Blackout (Revolving Door Book 2)

by Dani Matthews

  She grins and stands. “Lucky for me, I rarely drink, and when I do, I know my limit—unlike you.”

  “Quinn!”

  “I’m out, I’m out,” she laughs. She walks to the door and looks over her shoulder. “Seriously, you’re going to need a bulletproof vest for what Gabe’s going to throw at you.” She ducks out of the room before I can reply.

  Now that I’m alone once more, I lie back down and bury my head into my pillow. I really wish I could turn back time.

  Everyone likes to joke that I’m the sane and levelheaded one in the house—and it’s usually true. For reasons unknown, I just don’t mix well with alcohol. That right there is a great reason to avoid it, but it’s my weakness. I like how it takes my mind off things. Specifically, Gabe. I’ve been doing my best to fly under the radar where he’s concerned, and my feelings make it difficult to be around him. Now, thanks to last night, I’m going to have a confrontation to deal with. How am I supposed to gain control of my feelings if he’s focusing his attention on me?

  I give myself a mental eye roll. I’ve been trying to get over him since he’d broken my heart back in high school. Obviously, I’m not getting anywhere with that.

  It’s becoming apparent to me that the only way to get over him is to move out. My chest tightens at the thought, because it’s always been a last resort, but at this point, I think I need to remove myself from the situation. It’s just too difficult, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier as time moves on. If anything, it’s a slow building torture.

  I’m so confused.

  How can I still feel so much for him? I’m incredibly frustrated with myself, and I try to shove him out of my mind so that I can go back to sleep.

  I manage to doze on and off, but eventually, I decide it’s time to get up and face the world. There’s no way I’d be able to handle a shower yet, so I slip on lounge pants, a tee, and pull my hair up into a sloppy ponytail. A glance in the mirror above the dresser shows that I’m presentable, but definitely looking how I’m feeling.

  Thank God I don’t have to drop by the clinic to check on the animals today. As a veterinary assistant, I’m one of the lowest level employees at the clinic. Every other Sunday, I’m scheduled to check on the animals that are either there because families were boarding them, or because they weren’t medically cleared on Saturday to go back home with their owners.

  As I make my way downstairs, I wish that I could add more schooling to my schedule so that I could become a tech instead of just an assistant. It’d be nice to be more hands-on. As an assistant, I can only help with the animal’s care. I can’t administer, diagnose, or assist in surgery. When I’d taken the courses to become an assistant, I’d been anxious to get out in the field and had thought being an assistant would be enough. I was wrong. Now I have a regular nine-to-five job, so adding classes to an already full schedule would be exhausting.

  When I enter the large kitchen, the light walls and tan tiles seem brighter than usual thanks to my hangover. I also find Channing sitting at the table next to large windows that overlook the front yard. He’s wearing an old tee and jeans, and his laptop is open in front of him. “Quinn already made you coffee,” he tells me without looking up from the computer’s screen.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. I walk to one of the dark wood cupboards and pull out a coffee mug. I’m the type who enjoys coffee in the morning, and as surprising as it is, Sebastian has a mutual appreciation for it as well. Actually, he doesn’t just appreciate it, he needs it or he can’t function properly in the mornings. When he hasn’t had his coffee, he’s likely to bite your head off.

  After I add creamer, I stir the coffee and then discard the spoon in the dishwasher. I glance at Channing, waiting to see if he’s going to say anything about my drunken state last night. I’m sure he knows about it, because nothing goes on in this house without everyone else knowing, too. He’s frowning at his laptop, completely focused on whatever he’s reading.

  Interesting.

  I pull a stool from the island located in the center of the room, and I turn the stool around so that I’m facing him. After a quick—much-needed sip of coffee, I turn my attention fully on Channing. “Something wrong?” I ask, enjoying the feel of the hot mug in my cold hands. I’ve always had issues with my hands and feet feeling chilled, but my physician assured me that my circulation is just fine.

  Channing drags his eyes from the computer to look at me, and as usual, I still can’t get over how much he looks like Gabe. This morning, Channing’s dark hair is a mess, and it looks like Ash had her hands in during the night.

  “Have you checked your phone recently?” he asks.

  “No, not yet. Why?” I ask curiously.

  His gray eyes hold mine. “A woman was murdered last night.”

  “That’s terrible. Anyone we know?” I ask, lifting the mug to my lips once more.

  He closes the laptop, his eyes on mine. “Rumors suggest it’s Carrie Johnson.”

  I begin to choke on the coffee I’d just begun to swallow, and I cough and quickly set the mug on the island counter. “You’re kidding,” I wheeze.

  We all know Carrie. Maybe not well, but she’s always been a part of the outer circle of friends we have. Our friends consist of three circles. The inner, being everyone who lives in the house. The second, are those we like to hang with on a regular basis, like Beck, Rem, and the guys. My only close friends in this category are Ash and Quinn. The third circle consists of just acquaintances—if we run into them at a party or whatnot, we enjoy their company but don’t actively seek them out.

  “Has there been any official identification?” I ask, thinking of Quinn. She must not have heard about Carrie yet when she’d been in my room earlier.

  Channing shakes his head. “Not yet.”

  “Any word on what happened?”

  “Nobody has details. Her name’s the only thing floating around.”

  I frown, trying to recall the people I’d seen at the party last night. “I think Carrie might have been at the party.”

  Channing’s eyebrows shoot up. “You mean the one you got trashed at?”

  “That’d be the one,” I say dryly.

  He looks at me with interest. “Was she with anyone?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “There’s only bits and pieces floating around in my head. I think she said hi when we passed by each other, but that’s it. The house was packed. I’m sure if she was with anyone they’ve probably already been questioned. Or they will be sometime today,” I add.

  “There’ll likely be more information released as the day goes on.”

  I nod. “Does Quinn know?”

  “I told her before she left. I didn’t want her to hear it from anyone else.” He stands and picks up his laptop. “I need to shower and get going.” His eyes turn serious. “It’s not like you to not ‘buddy up’ when you go out.”

  Oh, great. Here we go. “I’ve heard it all already,” I inform him.

  “Good.”

  I watch him leave, thankful that he’d let the subject rest. I turn so I can face the doorway of the kitchen before reaching for my coffee. This is a terrible start to the day. I can’t imagine anyone deliberately hurting Carrie. She has—or had a bubbly personality and was always quick to help if anyone needed anything. She’d moved here last year and was a student at the university.

  My stomach quietly rumbles, reminding me that it’s empty. I should probably try to eat something. Toast would be best, so I make myself two slices before settling back at the island counter. I’m taking small bites when I spy Gabe walking past the doorway. The second he catches sight of me, he quickly backtracks and enters the kitchen. Darn it. I was hoping he’d already be gone for the day.

  He crosses the floor and pauses by the island, his sexy jaw clenched. “Why the hell would you do something so stupid?” he asks, his eyes focused on me accusingly. His eyes are the same color as Channing’s, but they change color with his mood, and today, they’re a dark
, stormy gray.

  This is why I need to move out. I can’t do anything around here without someone sharing their opinion. It’s getting ridiculous. I calmly set down my toast and look at him. “I didn’t set out to drink as much as I did.” Not that I owe him an explanation.

  “Damn it, Harper. You never intend to, but once you begin drinking, you can’t seem to stop.”

  “Gabe, I’m twenty-years-old and an adult,” I remind. “My mistakes are my own to make.”

  Frustration etches across his features. “You were wandering around last night. Have you heard about Carrie? That could have been you,” he says, his face twisting with emotion.

  My earlier irritation fades. If Carrie was murdered last night, he has every right to be concerned. If it’d been Quinn drunkenly wandering around, I would have given her hell this morning. It’s also unsettling knowing that I was at the same party as Carrie. If she’d just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, that could have just as easily been me.

  “If you recall, I don’t normally go out on my own, nor do I pass out. Last night was an incident that I have no intention of repeating,” I say lightly.

  A heavy silence falls over both of us.

  Things are beginning to change, and I wonder if Gabe realizes it. We’d managed to develop a friendship without it going too deep, but lately, it’s hard to be his friend. I want to find what Ash and Channing have, but I won’t ever find that for myself if I can’t get over Gabe.

  “Are you okay, Harper?” Gabe asks quietly, his voice cutting into my thoughts.

  I try to close the door on what I’m feeling. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He says nothing, but instead of walking away, he continues to stand there, his gray eyes fixated on me.

  The tension between us builds.

  One of us needs to walk away, and it’s going to be me. I rise to my feet, picking up my coffee and the rest of my toast. “Thanks for last night,” I tell him.

  He nods.

  I walk away and go back up to my room.

  ***

  Later that evening, Quinn drops by the small laundry room as I’m finishing my clothes. “Are you going out tonight?” she asks.

  I grimace as I transfer my things from the dryer to the clothes basket. “After last night, I think I’ll stay in.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too. Want to watch a movie instead?”

  I close the dryer and straighten. “Sure.”

  Quinn looks troubled as she tucks a strand of purple hair behind her ear. “Did you hear?” Her voice is soft, and it’s a tone that I don’t hear very often.

  “Channing told me,” I tell her, my tone matching hers.

  She nods, her brown eyes sad. “Carrie’s been identified, and all her relatives have been notified.” She looks at me with a hint of confusion. “I can’t believe she’s gone. It just proves you shouldn’t take life for granted, you know?”

  I reach over and touch her arm, wanting to give her comfort. “Does anyone know what happened yet?”

  Quinn visibly shivers. “People are saying she was strangled, and her body was found along the side of the road up in Box Springs. I don’t understand why it was her, Harper. She was one of the nicest girls I know.”

  I draw her into my arms and hug her tightly. “I don’t know. Maybe she was a victim of circumstance? You know, wrong place/wrong time,” I say gently as she hugs me back.

  She sighs and pulls back, giving me a grateful smile. “Thanks, I needed that.” She hesitates. “Her funeral is being planned for Wednesday, I believe. Think you’ll go?”

  “Of course, we’ll go together.”

  She visibly relaxes, and I reach for the clothes basket. We both make our way out of the laundry room and into the hall.

  “I’ll put in a request at work on Monday, it shouldn’t be an issue,” I assure.

  Quinn nods and seems to shake off her earlier melancholy. “Comedy okay with you?”

  “Sure. I’ll make popcorn after I fold these. You go find us something to rent.”

  “I’m on it,” she says, flashing me a grin over her shoulder as she heads for the living room.

  My mood sobers as I make my way upstairs to my room. I hate the idea of leaving Quinn to move out on my own, and I wonder if she’d consider coming with me. Guilt rises as I begin folding a shirt. I’ve been avoiding telling her that I’m serious about moving this time. She’s going to balk at the idea and try to talk me out of it like she has in the past. If I’m going to do this, I need to just do it and be done with it.

  Three

  Harper

  I wake Monday morning with an ache deep in my chest. I’d been dreaming about Gabe and the night I’d caught him cheating. I’ll never forget the image of him having sex with her. He’d touched her with his hands and body, with his lips. She had all his focus on her, something that I’d savored when I was with him. I’d thought he was mine. His pleasure, his body…

  I roll onto my side, my heart feeling heavy. Why did he want her instead of me? I still don’t understand how things had gone so wrong. He’d never hinted that he wanted to explore things with others, so I hadn’t seen it coming.

  I’ve never been the dramatic type, but he’d crushed my heart that night, and it still seems to be damaged. I’d foolishly thought that I’d get over him once he’d moved. It was just a high school relationship. My first love. Everyone has a first love, but they move on.

  Yet here I am, still unable to put him and the past behind me. Though most exes don’t share a house, so that’s my own fault. I should have never let Quinn talk me into it.

  Before my alarm can turn on, I switch it off. A sense of purpose comes over me, and I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Starting today, I need to begin putting myself first. I’ve always been a bit of a pushover when it comes to Quinn, and back when she’d decided to follow her brothers here, it’d been a natural assumption that I would come, too. It’s not like there was anything holding me back in Boise. Yes, I love my family, but I’m not super close with them—not like I am with Quinn.

  I’d balked over the idea of living at the house, especially because of Gabe. But Quinn had begged and harassed me until I’d caved and agreed to give it a try. A few times during the past year, I’ve tried to bring up moving, but Quinn’s always been quick to shut down the conversation. I can’t blame her for wanting to keep me here. We’re really tight, like sisters.

  With a resigned sigh, I climb out of bed and head for the bathroom. I need to hurry if I’m going to beat Channing and Ash. While I shower, my thoughts linger on Gabe. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t consider moving. I love this house and everyone in it.

  But it’s time.

  I’m yearning for a relationship, not just a one-night stand. I’ve had a few of those over the years, but I’ve always felt empty afterwards. Sure, the sex was good, but I’m the type of woman that longs for an emotional connection besides the physical. If I stay, I’m not going to find that with anyone, not with Gabe always in the background.

  After my shower, I dry my hair and pull it into a simple ponytail before going back to my room. I slip on the clinic’s burgundy scrubs, and then stand in front of the large mirror above my dresser as I apply minimal makeup. I’ll be working with animals, so there’s no point in going full out.

  When I’m finished, I grab my bag with a change of clothes, my purse, cell, and car keys. I can hear the shower running as I enter the hall, and I’m glad I’d snuck in the shower when I had.

  The kitchen turns out to be empty, and I set my stuff down and make a quick bowl of cereal. I’ll grab a coffee at the drive-thru on the way to work. The morning paper happens to be on the kitchen table, so I snag it and settle at the island counter, the paper spread out before me.

  I begin to eat while I scan the ads. Apartments aren’t cheap—unless I’m willing to live in a dump, which I’m not. It’d probably be cheaper to live with someone searching for a roommate. As much as I’m hoping Quinn will w
ant to move out, she’ll likely turn me down. She’s too close to Channing, Gabe, and Colt. Growing up in foster care had cemented their relationships in ways that no one will understand unless you came from that background yourself.

  Channing wanders into the kitchen a short time later, his hair damp, and his backpack slung over his shoulder. He sets it down on the floor by my own bag. “Morning,” he greets.

  I smile. “Good morning.”

  As he goes about slicing bananas to put in his cereal, I turn back to scanning the ads. I hate the idea of rooming with someone other than Quinn, but I’m going to have to consider it.

  “You’re moving out?” Channing asks with surprise.

  I look up to see him standing at the opposite side of the island, his bowl in one hand, an empty spoon in the other. His eyes are focused on the paper spread out before me. I find myself hesitating, and then I decide it’s time to set things in motion. “It’s something I’ve been considering lately.”

  He doesn’t look happy to hear the news, but he doesn’t press the issue as he comes around the side of the island and snags the stool next to mine.

  I fold the paper and slide it to him. “There’s an article about Carrie on page three.”

  Channing sets his bowl down and reaches for it. “Quinn’s pretty torn up about it.”

  “I’m going to the funeral with her.”

  “Good. If you weren’t, Ash was going to try to ask off for it,” he tells me, opening the paper.

  “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” I glance at the clock on the microwave. “I need to get going.” Channing’s engrossed in the article, and I rise to my feet to take care of my bowl and spoon.

  As I drive to work, I think upon Channing and Ash’s relationship. They’d had a rough start, but now that things have settled, their relationship is visibly growing stronger. Ash has only been at the house a few months, but she’s become a close friend. I’m happy for her, and I would never begrudge her the happiness she’s finally found.