Page 85 of On the Breakaway

“God forbid.”

Ten minutes later, Harper is changed into pajamas and fully unconscious beneath a mountain of blankets after drinking half a bottle of water. I can’t help but watch her for a minute after she falls asleep.

I hate how unhappy she sounds. I hate that tomorrow she’ll pretend everything she said was nothing but alcohol talking. There’s nothing I can do to help. And even if there was, what the hell do I know about love? Nothing good.

With a sigh, I grab my jacket again and head back downstairs. Grayson’s headlights are still on when I step outside. A part of me expected him to be gone.

I pull open the passenger door this time instead of climbing into the back.

Warm air wraps around me immediately.

Grayson glances over from the driver’s seat, expression unreadable beneath the dim dashboard light.

“Is she good?” He asks.

“Passed out almost instantly.”

He hums once in acknowledgment.

At first, neither of us says anything, but then I clear my throat and force myself back into familiar territory.

“Sorry about all this tonight. She’s kind of going through some stuff.” I gesture vaguely. “And thanks for the ride.”

“It’s no problem.”

His voice is easy, and for once, I don’t even question his sincerity. I know he means it.

“Besides, I’ve had plenty of practice.” A faint smirk pulls at one corner of his mouth. “Three older sisters. I’ve spent half my life designated driving.”

“You have three older sisters?”

A piece of him clicks into place. The patience and calm that he always seems to manage, regardless of how hard I poke.

“Mhm.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“It was.” He leans back against the seat. “Actually, it still is.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too wide as the quiet settles in again.

I should leave. I came out to say thank you. That’s it. Now that I have, I should go back inside and forget this entire night happened.

But then Grayson says, “You’re a really good friend to her.”

I snort. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m serious.”

Something in his tone makes me glance over. He’s watching me closer, and it sends a shiver up my spine.

“It must’ve been hard,” he says, nodding to my place, “not telling her her husband’s a piece of shit.”

I choke on a laugh because he’s not wrong.

“It wouldn’t have helped. She already knows.”

His brows pull together.