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Spencer awoke to the soft, diffused light of morning filtering through the pale pink curtains. The sunlight cast a gentle glow over the room, dancing across his face and coaxing him awake from a deep, restless sleep. He blinked groggily, the remnants of last night's high still lingering in the back of his mind.
He stretched slowly, the sheets tangled around him and surveyed the room. Carli was nowhere to be seen. The bed was empty on her side, the indentation where she had been lying now just a faint memory. As Spencer approached the bedroom door, he caught the faintest hint of Carli's voice coming from her partially open door. The sound was soft and murmur-like, barely more than a whisper but unmistakably hers. It was a delicate, melodic tone that carried a hint of warmth and familiarity.
He paused; curiosity piqued. He took a cautious step toward the door, straining to hear what she was saying. The words were indistinguishable, but the soothing cadence of her voice suggested she was either talking to herself or perhaps on the phone.
"What the fuck was in that weed?" Carli's voice erupted like a thunderclap, her words sharp and discordant, slicing through the morning air with an edge of seething disbelief. The inquiry echoed with a fierce intensity, a harbinger of the turmoil she felt. The response came in a lazy, dismissive huff, a sound heavy with nonchalance.
"Uh, a little coke and a dash of ecstasy to keep it wild." The answer was laced with a careless bravado that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation. Spencer's heart lurched as he recognized the voice that delivered this reckless revelation—Suki's unmistakable tone, infused with a cavalier disregard for the consequences of their night's escapade. "Don't tell me you smoked it all," Suki's voice dripped with an air of ennui, as if the question was a tedious formality in an otherwise mundane conversation. The disinterest in her tone cut through the space like a dull blade. "No," Carli's voice trembled, a new layer of concern threading through her words. The raw edge of anxiety was palpable, revealing a depth of worry that Spencer had yet to fully grasp. "But Spencer had an interesting trip." Her voice carried the weight of exhaustion, a subtle weariness that spoke of long hours and restless nights. "What am I supposed to tell him?" Before Suki could offer her usual flippant reply, another voice chimed in with buoyant, almost theatrical assurance. "Don't worry, folks, the doctor is in the house." The playful confidence in Jax's tone contrasted sharply with the gravity of the conversation. Spencer heard the familiar sound of Jax's footsteps approaching the room with a purposeful rhythm. Panic surged through him as he scrambled back to the bed, pulling the covers over himself in a frantic bid to shield his disheveled state from the imminent intrusion. Spencer's heart pounded in his chest, a frenetic rhythm that seemed to echo through the stillness of the room. He lay there, his eyes closed tight, each breath carefully measured to maintain the pretense of sleep. The muffled thuds of his heartbeat felt like they were the only sound in the world, a constant reminder of the tension that clung to him like a second skin. The door to the room creaked open with a slow, deliberate groan, the sound reverberating through the quiet. Jax's entrance was marked by an effortless grace, his footsteps carrying an unmistakable authority that seemed to shift the very air around him. The bed shifted slightly as Jax approached, his presence palpable even without the need for visual confirmation.
