Chapter 17: Putting Together The Pieces (Present Day)

My mouth was dry, and my head ached. I lay there another minute, listening to be sure Sarah didn’t return downstairs. I did not hear any water running. Sarah was still upstairs or she was being very quiet. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. The room only tilted a little this time.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The living room was empty. The couch cushions were crooked, and one was on the floor. One of Sarah’s heels lay on its side near the front door, and her panties hung off the back of the couch. A wine glass sat on the coffee table. The roses were on the side table where I had left them, perfect and red, the card still attached. Happy Anniversary. I walked past them without touching anything and went to the laundry room. I pulled clean boxers and a T-shirt out of the dryer, changed where I stood, and dropped the stained pair into the washer. My hands were steady. That felt like another failure.

Back in the living room, I stopped in front of the roses. I tried to line the night up in order. The limo, the dinner, the dancing. Sarah in the black dress, nervous, then smiling when I couldn’t stop looking at her. Ryan and Roxie with us, celebrating the special evening. The champagne in the back of the limo. Then the blur and the darkness.

The next thing I registered was the weight of my own head. It felt too heavy for my neck. My eyelids felt heavy, and I could only manage to open them a crack. I was slumped in the living-room chair. The lights were on. My mouth was dry and tasted like ash and chemicals. My legs would not answer when I told them to move. Across the room, Sarah was on the couch. She was crying. Not loud. The quiet, shaky kind that meant she was trying to hold it in. Ryan sat beside her with one arm around her shoulders. His other hand was on her knee. He was speaking low. I could not make out the words. Sarah nodded against his chest. Her dress was still on. The short black one. The back still open. One strap had slipped off her shoulder.

I tried to stand. My knee buckled. Ryan looked over.

“Easy,” he said.

He stood and crossed to me. Sarah wiped her face with the heel of her hand and stood too. Together, they got me upright. My arm went around Ryan’s shoulders because that was the only way I could stay upright. Sarah stayed on my other side, one hand on my back. Her fingers were cold.

“I think he just drank too much,” Ryan said. His voice was calm. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I know how much tonight mattered to both of you. Let’s get him into the spare room so he can sleep it off.”

Sarah’s answer was thick. “Thank you for coming over. I never would have gotten him inside by myself.”

I wanted to tell her I was fine. The words did not come out clean. They got me down the short hall. The spare-room mattress took my weight. I heard the door close. Then nothing.

I woke the second time to noise that did not belong in the house. It started low, a rhythmic thump I tried to blame on the water heater or the neighbor’s dryer. Then it locked into a pattern I recognized even half-conscious. Steady. Deliberate. Under it, a woman’s voice. Soft at first and then growing in intensity. My stomach went cold and tight before my eyes were fully open. I sat up on the spare-room bed. The room tilted once, hard, then steadied. My cock was already half-hard against the front of the boxers, a small wet spot forming, and the fact that her voice had done that to me before I even understood what I was hearing made me want to be sick.