Better Late, But Never His Again novel Chapter 46

The next morning, Julian Hayes woke up to a splitting headache.

He rolled over, blindly reaching out a hand to stroke the empty side of the bed out of pure habit.

Feeling nothing but cold sheets, his brows furrowed. Without even opening his eyes, his rough, sleep-heavy voice filled the room. "Honey, my head is killing me. Can you bring me some soup?"

The bedroom was dead silent. Nobody answered.

Julian waited a few agonizing seconds before slowly forcing his eyes open. The bright morning sunlight violently pierced through the gap in the curtains.

The side of the bed next to him was perfectly made, completely undisturbed, as if nobody had slept there all night.

Julian blanked for a moment before reality crashed down. Right, Hazel had moved into Queenie's house. Wait, didn't she text him yesterday saying she was coming back?

He sat up, aggressively massaging his temples as the hangover throbbed relentlessly against his skull. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Zero missed calls. Not a single text from Hazel.

In the past, whenever he came home drunk, the first thing he'd see upon waking was a glass of warm water and a bowl of fresh hangover soup waiting on his nightstand.

Hazel would be sitting patiently at the edge of the bed. The moment he stirred, she'd hand it to him, her voice sickeningly gentle. "Drink some, Julian. It'll make you feel better."

Sometimes he'd take a sip, but mostly he'd just get annoyed and wave her off, telling her to get out.

She never got mad. She would just quietly set the bowl down and leave the room, only to sneak back in later to check if he'd finished it.

Pulling his thoughts back, a sudden surge of inexplicable irritation clawed at Julian's chest. He threw off the blankets, stomped downstairs, and glared at the pristine, empty living room. Had Hazel really left again?

There wasn't even a pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, a strange sense of disorientation hit him. The house felt aggressively empty.

She blinked her eyes open, taking a few seconds to remember she was sleeping at Queenie's. The warm morning sun spilled lazily through the curtains. She let out a comfortable stretch.

After throwing off the covers and washing her face, she pushed open the door to the guest room.

Zachary was already awake, leaning back against the headboard. He still looked pale, but the moment he heard the door creak, his head snapped up, his eyes as cold and guarded as ever.

Hazel walked in. "How are you holding up? If you're still in bad shape, you really need to go to an ER."

Zachary completely ignored her. He threw off the covers and swung his legs out of bed.

He swayed dangerously the moment he stood up, gripping the edge of the nightstand until the dizziness passed. Then, he immediately began gathering his things.

"You..." Hazel frowned deeply. "Your wound is barely closed. Why don't you at least go check into a hotel and rest before doing anything stupid?"