“Well,” I said, barely keeping the emotion from my voice, “I won’t keep you from your work.” I turned and strode for the stairs, and it was crushing when he didn’t stop me.
TWENTY-FIVE
Travis was awake when I returned to the bedroom. He sat up in the bed and ground the heel of his hand into an eye, but went on alert when I walked in. In total opposition to Clay, he seemed genuinely happy to see me.
“Hey,” he said. “I thought I’d run everyone off.”
Nope, just Clay, I thought grimly, but it was still early, so maybe I had read too much into my conversation with him. I shot Travis a smile that said he couldn’t run me off if he tried.
He patted the empty spot in the bed beside him and sounded hopeful. “Is that coffee for me?”
“We can share, or I can get you your own.”
His eyes were warm. “I like sharing.”
Oh, lord. He was so handsome like this. I went to sit beside him and handed over the mug, but there was a stone in my stomach, and I fought to keep it from dragging me down. He took a sip and watched me with his intelligent eyes.
“Where’s Clay?”
“Downstairs,” I said flatly. “Working on a new piece.”
He handed the mug back to me. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s been down there since three, and when I went to talk to him this morning . . .”
Travis didn’t seem surprised. “He was weird?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Distant. What was that about?”
After I’d come upstairs, I’d stood in the hallway for a long time trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe the answer was simple, and he’d just gotten overwhelmed. He’d told me at the beginning he preferred to be alone. He’d spent two weeks in Florida, and perhaps after dinner and our evening, he just needed space.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leaned forward, brushing my hair back over my shoulder. “He did this to me when the two of us scened together. Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll get over it.”
I curled my fingers around the mug. “We didn’t talk about what’s going to happen once he’s home.”
He pulled at the sleeve of my shirt and seemed distracted by the curve of my shoulder once it was exposed. “We didn’t.”
His mouth, rough with stubble, brushed against my skin and tendrils of interest awakened in me. But while my body was excited, my mind was fixated on the man downstairs, and the relationship the three of us had. It was wrong to want one when I needed them both.
“Let’s just give him some room to breathe and figure out what he wants,” he said softly, “He can do that this last week while he’s gone. When he’s home for good, we can talk about it and everything will be okay.”
I wanted to ask him to promise me that, but I knew he couldn’t, so instead I chose simply to believe him.
For the first time in my career, I was happy to have long, grueling days. It cut down on the amount of free time I had to check my phone for messages.
Because there weren’t any.
The group chat that had been incredibly active until last weekend, had gone almost silent. It was all messages from me and short replies from the guys. More of a question-and-answer session than a conversation. We used to talk multiple times throughout the day, and now—
Nothing.
And we didn’t arrange any sessions for Clay to watch Travis and me together either.
Travis had said to give Clay space, but by Thursday I was panicked. I could handle one of them being distant, but quitting them both cold turkey? That was brutal.
Cassidy: Have you heard from the guys?
Yesterday, I’d found thirty free minutes in Cassidy’s schedule to get together. I’d met her at a Starbucks on the edge of campus and told her everything. How I’d fucked Travis without knowing his name. The arrangement the three of us had struck. How Clay’s project was over now, and I worried Clay might have thought the evening we’d spent together was the end.
A ‘goodbye sendoff.’
Me: They both gave me bullshit answers about being busy.
Cassidy: You need to talk to them. Like, for real.
She was absolutely right. There’d been a seismic shift in our group dynamic, and if we didn’t address it, it would only get worse or disintegrate completely.
And I did not want to lose either of them.
My phone stayed silent Friday morning, and by lunchtime, I reached my breaking point. I composed my text while I sat in my car, ignoring the salad I’d just gone through a drive-thru to pick up.
I sent the most serious of messages; one that should strike fear in the hearts of the men.
Me: We need to talk.
Clay’s response was almost instantaneous.