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“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
Mason snorted when I walked back over to him. “You should see your face. Did you shit yourself?” He laughed even harder when I gave him the finger. “You’ve been hanging out with Watts... Oh shit.” He grimaced. “Did he remember? Did he get mad because you didn’t tell him?”
“He found pictures of us.” I felt that ache in my chest again. “Mason, he’s never been this upset with me.”
Mason held up a hand. “Why don’t we go talk to Miles? Maybe you should go try to talk to Watts. Or at least take the rest of the weekend off. You’re not going to be able to work like this. I can already see it in your eyes. I’ll be your backup.”
I nodded. I probably should have thought of that before, but then that meant I was going to have to go back to the apartment I didn’t want to be in without Watson. It was a lose-lose situation.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Watson
I hadn’t left my room in three days. What else could I do but sleep? I couldn’t drive myself anywhere. I wasn’t supposed to drink, but that didn’t stop me from stealing Dad’s bottle of whiskey when Mom wasn’t looking and bringing it up to my room. I drank, slept, jerked off to images of Holt in my head, and passed out again.
I felt—fuck, I felt betrayed. Betrayed that Holt didn’t tell me about us. I knew my stupid brain couldn’t work right, but I had confessed to him about my dreams. That meant something. It meant my useless head was trying to tell me something. He denied he wanted to break up with me. So why not tell me? If he loved me like he claimed he did, why wouldn’t he tell me?
Speaking of my head...
I had drunk too much whiskey last night and was really regretting it right now. I could hardly get out of bed to go take a leak, and it felt like Lars Ulrich was playing “Enter Sandman” in my head right now. Ugh, so not the best idea to drink last night.
“Sweetie, are you hungry?” Mom knocked lightly on my door.
My stomach turned at the thought of food. “Uh, no thanks, Mom,” I called back to her before climbing back into my bed. “Just tired.”
“Well, I’m going to the store. You need anything?” she asked.
Yeah, my boyfriend. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Text me if you need me.”
I reached for my phone. Should I turn it on? I wanted to look at those pictures again. We had looked so happy. I missed Holt. Even being away from him for a day was torture. Sure enough, texts and missed calls flooded my screen. Some from Holt, a few from Mason, and even a couple from Shepard.
Holt: Come back, Watson.
