I don’t know what my heart feels every time I look at Wes.
A mix of guilt, deep empathy, and disbelief swirls through me like a potent fog.
There are so many questions that are still unanswered, and both of us had secrets. But right now, all I care about is making sure WesknowsI was never truly spying on him.
And that nothing between us has been fake, in any fucking way.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Noah says, shifting in the bed. “I had too much to drink. Obviously. I’m… I’m a fucking shitshow.”
“It’s okay, Noah.”
We’ve been in the room for at least an hour now. The nurse and doctor have confirmed that his nose is broken, but it’s not as bad as I thought based on what I saw out on the deck.
It will heal up with time, and he won’t need major surgery. The doctor said he passed out due to shock, with no signs of any substances in his system other than some alcohol.
Noah’s expression falls, and he looks down at his hands as he bites the inside of his cheek.
“I ended up screwing up the dinner for all of you. I was trying to help when I came outside, not ruin the whole night.”
Wes gives him a pointed look. “Kieran was the problem, not you. You were the least of our issues tonight, Noah. Promise. You do need to take care of yourself, though. In more ways than one.”
Noah’s eyes glisten like he’s about to cry but he won’t let himself, due to misplaced pride or something else.
“I need to do better,” he whispers.
“Grabbed water,” Niko says as he walks into the room with Oliver by his side. He’s carrying a little plastic tray with water cups for each of us, and he still looks a little bit shellshocked, but mostly okay.
“Thank you,” Wes says, grabbing one and draining the whole glass in just a few gulps.
A nurse comes by soon after, giving a polite smile to all of us surrounding Noah’s bed.
“I’d like to speak with Noah one-on-one for a bit if you guys don’t mind,” the nurse says.
“Come on. Let’s give them some space,” Weston says, herding the rest of us in standard Frat Dad fashion, leading everyone out into the waiting space outside the room.
The waiting area isn’t too bad.
The chairs have cushioning, at least.
And for the first time all night, I have a moment to breathe.
Weston stays standing up instead of taking a seat next to Ollie and Niko. He looks down at his phone, tapping around, and when I approach him he doesn’t look up to meet my eyes.
Even under the fluorescent hospital lights, Wes looks so… sturdy.
Like nothing could be bothering him, even though I knoweverythingis.
His shirt collar is opened a little wider now, but he still looks like he belongs on a red carpet rather than in a wing of a hospital.
“I took care of it,” he says when I’m at his side.
“Of what?”
He pulls in a long breath and finally glances up at me.
“Transferred my upper limit to that motherfucker who doesn’t deserve it.”
I clench my jaw.