Page 19 of Timelessly Ours

“Remind me never to ask you to walk my dog. You might sprain your ankle.” I nudge her chin.

She laughs and a tear falls on my thumb. A single tear that carries the weight of so much emotion.

I swallow hard as I come to a decision, I have no right to make.

I’m going to take care of this.

5

The man wasn’t wrong.

I needed a night of uninterrupted, peaceful, sleep.

I groan as I remember last night. God. Had I really begged him to keep my dirty little secret?

Seriously, Nicole, get a fucking grip. You’re supposed to be the big bad bitch in town—next to Sylvie, of course.

Two years with Cora and Angel as friends, and I turn soft.

The biggest thing that still guts me is that I had this. I was so good. I don’t even want to drink. I don’t want that life of being dependent on something.

I just want normal.

Cora and Angel—as much as I love them—are the exact kind of boring I need in my life. Sure, they each had their fair share of drama—especially recently. But let’s not forget who helped them pick themselves up and dust the fuck off.

Yours truly.

Sadness and misery are for the weak.

And I’m anything but.

I close my eyes, repeating these lies in my head.

It’s early and I need coffee. The bedroom Coach put me in is glorious. High ceilings and windows with velvety curtains. A luxurious queen bed with five-star hotel quality sheets. What more could a girl ask for?

But what I love most, it’s quiet. There were no sirens and loud late-night comradery outside like on my neighborhood block. There were just…well, crickets literally. But even those were soothing last night.

Hell, I wouldn’t fight Coach too hard on one more night.

I thought I looked halfway decent yesterday after my second shower, but today, you can really see the difference. The color has returned to my cheeks, my eyes are wide and on alert, my bones don’t hurt, and I don’t feel like I’m going to be sick every five minutes.

Coffee.

And maybe I’ll take him up on that oatmeal again.

With my bare feet and a thick bathrobe tight around my body, I slip down the hall to Angel’s room and help myself to another outfit out of her closet. Since Angel is nearly a foot taller than me, I can't pull off her pants, so I opt for a mini skirt and a long sweater before making my way downstairs.

The tension in my chest over the consequences of my actions hasn’t subsided—much. But at least I’m not in pain anymore. The headache was nearly unbearable yesterday when it returned. And I was afraid to ask for more aspirin.

The less dependent on painkillers I appear, the better I can prove that I’m perfectly fine.

Coming down the hallway that descends from the stairs to the kitchen, I find Rory perched on a barstool, swiveling as she eats her pancakes.

“Hurry up and eat the yogurt too, Squigs.”

My lip perks and I find myself wondering what his nickname would be for me. Wrecking ball comes to mind.

Shaking the awkward thought, I step into the room. He’s in sweatpants, which I’ve never seen him in before and a white t-shirt that hugs his biceps. A stubble lines his jaw and my mouth waters.