Talia:

When I awoke, the bed was colder than expected.

After sharing a bed three times prior, I have grown accustomed to awakening next to Grayson. Usually it consists of some part of his body thrown on top of me in a bone-crushing way; but this morning, the weight is no where to be found.

Light from the windows momentarily blinds me as I open my eyes. I rub them with the back of my hand, leaving behind dark specks in my vision. Once I am able to see properly, I check beside me to confirm what I already thought was true. Just for good measure, I pat the vacant mattress. Grayson is gone.

My heart plummets deep into my stomach.

Maybe he's just in the bathroom, I reassure myself. That would be a good place to start before rushing to conclusions. Yes, I will start there first. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Especially considering what activity we did last night. I blush just thinking about it.

Clothes on the floor. Lips on my neck. His hard cock in my—

Stop.

There are more important things I should be focusing on at the moment, like finding where Grayson went.

I swing my legs out of bed, the cold hardwood floor meeting my feet. As I walk to the door, I manage not to trip over any of the clothes we carelessly tossed to the ground. That's when I notice something else: Grayson's clothes are gone. Only my dress sits in a pile on the floor. I pick it up and brush away any residue the ground might have left on the fabric. I take the time to hang it up in my closet to distract myself from all of the signs that scream he left without a word. Throwing on some sweatpants over my legs is the next way I waste time.

To further make sure I'm not jumping to conclusions, I turn on my phone and scan for any kind of text from him. Nothing.

Maybe that means he's still here. Yes, that must be it. If there is no text saying he needed to leave early, then I suspect he is still around. I still need to check the bathroom, so I rush out of my room and into the hallway. The bathroom door sits open, empty. My hypothesis does not seem well supported any more.

For one final test, I move into the kitchen downstairs. In there is not the person I care so much to find.

"Long night?" Jessica smirks to me from her perch on the countertop. Quinn stands next to her, managing a waffle iron with batter spilling out heavily on the sides. She's grinning.

I walk to the front window and peak outside. "Did you two get home recently?"

Only our shared car and Quinn's car are in the driveway. The vacancy of Grayson's black Audi tells me all I need to know and erases any last shred of hope I held onto. He's truly gone.

"We got back an hour ago," Quinn replies. She opens the waffle iron to reveal a perfectly golden waffle. Her and the breakfast food seem to beam brightly at each other. "What are you looking outside for?"

I swallow back whatever emotions his departure is causing me to feel. "Nothing, I just...Did you happen to see Grayson on your way in?"

"I didn't see him," Jess says. She points to the ceiling. "I thought you two were still in bed."

"No," I say, shaking my head and moving closer to them. I check my phone once more for any notification. Still nothing. "He must have left."

Jessica reads my expression, body language, and words very quickly. "I'm sure he had a reason for needing to leave so early. Did he have basketball practice that he told you about?"

I shake my head again. "Not that I know of."

Dread seeps through me. As much as I'm told not to overthink, I can't help myself. The worst thoughts come first. Maybe he discovered I wasn't good enough last night. Maybe he changed his mind when he woke up and decided I was too much of a commitment. Maybe he really is a one-night stand kind of guy.

He loves me.

I repeat those three words to stop my thoughts. They're stupid thoughts, I know. Everything that was shared by him last night is enough to know his love is honest.

"He will text me later," I say aloud in order to convince myself.

"Exactly," Quinn confirms, her voice muffled by a waffle shoved in her mouth. She swallows the food as I take a seat on one of the counter's stools. "It was probably an emergency and he didn't want to wake you up."

I nod, finding these ideas reassuring. But what kind of emergency could it even be? "You're right. I'll send him a text, just to let him know I'm up."

The words for the message come to me easily: "Hey, is everything okay? You were gone when I woke up and I'm worried."

Quick and to the point, I decide, sending the text without a second thought. Now, I'll need to wait.

***

In the mid-afternoon, I am still waiting. Five hours after messaging Grayson, there is still no reply, not even a notification to alert me he has read it. My stomach turns.

"Quinn and I are going mini-golfing," Jess says, walking into the living room where I've been perched on the couch. "Do you want to come? Maybe it will take your mind off of him."

I bite at the skin around my fingernail, which there is little left to bite at. If Grayson were here, he would take my hand in his own to keep me from causing any more damage to myself. But he's not here. And that's the problem.

It's difficult not to feel pathetic for waiting around like this. I tried pulling up some homework, but then I was reminded of the five hour limit Grayson had set for me, and proceeded to think of him. I thought about reading, but when I looked for a book, I first found The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe—the novel borrowed from Grayson. That spoiled the idea of reading for me.

The only thing I can seem to focus on is the ceiling, air, or my phone. Which—in case I haven't already mentioned—has not given me one clue as to where he is!

Quinn hops into the living room next to her girlfriend. "Still no text?"

I shake my head, perhaps a bit sadly. "I think I'll pass on the mini-golfing. I'm still feeling worried about—"

Ring!

My eyes shoot down to my phone that the sound undoubtably came from. I hesitate.

"Is that him?" Jessica questions, pointing at my phone that is faced down on the couch.

I don't bother answering her, and instead pick it up. Any hope of Grayson calling me to tell me where the fuck he has been is thrown out the window when I read the caller ID.

Jake Edwards is calling...

What the—

"Hello?" I speak into the phone before my thoughts can spiral any further. Quinn and Jessica make a face at me, expressively questioning if it's him. I shake my head no.

"Hi, Lia," Jake says. Immediately I know something is off. In my time of knowing Jake, he tends to speak in a constantly happy voice; never a voice as monotone or pained as this.

"Is Grayson okay?" I interrupt him. "He left without saying goodbye to me this morning, and I haven't even heard from him."

There's a pause on the other end. "He's...I—"

"Did something happen? Are you with him right now?" My voice sounds more desperate than intended. I try to fix it by adding: "I just want to know if he's okay. I'm worried."

Another pause. Then, a heavy sigh—one someone would make in order to steady themself; but also one I have used to stop myself from crying. Both uses are concerning, especially by someone as joyful and light-hearted as Jake.

"Jake, please. Just answer me," I plead impatiently.

"Physically, Gray is fine," he begins. That only relieves me partially. If the answer wasn't so broad, I would be completely relieved. "Fuck, Lia...I'm finding it really difficult to speak right now. There's a lot going on."

He sounds distressed. My heart races.

"And mentally?" I ask, still too caught up in the broadness of Jake's statement. "You said he was fine physically. What about mentally?"

There's another pause. This one is a thousand times worse. "Has he really told you nothing?"

"Yes," I breathe out. "I haven't heard from him all day."

"Can you drive over to my house? Gray is here, and I called you because I think he needs you, even if he won't say it out loud. I can answer more questions when you arrive."

"Yeah, I'll be right over," I say. "I'll see you soon."

I hang up the phone and slide it into my sweatshirt pocket. My sister and Quinn look at me, expectant of news from what I heard on the phone. I comply:

"He's at Jake's house, so I better go. It sounded...urgent."

It honestly sounded as if I was about to walk into a huge mess, but if Jake claimed Grayson needs me—for whatever reason—I'll be there. I'll be there for him, like all of the times he was there for me before.

***

Jake opens the door to his house within five seconds of me knocking.

"Hey," he greets, gesturing inside behind him. "Come in."

I cross my arms against my chest in some sort of protective stance for whatever I may be facing. I walk into the house, and make it into the kitchen, within sight of the backyard through the patio sliding door, when Jake speaks again.

"Lia, I should probably tell you what's going on before you see Gray," he explains. He leans on the counter, but it appears he's only doing so to keep himself from falling, not in any causal way.

My stomach feels as if has dropped even deeper. I nod along.

Jake frowns, which is something I probably have never seen from him. For a moment, I think I see a watery shine within his eyes. "This morning, Grayson's dad died."

"What?" I choke out. My hand rests over my rapidly beating heart. Of every situation I could have thought of while waiting at home, this is one I never pictured.

He nods. "He must have found out when he was still with you and left. I know Gray has told you his dad has been in-and-out of the hospital. We all thought he was doing better, but...another heart attack happened. It was all a surprise. Grayson is not mentally okay. Last time I checked on him, he was on his fifth beer. He has barely spoken since he got here."

His dad died? He's drinking?

I realize why Jake needs to lean against the counter for support. I try asking other questions to keep myself stable from everything I'm learning.

"And how are you doing?"

He runs a hand through his already messy hair, pulling it from his forehead. I wonder if anyone has even bothered to ask him that yet. From the stories I've heard from Grayson, Rowan, and Jake are a tight group. They all grew up playing basketball with each other, and most notably, Grayson's dad, who was their coach for most of their life. This loss affects all of them.

"I'm still struggling to believe it. Rowan is doing no better than me...he's...it's hard to explain what's going on with him," he whispers. "Yesterday Coach was here and making everyone happy, and today we need to adjust to a life without him."

The only thing I can think of doing is placing a comforting hand on Jake's hand and squeezing. I've never felt the loss of someone very close to me. My grandma passed away a few years ago, but I was not well enough connected to her to feel any kind of heartbreak.

I somewhat knew Grayson's dad. I did end up going to their house for dinner that Sunday I was invited two weeks ago. His family has always been warm and welcoming to me, and I could easily tell his dad is—was the cornerstone of their group. Having him ripped away from them could only result everything falling apart.

"Can I see Grayson?" I ask, now rubbing at the pain in my chest I feel for their entire family—Rowan and Jake included.

Jake nods and exhales a heavy breath. "He's right out back," he says, his thumb pointing to the patio door.

I thank him and quickly move to the door. When I look one more time into the kitchen, Jake remains motionless by the counter, as if suspended in time or too afraid to move.

The sight in front of me is not much better.

Grayson sits on the in-ground pool's edge, his feet hanging in the water. A six-pack of beer lays beside him on the right, only one bottle left within the package. Four empty ones are discarded on his left. Two are broken. The fifth bottle, the one neither on his left nor right, sits in his hand, nearly drained of its contents.

Cautiously, I approach the scene. A few feet away, I realize I don't even know how to begin this conversation.

Hi, how are you doing? I could say. That would not be a smart question. He's obviously not fine, for fucks sake.

I could offer a hug, but I'm unsure how Grayson would respond to contact while drunk and remorseful.

Neither option feels perfect.

"Did Jake ask for you to be here?"

Grayson eliminates the need for me to have an option by speaking. I take a step closer to him and his hoarse voice, strained by his hours of drinking. As if on cue, he sips again from his bottle and manages to drain the last ounces of liquid in three efficient gulps. Grayson wastes no time on discarding the empty bottle into his pile. This one shatters on the ground, forming a grand total of three smashed glasses. He quickly grabs the final beer bottle from the package and pops it open with a hiss. Every move he makes feels robotic.

"Yes," I answer him. My own voice has its own troubles from having to witness Grayson go through this, causing it to sound small. "He called me."

A gulp is heard after he drinks.

"He shouldn't have asked you to come," Grayson states. He turns around and looks into the house where Jake remains in the kitchen, releasing a huff of breath. An eye roll follows shortly afterwards. "I told him I want to be left alone."

I sit down next to him despite of what he said, a safe two feet away. When I was overwhelmed by the thought of raising my grades for school after my mother pressured me, I though I wanted to be alone. It took Grayson holding me in his arms for those barriers to come crumbling down. But that was my personal experience. Grayson is totally different, and in totally different circumstances. For example—he's drunk. And for further clarification, he is going through something far more emotionally extreme than me being stressed over school.

His best friend and dad just died.

"I'm here for you, Grayson," I say gently. I place a hand on his arm to show him I mean what I say. It doesn't do any good, because he just shifts his arm in a way that causes my hand to lose contact with him.

Then, he takes another drink, this one longer. He shakes his head. "I don't want you here."

Any kind of words I planned on saying get trapped in my throat. I open my mouth, then close it again.

"I'd rather keep this fucked up shit to myself," he mutters.

"But you don't have to," I find myself saying. I try moving my head so my eyes will meet his, but his are cast down, looking as the rippling of the pool's water beneath his feet. "Please, let me be the person you can talk to about this."

He kicks his foot in the water. Silence is all I receive from him at first.

"Katie was the one to find him dead," he says. My heart races from his words. "She was leaving for a morning run and saw him laying on the couch. He sometimes falls asleep there when watching TV, but he always awakens when someone makes a faint noise in the kitchen. He is...was a light sleeper." He drinks from the bottle again. "My sister thought something was off when he didn't wake from her opening the fridge, so she checked on him. And...and he was dead."

Grayson pauses, takes a deep breath, and exhales. I think about reaching out my hand for him to hold, but dismiss the idea. His hands are already occupied by the bottle of beer. It seems as if that's the more important coping mechanism for him.

"I was the first person she called," he continues. "I had to listen to her cry out the words. I had to listen to the sound of my mother walking into the living room, followed by her screaming my dad's name. I was already out of your house by then."

Now I can't help myself as I sling my arms around his body to hold him close. No arms reach up to hold my back, but no arms reach up to push me away either.

"Vivian was so stressed and overwhelmed from learning he died that she went into labor. She gave birth an hour ago. They named her Serena. Sophie and Daniel are with them."

He takes another steadying breath while pushing my body apart from his. Two feet of space sit between us again. He adds, "There, I talked to you about it. I did what you wanted, so now you can leave."

I frown at him, which he can't even see with his head turned away. I just want to hold him and comfort him and be there for him in any way he needs me. I want to do my job as someone who loves him.

"Grayson, please—"

"Just stop, Lia," he states. "I told you that I wanted to be alone, and you not understanding that is getting annoying. I don't even want to fucking look at you right now."

The words stab into my heart like a knife. I tell myself that's he's hurting and drunk, and that's why he's saying these things. It's not personal, I repeat in my head.

I nod my head, a movement he is unable to see because he doesn't even want to fucking look at me. Maybe I am upset over his choice of phrase based on the way tears prick at my eyes. I decide on giving up. If he really doesn't want me here, then I'll leave. So I get up off the ground, and walk away without another glance at his physical state.

The shattering of glass sounds from behind me, noting that Grayson has finished his sixth beer. "Tell Jake no more visitors," he calls out, his voice slightly slurred.

A tear finally slides down my face as I reenter the kitchen from the back patio door. Jake perks up at the sound.

"He doesn't want to see me," I whisper. I shouldn't even be crying. I guess I'm just frustrated I can't get through to him. "He told me to tell you no more visitors."

He nods. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, coughing to clear the strain in my throat. I'm definitely not fine. "All I want to do is comfort him and make sure he's okay, and he won't let me."

"He's fighting a battle with himself," Jake explains. "He thinks keeping everything to himself is what is best for him and others."

I spare a look at Grayson, who is now laying down on the pavement with his back on the ground, all alone.

"He will come around eventually," Jake adds. "I just hope it's before he does something he will regret."

I can already imagine hundreds of scenarios where Grayson will find himself in trouble, each one worst than the last. Will he let me be there for him in time to save him?

***