. as I’m curled up on the couch, unable to sleep.

Rudy Sinclair: Incoming

I stare at the message, chewing on my thumbnail.

Me: Everything okay?

Rudy Sinclair: Your boyfriend is a mess. Bringing him home.

My heart lashes with anxiety inside my chest.

Lex left the condo midafternoon, and I haven’t heard from him since. He told me to stay inside and rest, that he needed to blow off steam, and that he’d be home late. I was tempted to text him, to check in, but something told me he needed his space.

I thought this would be easy. I figured we’d fulfill the narrative, ride out the star-studded waves for a few months, and then I’d leave. Go back home with a fun story to tell and a handful of connections to get my foot in the door.

The start of a dream, newly in motion.

But somewhere along the line, the dream changed. The colors bled into anew spectrum, and I know that when my time here comes to an end, everything outside of Lex will feel gray. Empty and whitewashed.

Swallowing, I type out another message.

Me: What happened?

Rudy’s bubbles bob up and down.

Rudy Sinclair: Whiskey happened. He needs to sleep it off. Be there in ten.

I toss my phone on the couch cushion and drag my hair back with my fingers.

Regret chews me up. I should have forced him to stay home so we could talk and discuss the future. Figure out what comes next.

Lex isn’t in the right state of mind to be drinking. He’s punishing himself. Acting reckless. Self-destructive.

But I’m not gone yet. There is still time to change the story.

Fifteen minutes later, the door barrels open, and the two men stumble inside. Whipping to my feet, I watch as Rudy hauls Lex through the entryway, their arms linked around each other as Lex sags against him and nearly trips a dozen times.

I race toward them, reaching for Lex. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Grappling with the massive body on his right, Rudy drags Lex over to the couch and deposits him with a heavy grunt. “Damn lightweight.”

“Did he get hurt?”