“Listen, I’ll tell you where my spare key is. Take Bo there, if you’d like. I actually just left Rae’s.” Regan dictates where I’ll find his spare key before we hang up, and I prepare to deal with Adrian by resting my head on the steering wheel.
After a few minutes I return to Finnegan’s, resolved that I have to take Bo back to my place. I can’t leave him alone in a stranger’s apartment—not in the state he’s in. Adrian is once again chatting up Marley at the bar. Ordinarily, his attention to her might irritate me, but right now I have other issues stalking my nerves.
“Hey, we gotta talk a sec.” I reach around him and give his waist a squeeze.
“What’s up, Blue?” His slur tells me he’s drunk, too.
Great.
“C.J. just texted me. Bo’s at Lost Dog and he’s too drunk to drive—” Marley’s eyes widen just before Adrian cuts me off.
“Hell no, Ember.” Adrian hastily pushes his chair back, crashing it to the ground as he walks outside.
Mouthing a sorry to Marley as I right the stool, I follow behind Adrian. I catch up with him outside in time to see him kick over a trashcan.
“What the hell, Adrian!”
“God dammit, Ember, how deep is his hold on you?” Heads turn in our direction as he yells.
“So because yesterday was the anniversary of his parents’ death, and I don’t want him to drive drunk all the way back to New Hampshire, that means he has a hold on me?”
“He’s not staying with us tonight.”
“And where do you suggest he stay?” I place my hands on my hips, bored with Adrian’s insistence that this is a pissing contest.
“How about his car—he’s no stranger to that, if I remember correctly.” Adrian accurately recalls Lost Dog’s last involvement in our lives.
With an annoyed sigh, I turn for the parking lot. Adrian doesn’t follow. Turning back around, I see him walking the opposite direction toward the beach.
“Where the hell are you going?” My head is spinning with anxiety.
He doesn’t turn around. “Going for a walk.”
A frustrated growl punches its way out of my throat. “Adrian!” I call as I jog toward him. “You’re too drunk to drive, and your car is at my place. Just come with me and we’ll figure everything out. I can take Bo to Regan’s apartment,” I concede.
“Blue,” he sighs, “just go pick him up, and I’ll catch up with you later.” Adrian continues his walk without another word.
Before getting in my car I leave Marley my number, instructing her to call me if Adrian comes back in. She agrees, tucking the paper in her pocket as she pours shots. I remember to grab my guitar from the stage before driving to Lost Dog with giant knots strangling my stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Rapunzel, over here!” C.J. shouts from the corner of the bar as my eyes squint to adjust to the dungeon-like lighting of Lost Dog.
C.J. is sitting with a few guys I don’t know, but I easily spot Bo’s broad-shouldered torso hunched over the bar. I’ve never seen Bo drunk before; it’s sad. His forehead rests on a clenched fist, while he grips a short glass with the other.
“Thanks for texting me, Ceej,” I mumble.
“No problem. His pissing and moaning over you was a major buzz kill.” C.J. and his friends laugh at his joke.
I roll my eyes and cautiously place my hand on the small of Bo’s back. The gesture startles him, as if I’ve woken him up from a deep sleep. He whips around to face me. Hollowness has filled his eyes and his paleness makes me worried that he’ll throw up—there’s no way I can leave him alone at Regan’s.
“The hell are you doing here?” He slurs as he cocks his head back.
“Saving your ass.” C.J. snickers behind his beer, as I reach for Bo’s arm to throw around my shoulders.
“Need help, Rapunzel?” C.J. half-heartedly asks.
Of course I need help, dickweed, look at the size of him.
“No thanks, Ceej. This princess doesn’t need rescuing.”
I’m relieved at Bo’s lack of protest at my guiding him out of the bar; a struggle would have tossed me to the floor for sure. I fold him into the passenger seat of my Outback and put down the window. I beg him to ask me to stop the car if he has to throw up, but stop my speech when I hear him snoring. I pray, for the first time in my life, that I can get him safely into my apartment and that he doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.
When we pull in front of my apartment, I throw the car in park and slam my head against the headrest. He didn’t throw up on the drive, but I glance at my second floor window and wonder how I’ll get him to my apartment with the same success. I exit and walk over to his door; his head is resting on the window. As soon as I pull the handle, the door flies open under his weight, and I have to steady him from falling to the road.
“Ugh. Ember?” He struggles to find his footing as I, once again, wrap his arm around my shoulders.
“Yeah, just take it easy so we can get up the stairs, OK?”
“Isn’t this your apartment?” He squints despite the post-midnight darkness.