Page 92 of The Last Special Thing

Her laughter evaporated. She wasn’t a druggie. Was she? How many drugs made you a druggie? Was it the amount? The variety? The length of time?

“We should go,” Weston said carefully to her. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

When she stood, he assessed her again and scrunched his face. “I can’t bring you home.”

He looked around for an alternative solution. It was surprising that he was still concerned about her. It was off-kilter. Between possibly being a druggie and Weston still having a protective capacity for her, she wanted to think of something else. But she didn’t know what. All the special things were ending. Just as she had warned Art about. Her heart flinched, then an idea clicked.

“Take me to Art and Max’s. Maybe they’ll be there.” She surveyed the area. “Although maybe they’re still here?”

“Were you with anyone else?” Weston prodded.

“Madisson!” Amelia clapped. They could do this. They could find safety together.

“Have you tried calling her?”

Amelia’s face fell. “No.”

She hadn’t called Madisson because the last time she saw Madisson, she was a pile of limbs outside of a bar. But that could have been hours ago.

Weston walked a few feet away and dialed. The rainbow in the sky paled.

Weston hung up the call and returned to her. “Where are your shoes?”

Her feet were caked with sand, and the back of her heels were bruised from where she had repeatedly kicked the rock while swinging her legs. There was a subtle throb in her left foot. She cradled it to find the source of the pain.

“What the fuck,” Weston whispered as he gingerly removed a shard of glass from the arch.

She met his eyes, feeling a greater pain in her chest for Weston than in her foot. He wrapped his arms around her, and his body trembled.

“I’m sorry,” he choked.

“For what?” Amelia asked.

“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me,” he whispered into her hair.

“You didn’t bring me to the beach!”

He was absurd, and she was back to crazed laughter.

Weston didn’t falter. “I should have told you I loved you before. I should have known it then, and I never would have lost you. I’ll regret losing you for the rest of my life.”

As a few rogue tears slipped down his face, her chest clutched tighter. Her laughter dissolved, and she kissed him. It wasn’t passionate; it was meant to comfort him.

But as she pulled away, guilt swelled. She had to get back to Art. Her thoughts blurred after the kiss, protecting her from things she would surely regret.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The entire car ride had been wiped from her memory as they approached the apartment with its door wide open. Madisson paced inside with Art’s hand gesturing toward her.

"Look, there is nothing you can do. It’s public intoxication. They’ll release him when he sobers up. Tomorrow at the latest.”

Madisson closed the space between them and put a finger to his chest. “You guys were supposed to watch us, and you got wasted! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Weston cleared his throat, and Madisson and Art twisted toward them.

“Thank you for bringing Amelia back here,” Madisson said, stepping back from Art and embracing Weston.

“Happy to.” He said the words to Madisson, but his gaze hung on Art in disgust.