“Yeah,” I say carefully. “I answered.”
She breathes into the phone, and the sound is unsteady. “I didn’t think you would.”
The worst day of my life flashes before my eyes, and I lean against the table, gripping the edge harder than I realize. “Where are you?”
Instead of answering my question, words tumble through the receiver in a rush, almost incoherent as they spill over each other. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she mumbles, and I hear the frustration threading through her voice. “Like I don’t notice. Like I’m stupid.”
My throat tightens at the pain beneath the alcohol. “Teagan?—”
“You look at me like”—she pauses, umming as she tries to find the right words—“like you want something. And then you act like you don’t. Like I imagined it.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I didn’t imagine it.”
I close my eyes and exhale heavily.No, you didn’t.
“I wanted you to come tonight,” she continues, quieter now. “Just to talk. Somewhere that isn’t…” She trails off. “The ranch.”
Music fills the void behind her and a man’s voice grows louder and more clear. “Hey. I need a few minutes, and then we’ll head out.”
Panic shoots through me instantly. “Teagan,” I huff, sharply. “Where are you?” I grab my keys and shove my feet into my boots, not bothering with socks. After yanking my shirt off the back of the chair, I pull it on, already heading for thedoor.
“The Dew Drop.” She laughs.
My hand tightens around the phone as the night air hits me, cold and sharp, when I step outside. The Bronco roars to life, headlights cutting through the dark as I back out fast enough to kick gravel across the yard.
“Are you alone?”
“I’m fine,” she insists, but the lie is in the sharpness of her tone. She’s absolutelynotfine. She’s not nearly sober enough to make that decision on her own.
“Teagan,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “Listen to me. Stay there.”
She doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t agree either before the line goes dead. I press harder on the gas, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
The Dew Drop comes into view, too slowly. I spot Teagan immediately. She’s wrapped around some guy on the sidewalk, his arm loosely around her waist as he tries—and fails—to keep them both upright.He’s drunk.That much is obvious in the way he stumbles, in the careless angle of his body.
Rage hits, fast and hot, boiling blood creeping up my neck and flaring over my face. I slam on the brakes, the Bronco screeching to a stop beside them and sprint from the truck before it fully settles into park.
“Get in,” I demand. His hand tightens instinctively when I grab her arm, pulling her away from him.
She blinks up at me, her eyes unfocused. “Easton?”
“Hey, man—” The guy walking with her straightens, still swaying slightly.
“Get. In,” I repeat myself when she hesitates.
“She’s not going with you.” The sloppy drunk reaches for her again. I step between them, putting every inch of me in his space. “She’s fine.”
“The hell she is,” I scoff, tearing the keys from his hand before giving him a shove, hard enough to knock his unsteady ass to the concrete. I pitch them across the street, and they land silently in the grass on the other side. “Walk home.”
“Easton…” Teagan murmurs, her hand lightly squeezing my upper arm.
I don’t look at her, keeping my attention on the man at my feet. “Teagan.” I speak evenly through my tightly clenched jaw, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Get. In. The. Fucking. Truck.”
This time, she listens. Walking backward, I shut the door behind her harder than I mean to before circling the Bronco and sliding behind the wheel. She sways toward me as I pull her seatbelt across her body, her shoulder brushing mine, her warmth burning straight through me.
“What were you thinking?” I bark, the anger in my voice a lot sharper than I intend, as I pull away from the curb before The Dew Drop. “Getting in the car with him?”
She frowns, her head tipping toward me.
“I wasn’t?—”
