New Beginnings.

Chapter Fifteen

Sean lets out a deep sigh, the sound is heavy with a mix of emotions that I can't even begin to unravel. He leans his hip against the kitchen counter. His arms cross over his chest. He stares off, his gaze lost somewhere between anger and worry. His wet hair curls wildly, almost like an untamed reflection of the storm raging inside him.

I know he's mad at me. Worse, I know he's hurt.

Compelled by the deep need to bridge the chasm of silence and misunderstanding that has deepened between us, I slide off the stool I've been sitting on across from him. Hesitantly, I wrap my arms around him, an embrace that feels like both a plea for forgiveness and a declaration of my remorse.

His body stiffens at the contact, as if my touch is both a balm and a burn. The voice inside my head tells me to step back, give him space, leave him be. But this is the same voice that has steered me wrong before and told me to lean into Layne's affections. I ignore it. And I squeeze him tighter instead.

"I'm so sorry," I mumble against his back, my voice muffled by the wet fabric of his jacket. The words feel inadequate, too small to encompass the magnitude of my regret.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of our breathing, a syncopated rhythm that underscores the awkwardness of the moment and my ultimate fear for our future. Then, I feel the warmth of his palm on the back of my hand at his stomach. It's a tentative contact, then he squeezes my hand and I feel a flicker of hope.

As the flash of headlights and the sound of tires crunching over gravel break the heavy silence, I hastily release Sean and move to peek through the front window. My heart sinks at the sight of Layne stepping out of the car with Mike. I had held on to the hope that maybe it would just be Mike.

I can hear their laughter. It is loose and carefree, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension inside the house. It's clear Layne's show went well, his post-performance euphoria is almost infectious.

Layne's laughter fades, replaced by the doorbell's chime. Mike, ever the ice breaker, steps in first. His gaze sweeps the room, landing on Sean and me. The jovial demeanor visible through the window seconds ago shifts into something more somber, more respectful, as he takes in Sean's stiff posture beside me. He nods my way before embracing Sean, a silent show of solidarity.

"Sorry, brother," Mike murmurs as he embraces Sean.

"Thanks for comin'," Sean replies.

I'm so caught up in the exchange between Sean and Mike that I don't notice Layne's entrance until his hand rests gently on my shoulder.

"Hey honey, you doin' okay?" His voice is kind, laced with concern.

I meet Layne's gaze, my eyes pleading with him to understand the silent message I'm so desperately trying to convey: Sean knows. Layne's initial confusion gives way to understanding, his easy smile fades into a frown as the atmosphere's weight settles on his shoulders. The lightness that had brought him to our doorstep evaporates and is replaced by a dawning realization that his actions have hurt his best friend.

Caught between Sean and Layne, I feel the enormity of my past actions clouding the present, their gazes intertwined with questions and apprehensions. Layne, who had come in friendship and support, finds himself in the heart of a storm.

The room seems to shrink around us, the walls inching closer as the tension mounts, a silent prelude to the inevitable confrontation or reconciliation. I pray for the latter.

Sean, who had been quietly observing the exchange between Layne and I, finally breaks the silence with a sarcastic edge that disguises his inner turmoil: "Well, this is cozy. Anyone else want to share a deep, dark secret, or are we saving that for dessert?"