Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
God, why wouldn’t the floor just open up and swallow him?
He curled into a ball and lay there until Tam knelt beside him.
“Hon, are you alive?” Tam asked, petting his head and shoulder.
“No.”
“Do you want to sit up?”
“No.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, get your ass up.” This was Z. He hooked Ansel’s arms and tugged until he could do nothing but stand. They guided him to the couch then sat beside him. He leaned back and closed his eyes again. It was still dark outside, but the lights were on in the living room and they made his headache ten times worse.
“What happened?” Tam asked.
“Nothing.” There was no way he was going to tell them about his evil mother. And especially not how it had been so easy for her to push his buttons until he was a sobbing, pitiful mess with no self-control.
“I’ll tell you what happened. He fucking drank himself into a coma again and this time he forgot about his commitments,” Z said. “You know Castor insists that we don’t miss any performance, especially you. He flipped out, Ansel, docked our pay for last night, and threatened Tam again.”
“Sorry,” Ansel croaked because his throat was tight and sore. He couldn’t look at Tam. If he did he might never forgive himself.
“Sorry. Like a simple apology is going to save Tam or get us back the money we lost.”
“Do you even understand how worried we were?” Ange asked.
He’d never heard that tone from Ange and it shredded him. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to run because he knew there was nowhere he could go to get away from the pain in her voice. Or the anger in Z’s.
“Ansel, talk to us. Please.” Lirim was still calm, but the plea was one of desperation. “We want to forgive you, but we can’t unless you tell us what happened.”
“It’s like Z said. I drank too much and lost track of time.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, like blood.
Z’s “Told you” and Ange’s “Like hell” tumbled on top of one another.
But it was Lirim’s “Come on, how naive do you think we are?” that won out.
Ansel didn’t reply. He couldn’t bring himself to lie again and anything else seemed pointless.
They were all silent for a while as the sounds of the city waking up filtered through the thin walls of the apartment building. The sun streamed through the dirty windows, making the dust in the air look like tiny stars. It was magical.
And sad.
Because there was a tension between them all that hadn’t been there before, and it was his fault. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to repair the damage.
Finally, Lirim broke the stillness. “Who was the asshole who did that to your face?”
Ansel put a hand to his throbbing eye and met his friend’s concerned gaze across the room. “What’s wrong with my face?”
Z took his hand and pulled it down. “You have a big fucking black eye, babe.”
With a sigh, Ansel collapsed against the back of the couch again.
“Don’t worry, we’ll cover most of it with makeup, no one will notice,” Tam added. They were the first words Tam had said since they sat down, and the kindness in them broke Ansel’s heart.
“Tam—” His voice broke but he pushed through it, some part of him needing to be punished for what he’d done. “I’m sorry. I was an asshole. I’ll talk to Castor. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you. I promise.”
“I doubt there’s anything you can do.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Fitch called Ansel’s cell for the hundredth time. When someone finally picked up, it wasn’t the sexy voice he’d been expecting.
“Yo, ’sup?” the stranger asked.
“Who’s this?”
“Who the fuck is this?”
“The guy who’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t put Ansel on the phone right now.”
“Who the fuck is Ansel? Shit, you got the wrong number, Homes.” The line went dead.
He stared at the screen for a good five minutes. It was the same number he’d been dialing for two weeks. Fitch scowled.
It was Saturday morning, their date wasn’t until much later that night, but now he was worried. If Ansel was blowing him off again, a stranger wouldn’t be answering his phone. More than likely he’d gotten mugged and his phone had been stolen. Fitch didn’t have any other way of contacting him. Fuck.
He paced his living room. Should he drive into the city early and show up unannounced to make sure Ansel was safe or should he just wait it out and turn up for their date as planned? He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
There was no way he’d be able to stay sane if he waited.
He grabbed his keys from the counter and locked the door behind him. On the way, he stopped and bought a couple of large coffees and a dozen donuts. At least he’d come bearing gifts.