Page 47 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

A sputtering noise struck his consciousness.

Dylan slowly rose from a void, the strange sound taking form with a quiet melody floating behind it.

He peeled his lips apart and unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Dragged a hand down his face. A fan spun on a ceiling he didn’t recognize.

White sheets bunched around his legs instead of his dark grey ones.

A small, black spiral notebook sat on the end table next to a bottle of black nail polish and a pair of headphones hanging from a charging station.

His phone was on the notebook, plugged into the wall.

A pile of clothes hung over a chair in the corner of the room.

The warm, sweet scent of amber reminded him where he was. Whose bed he was in.

For one blissful moment, everything in him relaxed.

And then, it all hit him at once.

The party. Lennon. Fragments from a night he’d partially lost.

What had happened to him.

A dark, sickening feeling rolled through him. For a moment, he couldn’t move. His airway compressed in the grip of panic. He broke out in a sweat as anger, shame, and fear rushed him, making him feel as helpless as he’d been last night.

Dylan swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, his body immediately protesting the harsh motion. His vision temporarily went dark, and his head swam as he gripped the edge of the mattress. His breath pushed in, out in hard clumps.

The strumming of a guitar pulled his attention toward the gap between the door and the frame.

As the seconds passed, Dylan focused on the music. On who was making it.

His heart rate slowed. His lungs stopped fighting each inhale.

Dylan lifted the hem of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face.

The fabric smelled of Lennon. He looked down at the Arden Beach University logo on his white tee and his black boxer briefs.

He vaguely remembered her slipping the shirt over his head.

Dylan swallowed thickly. What else had he forgotten?

He stood, his muscles stiff, and followed the music through a short hallway to the main living area.

The scent of fresh coffee joined the music and murmur of a coffee maker.

The early afternoon sun slanted through the windows over Lennon nestled on the sofa with a guitar in her lap, her bare legs folded under her and a small crease between her brows as her fingers gracefully danced along the strings.

He leaned against the archway, relieved to find her safe.

At peace. Her knitted cardigan hung off one shoulder, her dark hair draped over the other.

He’d always loved watching her play music. He’d missed this. He’d missed her.

He’d missed all of it.

Almond-shaped eyes lifted, and her lips parted. Lennon strummed one final note before resting her hand against the strings. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dylan’s voice cracked, rough and groggy. He cleared his throat.

“How do you feel?” She scanned his body, the crease deepening between her green eyes. They’d always reminded him of a forest. Wild, deep.

“Like I was hit by a bus and run over. Five times.” The wall held all of his weight as anger pierced a hole through him. Dylan pressed his eyes shut. “I wasn’t drinking—”

“I know.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. He met her gaze, half-expecting her to add a sarcastic remark about him trying to lie his way out of it. After everything he’d done, why would she believe otherwise?

Lennon put the guitar aside and stood, her cardigan slipping further down her arm. Under it, she wore a thin black camisole without a bra and loose shorts. She walked to the kitchen. “Someone drugged you,” she said. Calm but serrated. She opened one of the cabinets and removed two mugs.

“Yeah.” The truth settled in him like poison. Slow, corrosive. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you.” The gurgling stopped, and the coffee maker chimed.

Lennon poured the contents of the carafe into one of the mugs.

“If you were going to drink, it wouldn’t have been there.

Not with the cameras. Not with—” Her hand stiffened around the handle.

She finished filling both mugs and began preparing his the way he liked it.

Her trust in him, the kindness she was showing—it nearly overwhelmed him. He bit back a wave of emotion pressing against his eyes, lumping his throat.

“What do you remember?” Lennon asked.

Dylan took a moment to steady himself before releasing a low, strained sigh.

“Only about half the night. I remember everything until we left the bathroom.” His chest twisted at the memory of their conversation, every bit of it painfully clear.

“Everything after that is fuzzy. Just flashes of things. You saying my name. Dr. Callow putting an IV in me.”

“I wanted to take you to the ER, but you begged me not to. Told me to call him instead. He met us here.”

“He’s our family physician,” Dylan said. “I trust him. If I went to the ER, it would’ve gotten out to the press.”

“You’re lucky he answered the phone. I wouldn’t have given a fuck about the press.” Lennon held the mug out to him.

Dylan stepped into the kitchen to accept it from her as his mouth twitched in a half-smile. He didn’t know what he did to deserve her still giving a damn about him, but he was thankful she did. “Thanks.” Steam rose from the mug, warming his palm.

Lennon finished preparing her coffee. “You don’t remember where you were?” Her voice dragged low. “When I found you.”

Dylan pulled his brow tight as he shuffled through the fragments of his memory. The more he tried to home in on the gaps, the tighter the wrench twisted in his skull. He shook his head, frustrated. After the accident, he’d sworn he’d never be in a situation like that again.

Except, this was different. He’d always been in control when he got wasted. He’d chosen to push past his limit the night of the accident, stupid as it was. This time, someone forced him past it.

Violated him.

Sickening rage churned in a slow but violent cyclone, eating through him.

“You were in your room,” Lennon said flatly as she stirred her coffee. “With Kelsey.”

It took a second for what she said to register. “What?” Dylan didn’t even remember seeing Kelsey after they all split up. How did they end up in the same room? He looked up at Lennon to ask, but the expression on her face knocked the wind out of him.

Pain filled her eyes. She couldn’t even look at him.

“No,” he breathed. “We weren’t—we didn’t—”

Lennon gave a small shake of her head, her lashes briefly pressing into her cheeks. “No. It hadn’t gotten that far.”

Dylan blew out a sigh of relief, dropping his head back. He set the coffee on the counter and braced his hands on the edge. “Fuck. Fuck .” He swiped a hand down his jaw. “Lennon, I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said tightly.

“It’s the bastard’s who spiked your drink.

” Lennon tapped the spoon against the ceramic.

She lifted the mug like she was going to take a sip but then put it aside instead.

Her lip curled slightly as if she were nauseated.

She pushed her cardigan up her shoulder and wrapped it tightly around her.

“Who knows how many victims there were. How much footage they have of people doing things they can’t even remember. ”

Bile churned in his empty stomach. What if it had happened to Lennon? What if they had both been fucked up, and he wouldn’t have even been able to protect her? The edge of the stone counter dug into his flesh as his grip tightened.

“I think Avery may have been one of them,” Lennon said quietly. Her gaze drifted out of focus. Haunted. “And they kept on filming. Eating it up.”

Dylan pushed up, then paced beside the island. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He drove a hand through his hair. “I should’ve known what would happen once I saw how many people were there. I’ve been to enough of them to know what kind of shit goes down if you aren’t careful.”

“I didn’t think people would be that stupid with all the cameras around.” Lennon scoffed. “Turns out I was the stupid one.”

“You weren’t stupid,” Dylan said firmly. He was. He shouldn’t have left her alone. He should have gotten them out of there as soon as they realized it wasn’t what they thought it would be.

“I knew just as well as you that it was a bad situation,” Lennon said.

“But I didn’t want to lose out on the money.

Or the game.” She looked away with a gentle shake of her head, disgust on her face.

“Dr. Callow took your blood to test it. Said we’d find out in a few days what it was, but he doesn’t think it was a roofie.

It was probably something recreational, and you had a bad reaction to it. ”

Had he been personally targeted, or were they spiking things randomly and he happened to get lucky?

How long had it been in his system before it kicked in?

All he drank was soda and lime—one during the bachelor party, and one after he left the bathroom.

He hadn’t paid attention to the mixing process.

He’d been stuck in his head, distracted.

It could’ve been dropped into the wrong drink—never meant for him. Dylan knew several of the guys there used. To them, it had been just another Saturday.

To him, it could cost him his entire career.

“I can go with you as a witness to file the police report before you leave tonight,” Lennon offered.

“I think I should wait,” Dylan considered, mired in thought.

“What do you mean?”

Dylan continued pacing, his focus turned inward.

“There were cameras everywhere. Whoever did this knew that. They probably covered their tracks,” he reasoned.

“If I go to the police and they don’t find any proof, my career’s as good as dead.

Everyone will think I’m covering up another bender with some bullshit excuse.

And if they find out it was drugs, I’m definitely done. ”