Page 46 of Wild Card

“Yeah. At some point, there isn’t another year.”

East sighs on the other end of the phone.

“Are you seeing someone?”

“I just said I can’t.”

“I mean for the depression.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Do you see someone for yours?”

“When I was in my head a couple of seasons ago about all the drops? Yeah. I did.”

Well, fuck. The Westfield way had always been to pretend it wasn’t fucking happening.

“Wren talked me into it. But I think it was worth it. I’d do it again if I thought it would help.”

“And on that note, have a good night.”

“Tobias…”

“What?”

“I want my fucking brother back. I know this shit is hard. I know you’re miserable. I was all there to defend you the first couple weeks. Told everyone you needed time to wallow and sit with this. But now, fuck. I’m worried too. I don’t want to tell you that. I don’t want to make it worse, and I don’t want you fucking pissed off at me. But listen to me and Xander, yeah? We’re not that much different, and you know we fucking have your back—always.”

My chest tightens with the sincerity in his tone. East doesn’t normally talk like this. We dance around things. Make jokes. I must be a fucking wreck if he’s lecturing me.

“I hear you.”

“Okay. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I should probably get going.”

“Okay. Love you bro.”

“Love you.”

TWENTY-SIX

Scarlett

I’ve managedto get all the food, his supplements, pills, and drinks on one tray, and I’m carefully balancing it all as I walk down the hallway trying not to spill anything. I did the waitress thing in college, but it’s been a minute and the skills are rusty.

When I get to the door, I realize I have no way to knock or use the doorhandles, so instead I’m stuck using my hip to lean at just the right angle to pop it open as I back in. Thankfully it yields to me, and I still manage not to spill anything. I’m calling it a win considering these first few days have been a struggle.

“Knock, knock,” I announce as I turn around and then almost drop the tray along with my jaw.

Because Tobias is definitely shirtless, with his pants pulled down and his hand wrapped around his cock watching what I assume is porn on his phone. I freeze but it’s too late. He’s heard me.

“Fuck!” he shouts, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over his lap as his phone tumbles across the bed and onto the floor rolling and tumbling over the carpet until it lands near my feet. It disconnects from his earbuds and suddenly the sound of two people fucking is in stereo.

“Can’t you fucking knock?” he shouts at me, and he starts to move across the bed to reach for the phone until he grabs his leg. “Fucking fuck!” He winces in pain.

“Don’t. Don’t move. I’ll get it!” I quickly set the tray on the small counter near the door and grab the phone, just as I hear his voice come through the phone.