Page 2 of Hero After Midnight (Gibson Hollow)

And most of all, I hated how badly I still wanted to cry.

Worse, how badly I wanted to throw myself into Ramsey’s arms and bury my face against the massive wall of his shoulder to do it.

He was Bodie’s best friend. Basically another brother to me.

That was how he’d always treated me. It was too damned bad my heart had never gotten the memo.

I’d had a hideous crush on him almost from the moment we’d met freshman year.

Not that he knew. And I’d bite my tongue off before admitting it.

We didn’t talk as we walked. The music from Whiskey Jack’s faded behind us, replaced by the steady scuff of our steps on the sidewalk and the occasional rumble of a passing car.

Ramsey didn’t push. He didn’t ask questions or try to force conversation.

He just kept pace with me, a solid wall at my side.

That silent, steady presence only made me feel worse. Because of course he could tell I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t that good an actress. How much of an idiot did he think I was? Had he known about this?

I thought about that flash of rage back at the bar. No, he definitely hadn’t known. If he had, he’d have told Bodie, and between the two of them, probably nobody would’ve found the body.

About halfway down the block, Ramsey paused. I glanced up just as he tugged his hoodie over his head and held it out to me.

“Here.”

I stared at it for a second, doing my level best not to focus on how it left him in nothing but a gray T-shirt that clung to his muscled frame like it had been painted on.

The hoodie was warm from his body, soft from a thousand washes, and I hesitated because slipping it on felt like something… more.

But my teeth were starting to chatter, and I wasn’t about to let that be the thing that finally broke me.

So I took it with shaking hands, slipping my backpack off so I could pull the sweatshirt over my head. It was massive on me—of course it was—and it smelled like him. Like soap and cedar and something I couldn’t name but instinctively knew was Ramsey.

I shoved my hands into the too-long sleeves and crossed my arms tighter, sinking into the cocoon of fabric. It wasn’t a hug. Not really. But it was close enough to pretend.

He didn’t say anything else. Just picked up my bag and slung it over one shoulder before resuming his position beside me, leaving exactly enough space for me to breathe but never drifting far as we continued to walk.

And I…

I spiraled.

The silence let the thoughts loose, tumbling fast and cruel.

I should’ve seen it. I’d known something was off for weeks.

The distracted texts, the way Jeff’s smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I’d told myself it was school. Football.

Stress. That I was the problem, saying no too often, being too tired, too busy, too serious.

God, had I done this? Had I just worn him down?

I felt sick and small and so, so stupid.

I didn’t want Ramsey to see me like this—curled in on myself, locked in my own head, blaming myself for someone else’s betrayal. But I didn’t know how to not feel it. It was like all my years of holding it together weren’t enough to hold back the flood this time.

We turned the corner toward my apartment, the familiar stoop just a block away. The lights were still off upstairs. Bodie was probably still at the gym or out with teammates.

Thank God.

Because he’d want to know all the details, and aside from the fact that I didn’t have it in me to stop him from haring off to do something foolish, like beating the shit out of Jeff, I couldn’t take one more person looking at me like I might fall apart.

Not when I was barely keeping the cracks from showing.

We climbed the steps in silence. I pulled the key from my front pocket, fingers fumbling with the lock more than they should’ve. Ramsey waited behind me, quiet and steady as ever.

The deadbolt clicked. I pushed the door open and stepped just inside the threshold, then paused, hand still on the knob. My voice came out soft, barely audible over the rustle of trees in the breeze. “Thanks for walking me home.”

I didn’t look at him when I said it. I couldn’t. My eyes were locked somewhere around his chest, unable to lift higher because if I did—if I saw pity or concern or anything too gentle—I might actually shatter.

I was supposed to be the one who had it together. The one who didn’t fall apart.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t fumble for meaningless platitude. He just stepped forward, setting my backpack just inside the door before curling his big hand gently around my shoulder. The kindness of the gesture almost had me collapsing against him.

“Get some sleep. It’s gonna be okay.”

The low rumble of his voice didn’t sound like false hope. Just a quiet certainty. As if he knew I wouldn’t let this take me down.

I nodded, but still didn’t look at him. “Night.”

Then I shut the door before I could do something stupid like let loose the flood of tears burning behind my eyes.

I toed off my boots and tucked my bag out of the path of the entryway. The living room was dark and still, untouched since this morning. I didn’t bother with lights. Just went upstairs to my bedroom, shut the door behind me, and collapsed face-first onto my bed.

The scream that tore out of me was muffled by the comforter, but it was all heat and shame and humiliation.

Not heartbreak. I wasn’t grieving Jeff. I wasn’t even sure I liked him all that much anymore.

I hadn’t been building a life or a future with him.

He’d been a placeholder. Someone to go out with.

To have fun with before I got down to the serious business of the rest of my life.

But God, I was furious. Mortified. And so goddamned tired.

I rolled onto my side and curled up, arms crossed over my chest. That’s when I realized I was still wearing Ramsey’s hoodie. I’d forgotten to give it back.

Of course I had.

The fabric bunched around me like borrowed armor. I pulled the sleeves tighter, tucked my hands into the pockets, and buried my face in the collar.

It smelled like him. The warmth of it seeped into cracks I hadn’t let anyone see. Not even him.

Especially not him.

I pressed my face deeper into the hoodie and let myself breathe, just once, like I hadn’t been able to all night.

Then I closed my eyes and fell asleep, wrapped in borrowed fabric and a truth I didn’t want to name.