Page 98 of Quiet Obsession
Noah shifts, his hand cupping my cheek, thumb tilting my chin up. “That’s not what you need, Millie. I’m not the one you’re crying over... am I, beautiful?”
My throat thickens again. “He doesn’t want me,” I whisper. “And I sure as hell don’t want him.”
A sad smile curls his lips before he kisses my forehead. “That’s not true,” he whispers, pulling me back in, his hand cradling my head. “But you can lie if it makes you feel better.”
I let him hold me until the knot behind my ribs loosens and my breathing evens out. I focus on his steady heartbeat, my eyes growing heavy. Sleep doesn’t come, but I’ve stopped shaking and crying, which is more than I’d hoped for.
The clock on my bedside table shows three minutes to eleven when I sit up, pushing my hair back over one shoulder.
“You should go,” I say.
His eyes harden as he searches my face, then glances at the drawer. “Will you be okay?”
“I don’t know what being okay feels like anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”
30
Creed
Six. That’s how many times I’ve had the doubtful pleasure of watching my best friend stumble over his feet, slur his words, and bounce off walls this evening.
He’s shitfaced when we leave Jed’s bar around one in the morning. It takes him three tries to open the passenger door of my GMC and another five to buckle up. He nods off with his head against the window, his breath fogging the rain-streaked glass, not a care in the fucking world while I’m still boiling.
I’d hoped his increasingly cheerful demeanor—increasing with every beer—and the hours that passed since he told me about Millie and Noah would douse my temper, but nope.
“Where are your keys?” I ask once we successfully make it to the sixth floor of the North Wing after I’vetalked Hyde out of knocking on Noah’s door.
I’m not sure which of us wanted to see him more.
“Back pocket.” He braces his forehead against the wall like he’s getting ready for a pat-down. “I’msodrunk. How do you function like this?”
I open his room, poking him through the door. “Definefunction.”
He laughs, parking his shoulder against the first wall it lands on. “Touché.”
Kicking his shoes off, he stumbles further in, falling face-first onto his bed with a groan. Having been in his position many times, I do what he always does for me.
Crack the window open and leave water and painkillers on the nightstand. He’s asleep once I’m done and I realize I should’ve started by helping him undress.
Too late now.
I turn him over, unbuckle his belt and pull it through the hoops, then stop at unzipping his jeans. It’s a small thing but fuck if it doesn’t make a big difference in the morning.
Somehow, not without difficulty, I tear off his hoodie and admit he deserves more credit for putting up with my drunk ass over the years. This is hard work.
His phone is last on the list. I pull it out of his pocket to set it on the nightstand but clock a message notification.
Millie: Are you still in the common room?
She sent it three hours ago, but it doesn’t look likeHyde replied, the message showing as unread. That’s not like him. He always checks her texts and always replies. I unlock the phone with the passcode I know by heart and go into the messages to confirm he hasn’t. Noah’s name is at the top, a text fired off a minute after Millie’s arrived.
Hyde: Go check on Millie for me.
I gnash my teeth, envy filling my system. Hyde said he wouldn’t get in the middle, but this... this is himactivelypushing Millie and Noah closer and I don’t fucking like that.
It’s my fault, isn’t it? She left the common room when she saw me with Zara, feltsomething,and needed Hyde. Was she sad? Disappointed? Resigned?
I don’t fucking know, but Noah sure does.
