“Have a blessed day,” I said with venom, then stormed out and made a beeline for Nick’s truck. God must’ve been feeling generous, because I thanked Him right then and there we didn’t take the damn motorcycle.
22
NICK
Iglanced at my watch.Twenty minutes.She was still gone—a pit opened in my stomach. My mind spun with worst-case scenarios—Mel crumpled on a cold bathroom floor, unconscious, pale, helpless. My pulse kicked up. Damn it, Mel. If she forgot to check her sugar again, I swear I’d strap a glucose monitor to her myself. That girl floated through life like gravity barely applied. She’d forget her own name if no one said it out loud.
From the corner of my eye, I caught my mom watching. I tried ignoring her, but she nudged me, and I felt the weight of her stare. She tilted her head toward the double doors like she was issuing a silent command. Go get her. I patted her leg in response, pushed to my feet, and moved fast, careful not to draw too much attention as I slipped out. The priest’s voice faded behind me, replaced by the hum of my blood in my ears.
“Mel?” I called, cracking open the bathroom door. Silence. I pushed it wider. Empty.
My phone buzzed in my hand as I checked it—no messages. Nothing. My gut twisted. I moved. Fast. Through the hallway, out the front doors, light punching into my eyes like it was trying to blind me.
Down the steps. Heart pounding. Mind racing. And then—relief. Sudden. Crushing. I saw her.
She was lying in the bed of my truck, sprawled out like it was a damn hammock. One arm flung over her head, the other holding what looked like a wine bottle.
My feet hit the pavement harder as I rushed her.
“Hey,” I called out, voice sharper than I intended.
She jolted upright like a teenager busted with weed in the middle of homeroom.
“What the hell are you doing?” I growled, closing the distance fast.
She waved me off. Like, this was no big deal. “Taking a break from the hour-long service. You didn’t warn me that church would be this long. This is more like torture.”
“So you come out here and get drunk in the back of my truck?” I towered over her now. She lay there like a goddess of chaos, sipping wine like it was Sunday brunch. One hand on her phone, the other on the neck of the bottle. Head tilted to the sky.
“What’s the problem?” she asked, casual as hell, taking another long swig.
“We’re at church. And where the hell did you even get that?”
She pointed with the bottle toward the gas station across the street, as if it explained everything.
I raked a hand through my hair, fingers pulling hard enough to sting. I was losing my grip. I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw her over my shoulder and lock her in the truck. And then she smiled. That wicked, beautiful smile that made me feel like burning the whole world down just to keep her warm.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“Speaking of Jesus, if you think church is going to wash away all my sins, you’re in for a r?—”
I didn’t let her finish. My hand shot out, yanked the bottle from hers, and slammed it to the pavement, glass exploding like a gunshot.
“There’s no way we can go back in there with you drunk off your ass.”
“I’m not drunk off my ass. Calm down,” she said, sliding off the back of the truck like she hadn’t just detonated my morning.
I grabbed her wrist before she could bolt. Slammed her lightly—firmly—against the side of my truck, the metal frame groaning under the tension between us.
“Let me go,” she snapped, twisting against my grip.
“Keep your voice down,” I growled, leaning in close. Her hair smelled like heat and defiance. Every part of her radiated rebellion. I could barely think. Barely breathe.
She didn’t care. She never fucking cared. About her health, her safety, and me. She acted like she was invincible, but I knew better. I saw the cracks. The way she trembled after fights. The way she masked fear with attitude.
“No!” she shouted again, louder this time.
I slapped my hand over her mouth, holding her gaze. “If you scream one more time, I swear to God.”
