“I was never a fan of your lifestyle before either.”
Carter keeps circling the living room. He’s gearing up for something.
“You’re a big boy. You don’t need my opinion.” The chipped paperweight he picks up from a shelf shines between his fingers.
“But you’re going to give it anyway.”
“I’ve never interfered in your personal business.”
I shake my head, leaning against the opposite wall. “Don’t feel obligated to start now.”
Carter’s tour comes to an end in the center of the carpet, his back straight.
“Or in Jackie’s,” he continues, his tone cautious.
For a split second, there’s a flash of something in his expression, but he reels it back instantly. “If you think spendingyour nights like this is what you want, ram ahead. But don’t pretend this is what you need.”
With that, Carter leaves me with too many pieces that don’t fit. I’d have to decipher his cryptic message and come to a sort of understanding. And I don’t want to.
As soon as I get to the bar, I let the night turn into a blur of noise and bodies.
Stumbling through the late hours in the loud bar, the world keeps shrinking. People feel too close. My friend is laughing too loudly. The perfume of the girl plastered to my side is too strong.
Tonight, I’m the sad kind of drunk. Fucking Carter and his stupid advice.
One shot, and the roar in my head quiets a bit.
Another one, and my insides start to tingle pleasantly, dulling the ache.
Another one pushes the image of the Brit touching Jackie far enough away that it starts to fade.
Time speeds up, but my limbs become so slow I struggle to stay sitting upright.
The room sways, and the first cold sliver of panic creeps into my chest. Something’s not right.
Standing up is an even worse idea. The ground runs from under me, and I slump over the bar, overheated and drenched in sweat.
“Buddy, you OK?”
I want to brush it off and laugh, but my jaw and mouth won’t cooperate. I blink once against the heaviness in my head and body.
All I see is darkness.
Chapter Six
JACKIE
Any moment now, Eliza’s going to snap if I don’t pry her from the clutches of the wedding planner. My crowd-averse brother is somehow planning her a royal wedding. I get it. He loves her, but he’s sprinted past the romantic fairy-tale wedding, straight into a tulle- and stationery-fueled nightmare.
“How about we take all these binders back to my place and look them over?” I quietly interrupt Grace, glancing inconspicuously at Eliza.
“Oh, I can…” The event planner looks ready to grab everything and follow us.
She’s only doing her job, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings. “I think it will help Eliza to take a step back for a few hours. We’ll call you after we look at them with a clearer mind.”
Eliza is far too nice to say anything, but the look she shoots me is almost comedic in its unfiltered relief.
“That was a lot,” she exhales once we’re safely in the car.
