I keep my chin up. “Maybe I just felt like having a drink.”
They exchange a look, one of those wordless conversations men seem to have mastered. I’m about to tell them to mind their business when the room shifts. The sound, the air—everything changes.
Jinn is coming down the stairs. Marcy is right behind him, her hair mussed, her cheeks flushed, that smug smile tugging at her lips.
The sight knocks the breath from my lungs all over again.
“When did that happen?” Wrecker asks, his brows lifting in surprise.
I stare down into my glass, forcing my voice not to break. “Don’t know. Don’t care.” I tip back the rest of the whiskey in one swallow.
The next whiskey disappears before I even taste it. Blade signals for another, and I don’t protest. The warmth settles lowin my stomach, heavy and distracting. I cling to it like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
JC leans in slightly. “You might want to pace yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, though the words feel thicker than they should.
I stand up too fast. The room tilts, colors blurring at the edges. JC’s hand catches my elbow, steady and warm, but the humiliation of it—the pity in his eyes—burns straight through me.
“I just… I need a minute.”
“Carrie…” Blade starts, but I wave him off and reach for the fresh glass the bartender slides over.
The room hums around me, the voices and laughter weaving into a dull noise I can almost get lost in. I tip the glass again, letting the burn roll down my throat, chasing away the image of Jinn and Marcy just a few feet away.
“You’re not fine,” JC says, his tone still calm but more insistent now.
“I am,” I repeat, even though I know they can all see right through me. I lift the glass again, but Wrecker steps forward, his hand closing over mine.
“That’s enough,” he says.
I try to pull back, but his grip is steady, unyielding. He takes the glass from my fingers and sets it on the bar out of reach.
“Give it back,” I say, my voice tight.
“No,” Wrecker replies. His eyes hold mine, unblinking. “You’ll regret it tomorrow. You already will.”
I want to argue, to tell him it’s none of his business, but the truth is I’m not sure my voice will come out right if I try. My throat aches, and my hands feel empty without the glass.
The heat from the whiskey lingers in my chest, making my head feel light, my skin a little too warm. So I just sit there, staring at the bar top, listening to the muffled thump of themusic and the faint sound of Marcy’s laugh somewhere behind me.
That sound pushes something reckless to the surface.
I look up at Wrecker. He’s still standing close, broad and steady, his eyes on me like he’s waiting for me to do something stupid. Maybe that’s why I do it.
“Thank you,” I murmur, though I’m not sure if I mean it. My gaze drifts over his face—the cut of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow—and before I can stop myself, I lean in, closing the space between us.
His eyes widen just slightly, but he doesn’t move until I’m almost there. Then he steps back, breaking the moment like it never happened.
“Carrie,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.
JC is beside me in an instant, his hand on my arm. “You’re not thinking straight. Come on.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, though the words sound flimsy even to my own ears.
“No, you’re not,” JC says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s get you out of here before you do something you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
I glance between the three of them. Wrecker, still watching me with that unreadable look. Blade, strong and silent. And JC, steady and immovable. The urge to fight them on it fades just a little under the weight of their stares.
