Page 46 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

One Year Ago, January

Some things start out fun but don’t end well. Tequila, for example.

I t didn’t take long to realize what a massive mistake I’d made.

Nate sprawled on the bed beside me, fast asleep on his stomach. His steady, deep breathing was the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. Me? I lay there wide awake, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

No, not felt like.

I laid there for literal hours.

When the euphoric high subsided, I expected to drift into a blissful sleep like he had. But the heady emotions only settled briefly before they started the ascent again.

It started with a nagging feeling in my gut, the all-too-familiar feeling of anxiety burning its way into my veins at an achingly slow rate.

I couldn’t gather a single thought before the next came in on its heels, racing quicker and quicker as the last forty-eight hours caught up with me.

Through Nate’s peaceful, rhythmic breathing, my heart rate rose, palms turning slick with sweat, fingers and toes going numb at the tips.

And I could do nothing but lie there.

I could do nothing but stare at the ceiling, eyes wide, chest rising and falling so quickly it’s a wonder I didn’t wake the man next to me.

Part of me acknowledged the panic attack as it was setting in, but the other part of me was frozen.

Paralyzed. Unable to stop the mental avalanche once it started.

Too much happened in too little time. I hadn’t given my mind and body enough time to process any of it before I acted. The project submission, the migraine, Kieran’s blindside, the rejection. Forty-eight hours ago, I was hopeful about my job, my relationship, my potential. Now?

Now, it was all a mess.

Too much. I shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have done this. Oh god, what have I done? I should have gone home. I should have slowed down and gathered my thoughts before doing anything. Before calling anyone—Nate, of all people.

I dragged him into my mess. Two years without speaking, and I dragged him into my mental spiral. I didn’t know he’d show up, and I sure as hell didn’t think we’d have sex. But as soon as I saw his face, I should have known. It’s what we do. Fuck now, ask questions later, right?

I’m an idiot.

I called him because I needed someone and didn’t want to be alone. By that logic, I used him. I fucking used him. God, I’m a horrible person. This was not the answer.

And now I can’t take it back.

Hours ticked by. My mind didn’t relent. Self-loathing set in, negative self-talk, shame, embarrassment, name-calling.

My mind—my worst enemy—came for the slaughter.

Silent tears streamed out of the corners of my eyes and pooled near my ears.

All the while, Nate’s breathing, his scent, the heat of his body enveloped me, comforting and suffocating all at once.

I had to get out; I couldn’t breathe.

When the sky lightened into a dull, hazy blue, I pulled back the covers with shaking fingers and slid from the bed, hastily tugging on my clothes as I collected them from throughout the apartment.

My phone shook as I called an Uber. We’d both left our cars at the restaurant since we were half-pickled by the time we left.

I need to get out of here.

Hot, new tears stung my eyes as the panic continued to rise. Everything within me was itching to run, run, run.

I checked my phone and peeked out Nate’s living room window. Nine minutes away.

My teeth ripped away at the skin on my bottom lip until a metallic tang of blood spread across my tongue. I checked my phone again. Eight minutes away.

Fuck it. I’d rather wait outside in the cold than stand still.

My legs carried me to the front door. I didn’t dare look around the apartment I would likely never see again, didn’t dare give Billie a parting glance as she blinked at me from her perch. It would only twist the guilty knife in my gut to look at the kitchen island and imagine his lips on mine.

He showed up for you, my inner critic told me, and you used him. Because you felt a little sad? You’re such a piece of shit. I was unlocking the deadbolt when I heard his tired voice.

“Oli? Are you okay? ”

I froze. Squeezing my eyes shut, I slowly turned. Nate stood in only his tight boxer briefs, one hand gripping the frame of his bedroom door, the other raking his mussed hair.

Even then, he was breathtaking. Heartbreaking.

Am I okay? What a loaded question.

No, I wasn’t okay. Far from it. I probably looked like shit; the physical effects of ebbing and flowing panic over the course of several hours took its toll.

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t have to. The mere silence as my chin trembled was answer enough. Realization washed over his beautiful face in waves.

After a weighted silence, he opened his palms to the room around us, eyes searching high and low for some sort of answer.

“So, that’s it?” His eyes were soft with bewilderment. “You’re leaving? No goodbye or anything?”

I tucked my shaking hands under my arms, unable to meet his eyes. Residual tears stung my eyes, blurred my vision, as I hugged my middle. “Thank you for everything, really, but I–I shouldn’t have called you. I’m so sorry—”

His loud scoff halted my words. He had a disbelieving, far-away look on his face, and nodded numbly as if accepting some universal truth.

“Yeah. Okay, fine,” he said flatly, his nod transforming into a shake. “See you in a year, I guess. Or two.”

He looked like he was about to turn and go back to bed, but just before he disappeared through the door, he whipped back around, something indecipherable outlining his expression. Frustration? Hurt?

“What are we doing, then? I mean, what are we doing with this?” He gestured from the center of his chest to the air between us. “Is this going to be like before? ”

I reared back, pulling my eyebrows together. “What?”

“We see each other once in a blue moon, we have fun, we fuck, but none of it ever means anything? Because I can’t do that again.”

I blinked, sniffling, unable to answer. His words rang through my head again, and still, they made no sense.

What is he saying?

Cool, calm, collected Nate, who was utterly unflappable, was angry . My dazed silence only fueled him further because, after only a moment, he continued.

“You didn’t want me before, and that was fine.

I wasn’t good enough for you anyway, so I didn’t push anything, didn’t push us .

I was happy to have you when you wanted me.

But then… I don’t know, things changed, and you left.

You got to move away, start all over again, date jerks, clearly,” he added with a wave of his hand and a painfully accusatory brow raise.

I found my voice and cut him off before he could say another word.

“What are you even talking about?” There was more bite than I intended, but I didn’t have the strength to hold back.

“I didn’t want you? You were the one who was always cooped up in the studio, writing, doing shows, disappearing off the face of the earth.

And I never complained. Not once. I was happy to wait on the sidelines because I knew music would always come first. So don’t act like you were waiting around for me.

” My quickly rising temper surprised me. Two years’ worth of hot, burning anger.

“You went on dates with other guys—”

“I went on one date! One! Because you told me to.”

“—but the second I tried to move on you were pissed,” he snapped.

“That was different, and you know it. You disappeared and then showed back up with a full-blown girlfriend. It took me completely off guard. And you showed her off in front of everybody. I felt like a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he said sardonically, bringing his hands to rest on his hips.

I cocked my head to the side. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re a hypocrite, Olive. You have a boyfriend.”

We both knew that wasn’t true. I most certainly did not have a boyfriend. He said it just to get under my skin, and it worked, twisting the guilt and shame in my gut, heating me from the inside out.

“Don’t pretend like you ever wanted anything more with me, Nate.

You made it crystal clear on multiple occasions you weren’t interested in anything real or remotely serious.

And if you’ve had all this on your mind, all these things to say to me, then you should’ve opened your mouth and said them a long time ago. ”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I didn’t.” His eyes landed on mine.

My head shook. I couldn’t believe what was happening. How quickly our brief truce flipped on its head. His eyes that shone with tender comfort, desire, and yearning hours before, now filled with resentment and indignation.

This was the furthest thing from what I wanted.

“Nate,” I started calmly, attempting to regain a semblance of control over my emotions. “I don’t want to fight. You know I care about you. You were one of my closest friends, despite everything that happen—”

“I’m not your friend.”

My mouth snapped shut. He clenched his jaw as his deep sea eyes flared with an anger I’d never seen in the entire time I’d known him. Devastated, heartbroken anger.

“I’ve never been your fucking friend. I’m a convenient distraction for you, at the very best. ”

The words struck me in the heart, making my chest bow as I exhaled. My eyes closed against the fresh tears threatening to fall, willing this fight, our first and our last, to be over. I bit my lip in an attempt to still my uncontrollably trembling chin.

“Fine,” I said, barely louder than a whisper. “I’ll go.” I reached for the door again and pulled it open. “Have a nice life doing—” I shrugged helplessly. “—whatever you want to do, and I’ll—”

“You’ll have to go find a new fuck buddy, I guess. Next time you get bored, don’t call me.”

My eyes crashed into his, mouth dropping open wordlessly.