“Yes,” Eric says, nodding. “We’ll get him home—but can you pull the security footage? Might be useful if he decides to press charges.”
The Scooby-Doo bartender nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Mind if I get your number, just in case?” Eric adds, and I snap a look at him. Is he seriously trying to get the guy’s number in the middle of this trainwreck?
His face is blank—calm, serious—but I know him. This is 100% part of his long game to get into Scooby’s pants. Ladies and gentlemen: my best friend Eric. What an asshole.
“Sure,” the bartender says, apparently not catching the real motive.
Eric hands over his phone, and the guy types in his number.
“What’s your name?” Eric asks, just as smooth.
“Luke.”
“Thanks, Luke,” Eric nods, taking the phone back, then turns to me. “Let’s go.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Nick, Eric, and I are standing outside the bar, Eric and I still propping Moon upright. We’re waiting for the taxi, which should be here any minute, while Nick—who ordered the car—looks caught somewhere between horrified by the situation and weirdly excited that Sawyer Moon is coming home with us.
Yeah. Moon apparently forgot his own address. We’ve asked him at least a dozen times, and every time he just mumbled something incoherent. I’m pretty sure he lives in Dallas, but at this point, even that feels like a guess.
“Thank God you were there, Marco,” Nick says, looking at me with this mix of relief and awe. “God knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t.”
I nod but don’t say anything. There’s still this sick feeling in my gut—like we got to him minutes before disaster. And the fact that Moon managed to tell me, even in the state he was in, keeps circling in my head. I wonder if he even recognized me—or if it was just instinct, reaching for someone, anyone, when he realized he wasn’t safe.
The taxi pulls up a few moments later. I climb into the backseat, dragging Moon in with me, while Eric takes the front and Nick slides in on Moon’s other side.
“Did you check if he still has his phone and wallet?” Nick asks as soon as the car starts moving. “That douchebag could’ve robbed him too.”
“No,” I mutter, reaching over to pat the pockets of Moon’s tracksuit. I feel his phone, and something else zipped inside that’s probably his wallet. But just as I’m about to pull back, Moon’s hand grabs mine. He looks up at me, eyes half-lidded, head wobbling slightly.
“What are you doing?” he mumbles, fingers curled around my wrist.
“Nothing,” I say. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too good,” Moon says slowly, letting go of my hand.
From the other side of the seat, Nick’s eyes go wide—like he’s thrilled just to hear Moon speak. What a traitor. This is the same guy who’s always called him a pompous asshole in private, and now he’s sitting here like a giddy fanboy.
“Want some water?” Nick asks, pulling a bottle out of the ridiculous hat on the floor between his feet and setting it in Moon's lap. Luke, the bartender, gave it to us before we left.
Moon turns to him slowly, then looks down at the bottle with suspicion, like he’s not sure he should trust it. His brows pull together as he turns back to me.
“Who’s this guy?” he asks.
“This is my older brother, Nick,” I tell him.
Moon blinks at me, then says, “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
My heart does a stupid little flip at that. Does he really know it’s me?
“Do you even recognize me?”
“Yes,” he says, holding my gaze.
“Who am I?” I ask, still not totally convinced.
