Page 99 of Broken Blades

She froze mid-sway. Hand flew to her mouth. Eyes went wide—panicked, glassy, unfocused. "I—I don't feel so⁠—"

And then she vomited.

Right there. Center of the dance floor. Splattered across the sticky wood and someone's boots.

The crowd recoiled like she'd detonated a grenade. Shouting. Gagging. A chorus of disgusted groans rippling outward in waves.

Behind me, my teammates howled with laughter. Logan nearly choked on his beer. Rowan doubled over, wheezing.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Exhaled slowly through clenched teeth. "Unbelievable."

Chastity swayed on her feet, face pale except for two bright spots of color high on her cheeks. Her eyes filled with tears—mortified, horrified, completely wrecked.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. Voice small and broken. "I'm so⁠—"

I didn't let her finish. Wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against my chest. Anchored her before she collapsed face-first into her own mess.

"Come on." My voice came out rougher than intended. "Let's get you out of here."

She mumbled something incoherent into my shirt. Warm breath seeping through fabric.

"I'm sorrrryyy…"

The word stretched long and slurred. Pitiful. Adorable in a way that made my chest do something complicated.

"Stop talking."

I shifted my grip. Slid one arm beneath her knees and lifted. Actually lifted her.

She made a small sound of surprise—half gasp, half whimper—and her arms wrapped instinctively around my neck. Head dropped onto my shoulder like she belonged there.

The bar erupted in whistles and catcalls.

"GET IT, GARRISON!"

"TAKE HER HOME, OLD MAN!"

I ignored them. Shouldered through the crowd toward the exit. Chastity's weight settled against me—soft, trusting, completely vulnerable. Her fingers curled into my collar. Breath evened out against my throat.

By the time I kicked the door open and stepped into the cold night air, she was already half-asleep.

Mumbling apologies I couldn't quite make out.

I carried her to the car. Didn't put her down until I absolutely had to. And hated myself for not wanting to let her go.

I half-dragged, half-carried her through the front door. She stumbled on the threshold, knees buckling, and I caught her before she face-planted on my hardwood.

"Lightweight." The word came out rough. Irritated.

She made a small noise—half protest, half whimper—and I adjusted my grip on her waist.

"I knew this would happen." I maneuvered us toward the couch, her weight sagging heavier against my side with each step. "Why did I say yes?"

Her head lolled onto my shoulder. Breath warm through my shirt.

"Unbelievable."

But my hands stayed gentle. Careful. One palm spread across her ribs, steadying her. The other gripped her elbow, keeping her upright.