The alarm bells in my head ring louder at that. Avery has always been one to know her limits most of the time, preferring to sip one drink throughout the night. One benefit of my height anddon’t fuck with melook is that people get out of my way quickly.
“Why did she drink so much?” I probe as I finally see her. Some boy leans into her while she laughs at something he says, almost falling off the chair. He reaches for her as she slides sideways, and I see red as thoughts of what I’m going to do to his hand if heactuallytouches her race through my mind.
I make it just in time to stop her from falling, knocking the guy’s hands out of the way. I angle my body between them, glaring at the offender who tried to touchmygirl.
“Okay, pretty girl, I think you’ve had enough,” I whisper in her ear, pulling her off the chair and into my arms. She comes easily, as if she’s been waiting to be in my arms all night.
Like she fucking belongs there.
I carry her bridal-style, her arm instantly wrapping around my neck, her fingers playing with the short curls at my nape.
Havingher in my arms again after fifty-seven days really cements how much my heart aches for her. It feels as if I’m finally taking a breath of clean air after months of smoke filling my lungs.
I grab her bag and phone from the tabletop and I turn my body to move toward the exit. Her legs dangle over my arm, kicking slightly as she tangles her fingers further into my hair—nearly eliciting a soft moan from me.
“Kane!” she almost yells, and I stop immediately as she looks toward the other guy. “I was just telling…uhh…” she trails off, appearing to have forgotten his name.
“Brad,” the guy finishes for her. I examine his too-gelled brown hair, almost a perfect mold on his head, not a single hair out of place. It reminds me of my unruly waves, the complete opposite of him.
Is this the type of guy she wants now?
He pushes up the sleeves of his sky-blue button-down shirt, showing off the silver Rolex. I scoff at the very unsubtle flex.
Who the fuck wears a button-down to a bar? I want to punch him in the face just for that.
“Yes, Chad,” she slurs. My girl isdrunk. I chuckle softly when I see the expression on his face dripping in anger. “We were just talking about you. Right, Chad?”
“Brad,” he corrects, clearly annoyed that she’s in my arms and that she keeps forgetting his name. It’s funny that he thought he had a real chance at taking her home to begin with.
He crosses his arms, looking like someone just side-swiped the BMW his daddy bought him, as he glares at me like I’m beneath him—little does he know.
I let a lazy smirk tug at my mouth and subtlyflex my arms as I hold onto Avery, just to remind him what a real man looks like.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” She has a look of utter confusion on her face, a cute wrinkle resting between her brows. “Well, he was saying he wanted a tattoo and I was telling him all about yours and… Hey Morgan! When did you get back?” she rambles, swinging her head around to look at her best friend. I glance around, just now realizing the whole bar is looking over at us. Avery kicks her legs in my arms some more, making me grip her thighs tighter to keep her from kicking some poor person squeezing by us on their way to the bar.
“Okay, that’s enough. It’s time to get you home.” I stride away from the group without another look as Avery reaches around me waving and yelling bye with a huge smile on her face. I chuckle seeing her like this.
She rarely gets this drunk, but when she does, she’s like the energizer bunny on an caffeine-fueled diet. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to physically remove her before she insists on becoming friends with every single person at the bar.
I love seeing her being so open to people, something she’s always been too self-conscious to do sober. I know she could easily take over the world, make everyone else putty in her hands if she chose to, but she never will. I used to stand guard behind her the whole night until she had her fill of whatever place we were at, just to be the one who got to take her home and make sure she got there safely.
I never cared how late we stayed out, even if there was a reason to be up the next day. I always just felt honored she felt safe enough to let go like that around me, knowing I would be there to take care of her.
I stride past the bar, dodging people left and right, notgiving a fuck who stares at us as I make my way over to Seth to tell him I’m heading out early. When I reach him, he takes one look at Avery almost asleep in my arms and nods his head in understanding. I take off toward the parking lot, pushing people out of my path as I head to the door.
Fortunately, I arrived a little early tonight, which means I got a closer parking spot than usual. Avery isn’t heavy, but I’m hoping to get her home sooner rather than later, given that I have no idea how close she is to puking all that alcohol back up.
When I finally make it to my black pickup, I open the heavy passenger door and place Avery onto the seat, helping her buckle. She mumbles something that sounds awfully like “you overbearing brood” while swatting my hands away. I finish up the buckle and swipe some of her fallen hair back behind her ear, chuckling to myself at how cute she sounds when she’s angry.
Her piercing blue eyes meet mine momentarily before I take a breath and step back. I shut the door, making sure nothing gets caught in the frame before rounding the back and hopping in. I turn the heat up higher since the cold returns when the sun sets and Avery is wearing an outfit designed to torture me—a cropped black corset top that she always told me she hated, her breasts almost spilling out the top, with ripped jeans and boots I don’t remember her owning.
Are we finally in the place where I stop recognizing everything she has?
I force my gaze from her and shove the truck into reverse, throwing my hand on the passenger headrest. The warmth from her head is dangerously close to my hand as I back the truck out of the parking spot. A sigh escapes her when my hands drop back to the center console, and I thinkabout turning on the radio to break this crushing silence until I remember that it’s still stuck on that god-awful channel.
My hands dance on the steering wheel, counting the seconds we’ve been silent. It feels like torture.
It never used to be like this. Even in the silence, I found comfort. It used to feel safe, and now I find myself racking my brain for something I could possibly say to get her to talk to me. The neighborhoods and streetlights blur past us out the windows as the quiet seems to get louder the farther we drive.
