“Oh, come on! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Tears pool in my eyes as I make a hasty break for my booth to collect my wallet and car keys, picking up the bottom of my summer dress so I don’t fall flat on my face.
“Miss, you really shouldn’t be driving . . .” the bartender calls after me as I reach for the door handle. I ignore him.
“It’s okay, Mike, I got this,” Ryker says as I watch him leap from his barstool.
With any luck, I’ll make it to my car and lock my doors before he catches up to me. Or, I could trip on the last stair and land on my hands and knees on the fresh crusher run, slicing my arm open on a broken beer bottle.
Sweet irony.
“Fuck my life,” I groan as I collect myself enough to sit upright and lean against the bottom stair. “Dammit!” I yell as I instinctively pull the bottom of my dress to my arm to stop the bleeding, where I find my knees are scraped pretty good, too.
“Shit,” Ryker huffs as he jogs down the stairs and kneels in front of me. “Let me see,” he asks, reaching for my arm.
“I’m fine, just leave me alone,” I barely make out as I start sobbing with my forehead on my knees.
It’s the single biggest lie I’ve ever told.
“Nat . . .” It’s like he finally realizes he’s dealing with an incredibly drunk person, so he just takes my arm into his hands and sighs. “We’ve gotta get this cleaned up, come inside.”
“I’m not going back in there.”
. . . Because now is the time to be stubborn.
“I’ll drive you home.”
I sob harder. “I don’t have a home. I’m staying at Tosha’s in Northampton.”
His voice remains calm. “Well, I’ll take you to my house, then. Come on, it’s not far.” He stands, leading me up with my arm.
I can barely pick my head up, let alone stand straight, and I find myself leaning all of my weight onto him. The muscles in his shoulders and chest tense for a minute before he relaxes and leads me to his car.
“My car . . .” I point weakly to my shiny Mom-U-V.
“It’ll be fine here. Get in. Sorry about your dress, but leave it on your arm, K?” I nod as he shuts the door.
“Wait, I can’t be here. I can’t . . . you’ve got to let me out, Ryker.” My fight-or-flight mechanism is misfiring as he gets in and starts his car. Panicked, I search for the easiest escape.
“Natalie, I’m not going to let you drive anywhere this drunk, or that bloody.” He nods to my arm. “Wait,” he starts as he stares at my surely horrified face, “I’m not . . .” He sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you, Natalie. I want to get a look at your arm. If you’d rather, I can drive you to the hospital.” His jaw clenches as he pulls his eyes away from me and faces the windshield.
I shake my head, suddenly feeling awful that I’ve made him feel bad. “No, sorry, I’m just wicked drunk.” I start crying again. “Just bring me to your house.”
His tongue smoothes across his lips. “Try to let me know if you think you’re going to throw up, okay?”
“Mmhmm.” I use my free hand to squeegee away rapidly falling tears.
As soon as his car starts winding its way down the curves of the back roads, I rest my head against the cold window and pass out.
Chapter 29
“Natalie, wake up, we’re here.” I jump at the sound of Ryker’s voice, certain I’m dreaming. He walks around to my side of the car and opens the door. “Can you walk?”
Pulling my eyebrows in, I try to gain some balance, even though I’m sitting. I stand, only to immediately fall back onto my seat. And throw up on the ground between my feet. After a few minutes, I rest my head on the doorframe, feeling empty from the inside-out.
This is just perfect.
Ryker places his hands on his hips and with a deep sigh, looks to the ground for a moment before looking at me. “Okay,” he sighs again as he leans into the car, “I’m going to carry you in. Is that all right with you?”
“Yeah.” Glancing down at my arm, I’m glad to see the bleeding has stopped. I wrap my arms around his neck, careful to turn the cut away from his shirt.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I flicker my eyes up and study Ryker’s face. His jaw is tight, gorgeous eyes focused on his front porch. He has every reason to hate me, yet he’s bringing me to his house to take care of me. It’s all too much, and I start sobbing into his shoulder.
“Does it hurt?” His voice is doused in urgent concern as he opens the door.
“Yes.”
Everything does.
Ryker sets me down on his couch. “Sit tight, I’m going to run upstairs and get some peroxide.”
While his footsteps fade up the stairs, I look around. It’s a standard large, old farmhouse but, thankfully, looks nothing like the house from my nightmare. My breath catches as Ryker comes back down the stairs with the peroxide and cotton balls in his hand. He’s absolutely stunning, even amidst this tension-filled shit-show. Sitting on the coffee table in front of me, he reaches for my hand. Our eyes meet as I surrender my hand to him and he doesn’t even look away as he grabs the bottle of peroxide.