Silence fell like a brick. The night went completely still, except for the faint, miserable sound of her gagging. I looked down at my shirt—at the disaster now clinging to the fabric—and blinked once.
“Guess that’s a no, then,” I muttered.
A half-laugh slipped out before I could stop it. Not mocking—just helpless. Because really, what the hell else could I do?
She made a strangled noise that might’ve been a sob, might’ve been mortification. “I am so sorry,” she groaned, hands over her face. “Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I just?—”
“Hey, hey,” I said quickly, steadying her elbow before she could topple over. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”
She peeked through her fingers, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to her forehead. “Not to normal people.”
“Good thing I’m not normal.”
That earned a weak laugh—the kind that was more apology than amusement. I guided her inside, one hand at her back, steering her past the entryway and into the bathroom. She didn’t fight me, just stumbled along, muttering something about how she was “a walking PSA for bad decisions.”
It wasn’t pretty.
She groaned another apology while I held her hair back, trying not to breathe too deeply. “I’m so sorry, Beckett. Oh gosh, I’m?—”
“Stop apologizing,” I said, voice rough but steady. “Just breathe.”
“Never drinking again.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
She groaned again, half-laughing, half-miserable, and I couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at my mouth. Once she was steady enough to sit upright, I grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water from the tap, and handed it to her.
“Here. Small sips.”
She obeyed, still blinking blearily, like she couldn’t quite figure out how she’d gotten from a bar to her own bathroom. “You’re going to make fun of me for this forever.”
“Probably,” I said. “But not tonight.”
I found a bottle of aspirin in her kitchen cabinet, shaking two into my palm. When I came back, she’d wandered into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, face half-buried in a pillow.
“Take these,” I said, holding them out.
She made a noise that sounded vaguely like no, then squinted up at me, bleary-eyed. “Don’t tell Naomi.”
I huffed a laugh. “Scout’s honor.”
She forced a smile.
“Sit up,” I told her, gesturing toward the edge of the tub. She obeyed, eyes glassy, still pale. I grabbed a towel from the rack and ran it under cold water.
When I knelt beside her and handed it over, she blinked down at me like she couldn’t quite believe I was still there. “You’re not… disgusted?”
“Oh, I’m disgusted,” I said, wringing out my shirt over the sink. “But I’ve survived worse. Locker rooms. Road trips. Adam’s protein shakes.”
That got a small laugh out of her. Progress.
“Seriously, Ellery,” I added, quieter now. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”
She nodded, eyes dropping to her hands. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
“Too late,” I said. “Already started.”
She sighed, satisfied, and curled up again — tiny, exhausted, wearing one of those oversized sweaters that swallowed her whole. She was out within minutes, a soft, uneven rhythm to her breathing.
