Love Song(57)

She stares at her feet, but it takes several seconds for it to register there’s nothing on them. “Oh. I…don’t know.”

I nudge her toward the short railing so she’s leaning on something. “Don’t move a muscle. I’m going in there to find your shoes and have a talk with this asshole.”

“Who? Landon?” She gasps. “Oh no, he’s great. Don’t be mad at Landon. He’s not a car. I mean, he can’t drive a car. He’s wasted.”

My anger doesn’t ebb. “He left you out on the porch like a piece of trash, Blake. Wait here.”

I reach the front door just as it swings open and I encounter a familiar mullet.

The bartender from town staggers out, looking worse for wear. Mullet sticking out in all directions. Eyes bloodshot. But his expression brightens when he spots me.

“Yeah! We got a driver!” He peers past my shoulder to grin at Blake. “See! Told ya someone would come.”

“Someone came!” Blake confirms, and they beam at each other like a pair of drunken idiots.

I’m spitting mad. This jackass is just standing there grinning while Blake was alone on the porch steps for God knows how long, her feet dirty and bare, her dress riding up her thighs for the whole goddamn neighborhood to see.

Clenching my jaw, I advance on the mullet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He startles. Blinking rapidly. “Wha…”

“I showed up here to find her half-asleep on the porch. You left her out here? At midnight?”

“I was pissing,” he protests. “She was fine.”

“Anybody could’ve walked by and found her like that.”

“What are you, her dad—”

I cut him off by grabbing a fistful of his collar and slamming him against the side of the house, hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“She could’ve been hurt, you piece of shit,” I growl. “You left her outside, drunk out of her mind, for who knows how long.”

Landon raises his hands in surrender, gulping visibly. “She’s fine, man. Jesus.”

“She couldn’t even sit up because she was dizzy.” I push him again. “You think abandoning a woman after pouring absinthe down her throat is something men do? Real men? You fucking loser.”

“Wyatt,” Blake protests from the bottom of the steps. Her voice sounds weak.

I draw a calming breath. Force myself to release his collar.

“Good,” he mutters. “Glad you’ve come to your senses—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I interrupt, pinning him with a deadly look. “Don’t ever come near her again, you hear me? Don’t text her. Don’t call her. Don’t even think about her. You’re done.”

I give him a final shove and then twist on my heel.

“Let’s go,” I tell Blake, but she can barely take two steps before stumbling.

When I try to steady her, she bats my hand away.

“I can walk,” she objects.

The last semblance of patience abandons me. “Nope. We’re not doing this.”

Before she can argue, I scoop her up into my arms.

“Wyatt!”

“Shut up,” I grind out. “We’re done talking right now.”

I stalk forward, and her hands instinctively clamp around my neck, holding on tight. She doesn’t fight me, though. She tucks her face against my shoulder and lets me carry her to the Jeep.





Chapter 19


BLAKE





IT’S NOT EVEN MIDNIGHT WHEN I emerge from the shower after letting the icy-cold spray beat down on my head for more than twenty minutes. I don’t know if this is common to all absinthe partakers, but that green shit turned my body into a furnace. I’ve never gotten so overheated drinking alcohol before. Or that wasted. Even now, hours later, I still feel a lingering buzz in my veins. Still a bit unsteady on my feet as I wrap myself in a short white bathrobe.

I’m startled to find Wyatt in the hall, leaning against his closed bedroom room.

“Have you been waiting out here the whole time?”

“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t slip in there and crack your head open.”

“That’s…very sweet. Thank you.”

He gives me a thorough once-over. “You seem more alert. You feeling better?”

“Oh my God, yes. My head is so much clearer. The cold shower helped.” Along with the bottle of water he made me chug and the two ibuprofen he made me swallow before we barely even walked through the front door.

“Good.” He pushes away from the wall. “I’m going out for a smoke. G’night.”

“Night,” I murmur to his retreating back.

I go to my room and put on my pj’s, but that shower was too successful at waking me up. Rather than climbing into bed, I roll on a pair of warm socks and head outside. It’s cooler out than I expect, so I grab the throw blanket off the deck chair and wrap it around myself on my way to the stairs.

When I step onto the dock, Wyatt smiles at the sight of me all bundled up. Then he takes a quick drag of his cigarette before exhaling a puff of smoke into the night.

I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stretch out on the lounge chair next to his. “How was your date?” I ask reluctantly.