Young Love Dies Hard: The Young Brothers, Book 1 by Nikki Lane (old books to read txt) 📗

a few more times until it was just dry heaving. Jacob finally convinced me to get into bed. I didn’t bother to get changed, so I didn’t blame him when he chose to sleep on the couch.

Chapter Twenty

The throbbing in my head only got worse when I tried to sit up in bed. I clutched my forehead and stood up, hoping there was some ibuprofen left in the medicine cabinet. A rancid smell was following me across the room, and when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I knew why.

The front of my shirt was crusted over with vomit; it was even in my hair. My mascara had formed black rings around my eyes. I grabbed a pill from the bottle and took a sip from the faucet to choke it down.

I couldn’t stand the sight—or smell—of myself, so I turned on the hot water to take a shower. As I washed up, I tried to recollect the events of last night, or rather, the wee hours of this morning. Bits and pieces came to me, but not the overall picture. It’d been months since I had a night like that.

The front door opened and closed. I stilled in the bathroom, too afraid to move. I didn’t want to face Jacob. Not now. I wasn’t ready. He’d definitely see me if I walked back to the bedroom. I got dressed and brushed my teeth, taking care to cover each tooth thoroughly, biding my time.

I could hear him walking around the kitchen, opening and closing the refrigerator and then the cabinet doors. I peeked through the doorway to watch him.

When he turned his back, I crept back into the bedroom. After I crawled under the comforter, the sound of his footsteps approached the room. I sunk deeper under the blanket and seriously considered feigning sleep.

The smell of coffee wafted through the room.

I peered over the comforter. Jacob set down a twenty-four-ounce cup of coffee from the corner store.

I looked up at him. “Thank you.” I sounded like I had nails in my throat.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there a few seconds, a blank expression on his face.

“I have to leave for a little while,” he finally said.

I didn’t like the sound of his voice. I shot up, wincing from my still throbbing head.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

He stopped and turned around. “Grocery store. I want to get there before they close. There’s nothing to eat.”

“Do you want me to come along?” I felt like crap, but I didn’t want him to leave like this. Something felt…off.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t wait for me to say anything and left. I had this fear that he wouldn’t come back. Maybe it had started when his parents found out that we’d been sharing my car. To them, it was completely unacceptable, and they had made sure Jacob got a replacement.

I grabbed the coffee and took a careful sip. Panic struck me right in the chest when a thought hit me—my car was still at the club. What would happen when Jacob offered to drive me there to pick it up? I flung myself out of bed and rummaged through my purse to find my phone. I dialed Sarah’s number, praying that she was awake.

“Hello,” she mumbled.

“I need your help,” I said.

It sounded like she was stretching. “Yes?”

“I need you to drive me to work so I can get my car.”

“Now?”

“Now. Like, right now.”

“Can’t you just have Jacob take you?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

She yawned into the phone. “Fine. Be there in ten minutes.”

“Thank you.”

I hung up the phone, changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and threw on some shoes. Thankfully, the ibuprofen had finally done its job, and it was comfortable to move my head.

I waited by the door, and Sarah barely had to knock before I was dragging her back to her car. It was an hour of driving, and we could make it back before Jacob got home if the universe was on my side.

By the time I got back to the apartment, the sun had fallen. I let out a sigh of relief when I didn’t see Jacob’s car in the parking lot.

I walked into the dark apartment and flicked on the lights. Seconds later, the doorknob of the front door rattled, and Jacob walked in.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” He had the same droopy look from before.

I grabbed one of the brown paper bags in his hand.

“I saw your car in the parking lot,” he said.

I set the bag down on the counter and loaded the groceries in the fridge—orange juice, my favorite yogurt.

“Yeah, Sarah offered to help me pick it up.”

“I would have taken you.” He put a box of cereal in the cabinet.

“She was on her way to work, anyway.”

He nodded and folded the brown paper bag before walking out of the kitchen.

“So, about last night,” he said.

“I had a little too much to drink,” I said with a shrug. How good could I play this off?

“A few drinks?” he scoffed. “You could barely form a sentence last night. You had to be carried into the apartment.”

“I was upset,” I said. “So, I had a few drinks to get through the night.”

It wasn’t the first time I had to be carried home after a night of partying. But I never had anyone to answer to when that happened. Now, things were different. “You act like it’s the end of the world or something.” I rounded the counter to meet him in the living room.

“I was worried out of my mind last night. Do you understand that? You didn’t return any of my texts or calls.” I could tell he was trying not to raise his voice.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he wasn’t finished.

“I started to think, maybe she got into an accident on the way home. Maybe there was another incident at work and she was hurt. I actually got in the