Page 27 of Bitter Truths

Still doing good. I’ll send another update in the morning.

The messages stop there.

I try to text, but I fudge the message up three times before I manage to type properly.

Me

I’m alive. Are you up? Leaving in two hours. Can you come by? Please?

I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come.

Winston returns with water and white tablets. “Here’s your doctor-approved hangover cure.”

“Thanks, Winnie.” I swallow the pills with a desperate gulp.

“Text the guys—they were worried sick. Color me fucking shocked Owen didn’t get an assault charge last night.” He rakes his fingers through his disheveled hair.

“Jack was drunk... it wasn’t intentional. I tried texting, but they’re not answering.” I wave my blank screen at him. “Did you hear from any of them after that last message?”

Winston shakes his head. “No, but they could be sleeping. It was a long night for everyone.”

“I need to talk to them before I go.”

“About?”

The words stick and won’t come out. How do I explain to my brother the clusterfuck that is now my life? “Just... stuff. You know I won’t have cell service up there, right?”

Winston arches an eyebrow but doesn’t push. After watching me check for a reply every thirty seconds, he sighs. “Go shower. I’ll help you finish packing.”

The hot water pounds against my back, but it can’t wash away Dr. Montgomery’s words.

I scrub until my skin burns red, but the shame won’t wash away. My cheek throbs where it struck the pool edge. I trace the mark, remembering strong arms lifting me from the water, Weller’s lips against my forehead.

Precious girl.

But I’m not, am I? There’s nothing precious about me.

Back in my room, I throw clothes into my suitcase without glancing at them.

Whitney’s next on my list.

Me

Hey, saw your text. I’m fine, other than the raging headache. How was the rest of the party? Did you notice what time the guys left?

Whitney doesn’t respond. She definitely knows what her father told me.

I break down and start calling them. Freddie first. Voicemail. Then Tristan, Owen, and Weller.

Four calls. Four voicemails. Panic is settling in.

Me

Please answer. WTF. Are you okay?

Me

Guys?