By the timeit’s pushing eleven, I’ve accepted that Gracie isn’t coming, and I’m on the wrong side of inebriated.
Mom and Dad bailed an hour ago, deciding to spend the rest of the night with Analise, who didn’t come because she had a book she wanted to finish. I haven’t seen Nick’s parents in a while, so I figure they must have left, too, which is probably for the best.
I’m slumped over in a booth, the world muffled and hazy enough that I can smile at Nick’s stupid jokes, forgetting for just a second how I’ve managed to implode my entire fucking life.
He confiscates my phone, claiming that nothing good will come out of it while I am as buzzed as I am, but I’m also too drunk to actually appreciate his interference. Not that he seems to give a shit about my disgruntlement.
I wish Gracie were here. This was how we planned to see the new year in, celebrating our second one together and imagining what the next twelve months would look like in our new home—a thought that sends another shaft of pain stealing through me. I grab the glass in front of me, throwing back the liquid and grimacing at the burn.
“That wasn’t beer.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Ryan says from across from me, his expression dryly amused. “That was my bourbon. But sure, help yourself.”
I blink. “Where the fuck did you come from?”
He scowls. “I’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes.”
Nick laughs loudly, lifting his empty bottle in the air and shaking it obnoxiously. “The guy is lost in a bubble of misery,” he tells Ryan.
I slouch, scowling at the table, ignoring the way it won’t stay still. “Shut up,” I mutter petulantly.
Nick rolls his eyes. “She just needs more space.” It’s not the first time he’s tried to talk me out of my mood, but with each drink, the morose feeling only deepens.
“She’s had days. A week,” I complain mournfully. “I think she’s blocked me.”
“Just give it a little more time,” he advises as Randi appears, setting three more drinks down. Ryan snatches his bourbon protectively, but Nick’s shoving my beer closer. “Here. Stop bitching.”
Randi laughs. “You’re all gonna be absolutely fucked tomorrow.” She wags a finger at the three of us. “Make sure you puke outside. If there’s even a drop of vomit, we’re gonna have problems.”
Nick salutes her, and I chuckle, the sound cutting off short when he suddenly shoves me. “Move, motherfucker. I need to go to the bathroom.”
I stumble out of the booth, and as Nick gets past me, I reach out and clumsily shove his shoulder. He trips, righting himself with a loud curse, leaving me laughing behind him.
A gentle hand lands on my arm. Hope screams through the drunken fog. I whirl around, almost losing my balance, and the room spins, making my stomach churn. The gentle touch turns firm, fingers clamping down on my arm and holding me in place.
My lashes flutter, trying to focus my vision, but the wrong smell is filling my nose.
“What…?”
Paisley smiles up at me, her lips stained a bright red and her eyes hooded as they lock with mine. Surprise has me frozen, and before I realize her intentions, her arms are looping around my neck, dragging me toward her as she plants her mouth on mine.
Her tongue pushes into my mouth as she presses against me, and I stumble backward, trying to get away. She follows me, teeth clashing painfully against mine, and that nausea swells dangerously. My hands finally land on her shoulders to try to keep from tipping over, and I use the hold to tear myself away, shoving her off me. She falls back, her expression falling, lipstick smeared across her mouth.
“What the fuck?—”
Before the last word has even left my mouth, a hand lands viciously on my shoulder, ripping me around. I don’t fight the motion, focusing on not blowing chunks as the room spins wildly around me.
I glance up, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, but all I catch is a blur of movement before my head cracks back, leaving me stunned and tasting copper as wetness spurts from my nose.
The pain hits a moment later like a lightning bolt hitting my face, sending electricity arcing through my head and down my spine. My head gives a deep, intense throb, another, and then darkness descends, leaving me feeling the relief of nothing.
CHAPTER 21
Gracie
I’m nursing a cup of coffee when someone knocks at the door, still wearing my flannel pajamas, my hair piled into a messy bun on the top of my head.
I don’t expect Braxton on the other side, not when he’s made his decision so public and final, so I’m not entirely surprised to see Raewyn through the peephole. Still, I hesitate to let her in, unsure what the protocol is here.
