Chapter 9 Chapter Nine

Chapter 9 Chapter Nine


The air in the room feels heavier now, like the silence itself is pressing against me. Gavin’s words echo in my head — What about me? — and I swear my throat dries up instantly.
I blink at him, searching for something, anything to say, but nothing comes out. My heart’s pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“I—” I start, but my voice cracks, and I quickly shut my mouth again.
Gavin doesn’t move. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable look he always seems to wear. Not angry. Not soft either. Just… waiting.
Heat crawls up my neck. I want to sink into the couch cushions and disappear. “I didn’t mean—”
“You said it,” he cuts in, his voice low. “Out loud.”
I bite my lip, stomach twisting. I was thinking it, not trying to let it slip. Of course he’d catch it. Of course he would.
“I was talking about—” I start fumbling for an excuse, but his eyes narrow just enough to make my chest cave in. Lying would be pointless. He knows.
Josh’s laugh echoes from the kitchen, completely oblivious, and for a moment I wish he’d walk in and break this awful tension. But he doesn’t. It’s just Gavin and me, and this thing between us I can’t push back into silence.
Finally, Gavin lets out a quiet breath, his arms dropping from his chest. “You don’t remember last night, do you?” he asks softly.
The question knocks the air out of me. My brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, almost like he regrets asking. “Nothing.” He straightens up, glancing toward the door. “Forget it.”
And just like that, he turns as if to leave, leaving me with more questions than answers.
“Gavin—” I call after him, my voice shakier than I’d like. But the words catch in my throat, the truth too heavy to push out.
Gavin pauses in the doorway, his back still to me. For a second, I think he’s going to turn around, maybe explain, maybe say something that will make this all make sense.
But he doesn’t.
His hand tightens briefly on the frame, then he just shakes his head and keeps walking. The sound of the front door opening, then closing, leaves the house feeling bigger, emptier, somehow colder.
I sink back against the couch, pressing my hands over my face. My heart is still racing, but now it’s mixed with a dizzy ache. He knows something I don’t. He’s holding it back. And the worst part? I can’t even ask—because if I do, I might get the answer I’ve been afraid of all along.
Through the thin curtains, the faint gray light of dawn filters in. 5:07 a.m. Too early, too heavy, too raw.
I whisper his name once, like it might soften the silence. But the house doesn’t answer.
And neither does he.
I drag myself into the kitchen, feet heavy against the wood floor. The house is still except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint clatter of Josh upstairs. I grip the counter, staring at the tiled backsplash like it might have answers hidden in the cracks.
What did he mean last night?
My stomach twists. There are flashes—Gemma’s laughter, music pounding too loud, the burn of something sweet and sharp sliding down my throat—but after that… nothing. Just a blur of sand and stars.
I press my fingertips to my temple, frustration prickling hot under my skin. If I said something—if I did something—I don’t even remember it. And now Gavin’s walking around with pieces of a puzzle I can’t see.
The kettle clicks on, though I don’t remember turning it. My hands are moving on autopilot. Anything to distract me. Anything to keep me from replaying the way his eyes looked when he asked, What about me?
Because no matter how much I try to shove it away, that question lingers like smoke in the air.
Josh barrels down the stairs a few minutes later, rubbing at his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. He pauses when he sees me clutching a mug I haven’t even sipped from yet.
“You look like you’ve been up all night,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“Couldn’t,” I admit quietly, staring into the empty cup.
He yawns, completely oblivious. “Figures. These parties always wreck you.” He grins, leaning on the fridge. “At least Gavin got you home safe.”
The mug nearly slips from my hands. I force a laugh, but it sounds brittle in my ears. “Yeah. Guess so.”
But the words taste bitter on me tongue.
Because deep down, I know it wasn’t just safe—it was something more. I just don’t know what.
I take another sip of coffee, hoping the warmth will settle the storm in my stomach, but it doesn’t. My mind keeps flicking back to last night — to the beach, the bonfire, the way The too friendly stranger kept pressing drinks into our hands, laughing as we drank more than we should have.
“Still don’t remember anything?” Josh asks again, leaning casually against the counter, steam curling from his cup.
I shake my head. “It feels like something important happened, but I can’t remember a thing.”
Josh frowns. “Well… at least you didn’t do anything too crazy, right?”
I force a laugh, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah… nothing I can remember.”
But there was something. A moment that makes my stomach twist just thinking about it. A man’s lips pressing against mine when I clearly said no. I swallow hard, willing the memory to disappear.
Josh doesn’t notice the shiver that runs down my spine or the tension still coiled in my chest. He’s just happy I made it home safe, completely unaware that last night wasn’t just a blur of drunken laughter and spilled drinks — it was a line crossed, a brush with something I don’t want to think about yet.
I glance out the window toward the Miller house. Somewhere over there, Gavin is probably oblivious to everything that went wrong, or maybe… he’s not.
I sip my coffee again, trying to settle my nerves. Whatever happened, it’s locked inside me for now. And Josh will never know.
I set my mug down just as the screen door creaks open. Gemma slips in, hair still a little damp from the beach, cheeks flushed from the early morning air.
“Morning,” she whispers, glancing around like she doesn’t want to wake anyone. Her eyes catch mine, and I can’t help but smile weakly.
“You actually made it home in one piece,” I tease softly, trying to push down the lingering nerves.
She laughs quietly, sitting on the stool next to me. “Barely. That guy kept handing us drinks like we weren’t already tipsy enough. I feel like I need another week of sleep.”
I nod, my chest tightening. “Yeah… that guy, from last. He… pushed it too far.”
Gemma’s expression softens. “Ari… you okay?”
I shrug, forcing a casual smile, not ready to dive into the details. “I’ll live. Just… messy night.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, the quiet only broken by the faint hum of the fridge. Then the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside draws our attention.
“Sounds like someone’s already up,” Gemma mutters.
Before I can reply, the front door opens, and Eben steps in, hair still damp from the surf, grin plastered across his face. “Morning, ladies! Coffee already?”
Gemma and I laugh, Eben’s energy cutting through some of the tension, though the tight knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen.
And then, from the driveway, Gavin appears, casually leaning against the doorframe, as if he hadn’t just been part of the chaos last night. He nods at us, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes sharp and unreadable.
I feel my chest tighten again. He’s calm, collected, but the way he’s watching me… it makes me hyper-aware of every move I make.
Josh, still in the kitchen, glances between us all, completely oblivious to the undercurrent. “Well, this is shaping up to be a fun morning,” he jokes, completely unaware of the tension layered under every glance, every half-smile.
I sip my coffee slowly, p
retending I’m fine, even though inside I feel anything but.