He responds with an easy laugh and slowly everyone goes back to what they were doing before.
We’ve clearly got the same idea about keeping Anders happy. We didn’t plan this. I took my usual, preferred window seat looking over the wing – and he casually plopped himself down next to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
So heiscapable of behaving like a grown-up when he wants to.
Don’t be a dick, Walker, I think to myself as I put my noise-cancelling earbuds in and tune out the world for the flight to Miami. I offer him a piece of gum to make up for it, which he takes.
It’ll be all right, I tell myself.We’re going to be all right.
Which is exactly when it all goes to shit.
* * *
My phone startles me awake in the middle of the night.
I blink as the world comes into focus. It’s 4.18am and Harper’s name is flashing across the screen.
There’s a new level of frustration unlocked inside of me, because this call undoes all of the good work we’ve been putting in. I almost don’t answer, but on the sixth ring I hit the green button and scratchy, tinny music blasts down my ear.
I don’t wait for him to speak.
‘This is really bloody selfish, James! I don’t know why you think this is okay. You know how important sleep is in the days leading up to a race. I have a routine. I have a system. I need to get in the zone. You know all this and yet you still wake me up in the middle of the night just two days before the race!’
‘Kian?’
He sounds plaintive. Lost.
‘Harper? What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
My mind races as I imagine all sorts of horrendous scenarios. A terrible accident, a career-ending injury, gun violence.
‘Harper? What the hell’s going on?’
‘Kian … come you … can you … come you and get me?’ His words are slurred and he can barely get them out in the right order. ‘Can’t rememem-r-r-ememember the name of … th’otel.’
And then it hits me. He’s drunk. Harper James is blind drunk.
Here we go again.
The moment I start to let my guard down with him! The exact fucking moment!
And yet, I swing my legs out of bed and pull on a pair of loose sweats. I call an Uber and in the six minutes it says it will take for it to get here, I grab a T-shirt, a hoodie, my phone and my keycard. I shove my feet into my shoes and blink at the bright lights as I stagger towards the lift and press the button.
Yes, I’m going to get him, but make no mistake: I’m absolutely fucking livid.
* * *
‘Get in,’ I say roughly, as I manhandle my teammate into the back of the Uber.
I found him half collapsed on the pavement outside a club where a bouncer had deposited him and was vaguely keeping an eye on him. I nod to the man and desperately hope he either doesn’t recognise us or doesn’t care.
Fuck.
I slide in beside Harper and ask the driver to return us to the hotel. Harper’s lucky we’re not alone here, otherwise I’d be going absolutely berserk. We can’t afford to have any of this leaking to the press.
‘Hhhhh … he left me,’ Harper murmurs as his head hits my shoulder. ‘Everybody leaves me. But never him. Tonight … he … he left me.’
The words are sad, and for a moment I’m worried he’s about to start crying, but he’s just drunk. This is what happens when you drink like a fish. When you rely on alcohol to lift you up or bring you down or make you forget.Itstarts to consumeyou. It scrambles your brain. It turns you into someone else.
