Something in her eyes tells me she’ll argue, but it dissipates with a resigned nod. I grab a bottle of Corona from the fridge, then make her a double gin and tonic.
“Who’s your favorite?” Blair asks, eyes on the TV after she accepts the glass.
“Ferrari, of course.” I unmute it, listening to the reporter say the first session has just resumed after a half-hour break thanks to Mia’s driver hitting the wall. “You know anything about the races?”
“I’ve watched a few with Brandon. He got into it when he found out Mia’s dad is a team principal.”
“Don’t,” I warn. Fierce protectiveness detonates my every cell, forcing my mind into high-alert mode. “Don’t talk about her.”
Blair immediately shrinks in on herself, her hand shaking in mine as I close the longest cuts. “I’m sorry.”
The atmosphere shifts to uncomfortable. I want her gone as soon as physically possible. She shouldn’t fucking be here.
I grab a bandage, wrap her hand, secure it in place, then clear the table, strutting over to the sink.
The reporter on TV mentions another red flag, and this time my favorite driver’s name falls from his lips. I turn to watch the replay, chuckling when my phone pings on the breakfast bar, a message from Mia.
Bug: Karma. Works fast today, don’t you think?
Me: It would be a ten-second penalty in race conditions.
Bug: Why? He left him PLENTY of room.
I flick to the Hayes group chat. It’s no longer strictly for me and my brothers. Rose joined, and after complaining about the sausage fest, we added the girls, too, and then Colt created another chat titled exactly what Rose complained about—Sausage Fest—so we could give each other shit without the girls knowing.
Me: Who’s at fault?
Colt: Your guy.
Nico: Your guy or I’m not getting any tonight.
Mia: See? Told you.
Rose: I don’t know what this is about, but Mia’s right.
Me: You little traitor. Wait till you need a place to crash.
Rose: Shit. Fine, I’m Switzerland. Sorry, Mia.
Conor: Your guy, bro. He cut in and paid the price.
Me: Fine. Gangbang me, why don’t you?
A sea of laughing emojis follows, making me smirk, tossing the phone aside before shoving the first aid box back in the cupboard. Blair hasn’t said a word for five minutes. In fact, she’s made no sound at all, so I know she’s still here. I would’ve heard her leave however stealthy she was.
“You want another—” I start out of sheer stupid politeness, then cut myself off when I look over my shoulder.
She’s asleep, her head resting where the back of the couch meets in the corner, hair obscuring half of her face, the empty glass about ready to slip from her grasp to the floor.
No fucking way.
No way she’s staying here.
I lean out to touch her, shake her by the shoulder to wake her, but I stop short of her soft skin. She’s exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, ashen cheeks, and a pained expression betray she’s battling nightmares.
The lone lock of hair on her cheek dares me to brush it away. My fingers linger in the air, and just as I’m about to pull back, I change my mind. My heart batters my ribs when I gently guide the thick, silky tangle behind her ear, my thumb grazing her soft, clammy skin.
I yank my hand back like she’s a live wire. The tips of my fingers tingle as I blink at her sleeping face.
