Aaron looks up. “Everything good?”
I don’t bother responding. I step out into the hallway beside the bathrooms and lift the phone to my ear.
“Carly?”
A woman’s voice comes through instead. “Uh, hi. Sorry. This isn’t Carly.”
Every muscle in my body goes tight.“Who is this?”
“Erica. I’m one of Sarah’s bridesmaids. Carly gave me her phone.” There’s noise in the background — a bathroom hand dryer roaring to life, a cough that sounds suspiciously like a gag. “She’s throwing up. Had way too much to drink.”
Fuck.I rub a hand through my hair, glancing at the exit.“Did she ask you to call me?”
“Yeah. I got her some water, but she said she needs to go home.”
My chest squeezes at that. “All right. Where are you guys?”
“Uh.” She goes quiet for a moment again, the background noise changing, muffled words and loud music turning tinny down the line. “Tinsel Shack? I think that’s what they said. I’m sorry, I didn’t look at the name when we walked here. It’s like two blocks south of Papaya’s.”
“Okay. I’ll find it. Tell her I'm only ten minutes down the road.”
Her voice turns quieter. “Carly? He’s only…”
I hang up and swallow down the worry blooming in my chest. I should probably tell Aaron I’m leaving, and I consider not bothering, wanting to just bolt out the door and drive to her immediately, but I know damn well that causing a scene by disappearing and turning up over there will only make things harder for Carly later.
I step back through the doors quickly and find Aaron near the bar, taking a shot with two of his friends.
“Hey. I’ve got to go,” I say.
Aaron lowers the glass, squinting at me. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah, man.”
He laughs like I’ve made a joke. “Night’s just getting started.”
“Yeah, well, my girlfriend needs me.”The words come out sharp enough to cut, and his smile slips a little.
For one satisfying second, nobody says anything, but then Aaron lifts his chin. “Everything okay?”
I hold his gaze. “Not your problem.”
I leave before he can come up with another smart-ass response, walk through the bitter cold to where I’d street-parked, and slip into the driver’s seat.
The drive to the bar the girls are at takes minutes, but it feels like an hour.I spend most of it trying not to imagine every possible scenario— Carly pale and shaking, Carly crying, Carly throwing up, Carly cornered in a bathroom by women who would love a front row seat to her humiliation.
By the time I pull up outside, I’m wound so tight that I don’t give a shit if my barging in would mean things might be harder for her down the line.
The place is exactly the kind of nightmare I expected. Pink neon in the windows, bass thudding through the walls, a bouncer on the door. I get past the bouncer without so much as a single question, which is one of the few perks of being recognizable in Boulder. He waves me through before I can even tell him why I’m here.
Inside, it’s worse.
Sticky floors. A packed dance floor. Too many people and not enough oxygen.
I head straight for the bathroom, following the glowing overhead signs.I don’t stop to think about the fact that it’s the women’s bathroom —I simply do not care. I push through the door and am immediately hit with bright lights, perfume, and the sharp chemical smell of cleaning products.
A blonde woman stands near the hand dryer, her brows lifting, but then she points me toward the last stall, and I follow her direction without questioning.
Carly’s sitting on the floor, her bare legs bent and to one side of her, her head and shoulder resting on the partition, one hand on the toilet and an abandoned glass of water beside it. Her heels are off and lying beside her, her hair a mess, lipstick mostly gone, face pale. My stomach sinks immediately.
