Page 17 of The Story of You

“Must have. Fucking Darius.”

Even half asleep as I am—and a little disoriented—I hear the shame in his voice. Right. Because he crawled in here with us and then Darius abandoned him here with me. Asher won’t come to bed with us even though I invited him personally, but heendsup in here a lot.

I think he has trouble sleeping. He won’t say it. He barely speaks to me, and he won’t admit it to Darius, but Darius came to the same conclusion—hence the invitation.

“I’ll go drag him back,” Asher says.

“Naw. Leave him.” Darius sleeps like shit too. If he’s actually made it to the Land of Nod, I don’t wanna disturb him. That leaves our awkward situation.

“Well, guess I’ll go.” It’s dark, but I can see the outline of him moving, sliding his legs off the bed.

“You don’t have to go, Asher. You’re fine where you are.”

He doesn’t listen. He stumbles off the bed and from the room. Jesus, he’s stubborn. Maybe more than Darius. No wonder they fight so much. They’re either fucking or tryna tear each other’s eyes out.

As his bare feet pad away, I stare at the darkness and try to figure out what to do. Should I go after him?

Obnoxious footsteps make their way into the open bedroom door. “What the hell is going on in here?” Darius says.

“I told you I scream too loud to sleep here.”

“Nonsense. No one cares. Where did Asher go?”

“Gone and I don’t blame him. He’s not comfortable sleeping alone with me.”

“For fucksakes. What are we, twelve? Only twelve-year-olds care about shit like that.”

He storms out the door. I hear the telltale sound of bickering from down the hall, but then two silhouettes return in the darkness, one dragging the other. I catch the fall of Asher’s hair over his face in the moonlight. He’s half dressed—pajama bottoms only. Darius is wearing one of his t-shirts, from the collection he leaves here, which is a lot more casual than he has at Randall Central. There’s an eagle on it.

“This bed is plenty big enough for three of us,” Darius mutters. “That’s why I bought the king, dickhead. You won’t even have to touch him.”

Doesn’t change that we all end up touching each other in some way through the night. We’re like magnets. I know Darius won’t have missed that.

The bed dips when Darius lies on it. He pulls Asher with him. Asher—needing to take control in some way—rolls, changing their position so Darius is on top of Asher. He smacks Darius’s ass. “Don’t call me dickhead.” Then he captures Darius’s lips in a heady kiss.

Darius sighs with his body. It’s a subconscious gesture. Then one of his legs curls around mine, linking the three of us.

I close my eyes.

* * *

Wyatt

There’s a hand near my face.Darius.I grab it and kiss the knuckles. He’s still fast asleep. Asher’s on the other side of him. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them curled around each other like they’re hanging on for dear life. I imagine it went something like that when they were teens dealing with bone-deep trauma. They probably didn’t know what hit them, like when you get gut-punched and the wind is knocked from you.

When they’re plastered together, they’re young again, with little faith in anything, knowing they might not survive the fall, but they’ll go out together.

Darius rolls so he’s half lying on my chest. Asher’s the one threaded around him now—so much smaller when he’s asleep. That man is all bark. Not that he never bites, but he barks a lot more, so people stay away. I think he wants someone to break in there, all the way to his insides.

It’s not gonna happen willingly.

Kissing Darry’s knuckles again, I roll until my lips are by his ear. “Darius.”

“Mmmm?”

“I’m gonna make some breakfast.”

“Bacon,” he demands.