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Unblinking, I raised the glass to my lips but stopped short at the final second and tipped my glass upside down instead, not giving two shits when the whiskey seeped into the fabric of my sweats.
“You broke the rules.” Hugh folded his arms across his chest. “We win.”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “If you say so, lad.”
“You guys are on cleanup duty.”
“For two months.”
“No, no, no…” Yawning loudly, Claire burrowed her way under my arm and snuggled closer. “Night, guys. No cleaning for me tonight.”
“No…” Katie wailed, crawling onto the couch to pull at Claire’s arm. “Don’t leave me on my own while these two have their pissing contest.”
“But I’m drunk,” Claire half whispered, half slurred, somehow managing to clamber onto my lap. “And so…sleepy.” Inhaling deeply, she loosely hooked an arm around my neck. “Mmm…” Nuzzling my chest with her cheek, she fisted my shirt with her free hand before whispering, “Take me to bed, Gerard.”
In any other circumstances, hearing her say those words would have sent a thrill through me. Instead, a huge swell of guilt rose inside of me, so much so that it was sobering me up.
“The ground’s spinning, Gerard,” she hiccupped. “Mmm… Don’t let me fall.”
Jesus.
What the hell was I thinking, letting her drink whiskey?
“I’ve got you, Claire,” I coaxed, making a conscious effort to sober myself the hell up as I stood up, taking her with me. “You’re safe with me, babe.”
“I know,” she agreed with a contented sigh, eyes still closed. “My bestie.”
Ignoring Hugh who was stilling glaring daggers at me, I proceeded to walk in an impressively straight line, all things considered, toward the staircase. I was far from a responsible drunk. Usually, I was the friend in the group that needed to be taken care of.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, I had to man up.
Because this was Claire.
“Nearly there,” I coaxed when we reached the top of the landing. “A few more feet”—I paused to kick her door open—“and you can sleep in your nice warm bed.”
“With you.”
“If that’s what you want,” I replied, sitting her down on the edge of her bed.
“That’s what I always want,” she slurred, swaying from side to side.
“Then I’ll stay,” I confirmed, quickly ushering Cherub and the babies back to their own basket. “I’ll be right here with you.”
“Good,” she hiccupped. “Because I’m super drunk.”
“Yeah, babe, I know.” Drowning in my guilt, I returned to her side. “You’ll be okay.” Reaching for her feet, I gently peeled her Ugg boots off before tossing them in her shoebox. “Right as rain in the morning.” Walking over to her dressing table, I retrieved the headband I knew she wore to bed each night. “And I’ll cook you up a nice, crispy fry-up.”
“I might puke,” she confessed. “My stomach’s rolling.”
“I’m good with puke. Just don’t bleed on me and we’re golden,” I replied, sitting down beside her. “Now, how do we put this thing on?” Concentrating as hard as I could, I carefully placed the headband on just like she would if she could.
“Tie it back please,” she instructed in a weak tone, leaning heavily against my shoulder. “In case I”—a hiccup escaped her before she could finish—“puke.”
“Ah, shit, Claire-Bear.” Retrieving the thick fabric scrunchie from her wrist, I attempted to pulls her curls into a haphazard ponytail. “You’re putting me to the pin of my collar here.”
“You’re always my hero,” she half slurred, half laughed. “So pretty.”
