Tom’s beside me now. The slow circles of his hand on my back give me something to focus on.
His fingers gather my hair, holding it back from my face when my stomach decides a second round is necessary.
This is so embarrassing.
And just when it seems it can’t get worse, Deep Diver crawls out of the ocean in his tight, slick wetsuit.
The dive tank falls on the sand, my blurry vision comes back into focus.
He takes his sweet time watching me vomit while maniac McKenna bares his teeth at him.
A slow shake of his head. Probably disappointment. He turns and disappears behind the dive bar.
This is an absolute shit show. I’m right back where I once belonged, down in the gutter.
And I can’t go back there. I can’t. But it’s already scratching at the back of my mind. That shadow never really leaves, it just waits until it finds a weak spot. And last night, when I drank whatever the fuck was in that glass, I gave it exactly what it wanted.
Now the numbness is wearing off, and I hate that being spiked felt earned and safe, when it was anything but.
I try to breathe through this spiral. Slow. In, out.
I’m not going there again. I can’t.
What I need to do right now is pull myself together, sneak into my studio without being seen, call in sick, and get a tow truck to drag the Gremlin out of the ditch. Let’s focus on that.
God, I hope they haven’t stripped it for parts yet.
Tom grunts next to me, still holding my hair.
“The fuck was he starin’ at? Swear to God, if he’d taken one more step, I would’ve smashed him right back to the fishes myself.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist.
“You really need to stop picking fights with guys twice your size. Your hands do have a day job, remember?”
He scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve got you to patch me up.”
There are a million things I could say to that, but I won’t
“Come on,” I say hoarsely, my gaze drifting up the stairs. “Let’s head up.”
The gate’s unlocked. That’s something.
Tom helps me up from the rock. “You feeling okay? Your studio or mine?”
“Mine. I need to call a tow truck.”
“Ah, your sweet beloved Gremlin.”
He’s clearly biting his tongue. One look from me shuts him up.
We start climbing the stairs. I grip the railing tight; my legs still feel like jelly.
“Let’s get you some food. Trust me, everything gets better after some carbs.”
I press my hand to my stomach. “Please don’t talk about food.”
Nausea rises again, but this time I breathe through it. Deep inhales until the wave loosens its grip. I force my feet up another step. Then another. Just a few more.
