Reckless Abandon (22 page)

“Hey, we gotta talk a sec.” I reach around him and give his waist a squeeze.

“What’s up, Blue?” His slur tells me he’s drunk, too.

Great.

“C.J. just texted me. Bo’s at Lost Dog and he’s too drunk to drive—” Marley’s eyes widen just before Adrian cuts me off.

“Hell no, Ember.” Adrian hastily pushes his chair back, crashing it to the ground as he walks outside.

Mouthing a
sorry
to Marley as I right the stool, I follow behind Adrian. I catch up with him outside in time to see him kick over a trashcan.

“What the hell, Adrian!”

“God dammit, Ember, how deep is his hold on you?” Heads turn in our direction as he yells.

“So because yesterday was the anniversary of his parents’ death, and I don’t want him to drive drunk all the way back to New Hampshire, that means he has a hold on me?”

“He’s not staying with us tonight.”

“And where do you suggest he stay?” I place my hands on my hips, bored with Adrian’s insistence that this is a pissing contest.

“How about his car—he’s no stranger to that, if I remember correctly.” Adrian accurately recalls Lost Dog’s last involvement in our lives.

With an annoyed sigh, I turn for the parking lot. Adrian doesn’t follow. Turning back around, I see him walking the opposite direction toward the beach.

“Where the hell are you going?” My head is spinning with anxiety.

He doesn’t turn around. “Going for a walk.”

A frustrated growl punches its way out of my throat. “Adrian!” I call as I jog toward him. “You’re too drunk to drive, and your car is at my place. Just come with me and we’ll figure everything out. I can take Bo to Regan’s apartment,” I concede.

“Blue,” he sighs, “just go pick him up, and I’ll catch up with you later.” Adrian continues his walk without another word.

Before getting in my car I leave Marley my number, instructing her to call me if Adrian comes back in. She agrees, tucking the paper in her pocket as she pours shots. I remember to grab my guitar from the stage before driving to Lost Dog with giant knots strangling my stomach.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Rapunzel, over here!” C.J. shouts from the corner of the bar as my eyes squint to adjust to the dungeon-like lighting of Lost Dog.

C.J. is sitting with a few guys I don’t know, but I easily spot Bo’s broad-shouldered torso hunched over the bar. I’ve never seen Bo drunk before; it’s sad. His forehead rests on a clenched fist, while he grips a short glass with the other.

“Thanks for texting me, Ceej,” I mumble.

“No problem. His pissing and moaning over you was a major buzz kill.” C.J. and his friends laugh at his joke.

I roll my eyes and cautiously place my hand on the small of Bo’s back. The gesture startles him, as if I’ve woken him up from a deep sleep. He whips around to face me. Hollowness has filled his eyes and his paleness makes me worried that he’ll throw up—there’s no way I can leave him alone at Regan’s.

“The hell are you doing here?” He slurs as he cocks his head back.

“Saving your ass.” C.J. snickers behind his beer, as I reach for Bo’s arm to throw around my shoulders.

“Need help, Rapunzel?” C.J. half-heartedly asks.

Of course I need help, dickweed, look at the size of him.

“No thanks, Ceej. This princess doesn’t need rescuing.”

I’m relieved at Bo’s lack of protest at my guiding him out of the bar; a struggle would have tossed me to the floor for sure. I fold him into the passenger seat of my Outback and put down the window. I beg him to ask me to stop the car if he has to throw up, but stop my speech when I hear him snoring. I pray, for the first time in my life, that I can get him safely into my apartment and that he doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.

When we pull in front of my apartment, I throw the car in park and slam my head against the headrest. He didn’t throw up on the drive, but I glance at my second floor window and wonder how I’ll get him to my apartment with the same success. I exit and walk over to his door; his head is resting on the window. As soon as I pull the handle, the door flies open under his weight, and I have to steady him from falling to the road.

“Ugh. Ember?” He struggles to find his footing as I, once again, wrap his arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah, just take it easy so we can get up the stairs, OK?”

“Isn’t this your apartment?” He squints despite the post-midnight darkness.

“It is.” I grit my teeth as I try to take a step forward but trip a little. He’s probably got 70 pounds on me, and I begin to wonder if we’re going to spend the night on the sidewalk, when I hear someone run up from my left.

“Ember!” Regan dashes behind me, scoops up Bo’s other arm, and leads us forward.

“Where’d you come from?” I breathe a sigh of relief as we start up the stairs.

“Yeah, where’s my sister?” Bo asks, eyes barely open.

Regan answers Bo, looking at me, “She’s at home asleep. I don’t stay there.” He gives a proud smile and I understand. He’s falling for her.

“You didn’t have to come to get me, Ember,” Bo mumbles as we trudge up the narrow staircase.

I’m slightly out of breath. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, I mean it ...” He stops and tries to turn and address me, but it throws me off balance.”

“Shit!” I yell, afraid I’m about to fall down the stairs. I catch myself on the railing, but Bo doesn’t even notice I was falling. “Just...shut up until we get you up the stairs.”

Regan gives me a concerned look. I shake my head and tilt my chin toward the apartment, where I’d like to get going.

As we reach the top of my stairs, Bo seems to gather a second wind and is able to stand without much assistance. He leans against the wall opposite my door— just in case, I suppose.

“Where’s Adrian?” Bo asks as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

I shrug. “Out.”

“But, you’re all
wit
h
him.” He knocks his head back into the wall.

“Yeah, and you’re all
with
Ainsley. What’s your point?” I say with my back to him as I unlock the door.

Regan and I flank Bo and guide him into the apartment, onto my couch.

“Yeah,” he slurs, “but I don’t love her the way you love him.” Regan winces a little at Bo’s words. My sigh carries me to the kitchen, and I return with water for Bo.

I sit on the coffee table across from Bo and hand him the water. “You shouldn’t drink so much. A lot of people depend on you.”

We lock eyes, staring into each other as Regan shifts uncomfortably to my side. Bo’s eyes toss like waves back and forth across my face, drowning me in their darkness.

With a deep breath I continue, “Judging by your closing song this evening, I’d say you don’t really believe I love Adrian.” I’m human, I can’t help it.

Bo chuckles gruffly and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know why you believe you are.”

“Who the hell said I believed that?” Absentmindedly, I take off his shoes and put them by the door.

“So you don’t love him?” Bo asks, sounding almost sober. Regan’s eyebrows shoot up in apparent amusement at my banter with a drunken fool.

I shake my head and ask Regan to help me get Bo to my bed. It’s closer to the bathroom, and he’s too big to pass out on my couch. Bo’s able to get there without much physical assistance, and lays face-down on my bed.

“At least take your shirt off, for god’s sake. If you puke, I’d rather you didn’t have to drive home half-naked tomorrow.” I lift the bottom of his shirt. He sits back up and wraps his hand around my wrist.

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Anyone just walking in might think he is sober by his tone. His grip around my wrist tightens when I try to tug it away.

“I care what happens to you.” My nose tingles with threatening tears.

He drops my hand and takes off his shirt. “I don’t love her—Ainsley, I mean.”

“I know who you’re talking about.” I fold his shirt and put it on top of my dresser. Regan is leaning in the doorway, watching our scene.

Bo presses his elbows into his knees and holds his head in his hands. His shoulders are tight, wrought with tension. Deep breaths cause the black cross to swell and deflate. He sits back up, pinching the bridge of his nose before he speaks.

“I’m sorry, November.”

“Don’t be sorry. I just didn’t want you to drive dru -”

“No,” he cuts me off, “I’m sorry for everything. Fucking everything.” His speech is still slightly slurred.

I’m not having this conversation with him right now. “Just get some sleep, OK?”

The alcohol in his system forces his compliance, and he resumes his face-down position on my bed. I fetch my trashcan from the bathroom and hand it to Regan, who places it on the floor next to the bed. Walking back to the living room, I grab my cell phone, noting no missed calls or texts from Adrian. Five tries later, he’s still not answering my calls, and I throw my phone onto the couch and pace to the window, pressing my head into the cool glass.

“So the rest of the party got interesting, I take it?” Regan enters the room and sinks into the couch. I tell Regan about Bo playing “Better Man” and the ensuing drunk hijinks that followed.

“Real nice of C.J. to help me out at Lost Dog, by the way,” I kid as I plunk next to him.

“He’s an ass. I can’t believe you got Bo to the car by yourself ...” Regan trails off as he puts his arm around my shoulders.

“What?” I look up at him to finish his thought.

He stares at his knees and furrows his brow for a moment before speaking. I know that what’s coming is real. “His shit with Ainsley—”

“Regan, don’t.” I lean forward, “I told you I didn’t want to know anything.”

“Just be quiet and listen. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing to tell if I even wanted to. Whenever I’ve been at their house, he’s always in the studio...alone. He doesn’t ever really go anywhere.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Honestly? Because you carried that drunk giant out of the bar, all the while not knowing where your “boyfriend” is.” Air quotes and all.

“Regan?

“Yeah?”

The words elbow each other for pole position in my throat. My eyes cast downward and Regan places his finger under my chin, forcing me to look back at him.

“Ember, what is it?”

I close my eyes as a single tear slides along the outline of my nose and falls onto my lip. I feel his thumb wipe it away as he pulls me into a hug.

“I know,” he whispers.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bo

My head pounds in rhythm with a bang on a door.

Shit, where am I?

I peel my eyes open and blink around in disbelief. I’m in November’s bedroom. Looking to either side of me, I quickly put together that I slept here alone last night—judging by the undisturbed covers. I hear the apartment door creak open slowly and muffled greetings become louder.

“Where the hell were you all night?” She sounds exhausted.

“Pace drove down and picked me up. He just dropped me off to get my car.”

Turner.

Blood races through my veins at the sound of his tone with her. I don’t remember much about last night, but I don’t need to remember anything to know he’s been a dick.

“Is he here? Those are his shoes, aren’t they?” His volume rises, and with it, the hair on the back of my neck.

“I said he could stay here.” I can tell by her tone that she doesn’t care for his.

“Yeah,” the pompous ass interjects, “and I said he couldn’t.”

“Well, good thing this is my apartment then, huh? There’s no way I was going to let him drive home last night with how drunk he was. If anything happened...I couldn’t do that to Rae ...” I wonder if she’s starting to cry based on the tightness in her voice, but their continuing argument erases those thoughts.

“Wait, he’s in your fucking bedroom?” I start to sit up when I hear Adrian walk through the kitchen. She stops him.

“Look at me, Adrian, I’m in the same damn clothes I wore last night, and I haven’t slept. You wouldn’t return my calls, I was afraid Bo had alcohol poisoning, and I put him in my bed because he’s too big for my couch. What do you think happened here?” Ember’s yelling now.

“You don’t think it’s inappropriate for you to take your ex-boyfriend home and for me to find him in your bed the next morning?” His condescension is palpable. I’d love to punch him.

They’re right outside the bedroom door. My head is spinning wildly, and I don’t think I can stand, let alone engage in a confrontation with Turner. I try to calm the vortex of my brain, in case I need to intervene.

“I think it’s inappropriate for you to wander down the beach after midnight and not return my calls. That’s what I think is inappropriate.” I can almost see her hand on her hip by her tone, and it makes me smile.