I frowned. “He said that to you?”
She nodded sloppily. “Oh yes. I couldn’t forget that conversation in a million years. I remember his stupid, beautiful face. Those stupid, beautiful blue eyes. His stupid, beautiful cheekbones. His stupid, beautiful, perfect blond hair. Of course, it wasn’t perfect hair anymore because they had to shave half of it to put his brain back in or whatever the hell they did to fix him. But he was still stupid and beautiful. And by stupid, I mean perfect.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “He looked at me with those big blue eyes the color of the ocean, and he told me he wasn’t in love with me anymore, and he needed to be alone. He needed to process who he was. I don’t know what the fuck that means. He had his memory, he didn’t have any broken bones. Didn’t need weeks of physical therapy just to be able to walk again. Didn’t lose anything. But the doctors were all like, brains are so mysterious. Brain injuries can cause breaks and changes in personality. It’s not his fault, and it’s very real.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” She stood up abruptly, chair legs scraping loudly against the floor. “Pee. I have to pee.”
“You, uh, you need help getting there?” I asked, standing up and moving to catch her if need be.
She shook her head, took two fierce, determined steps toward the back, and promptly tipped sideways.
“Ooh boy,” she murmured, catching the service bar. “Wheee. Maybe I do.”
I grabbed her bicep—tiny, thin, but hard as nails. Hauled her upright, and wrapped my arm around shoulders, tucking her against my side. “Come on, Cassie. This way.”
She pushed me away. “Too close. Too, too, too close.” She sniffed. “You smell good. But too close.” She peered up at me. “Jesus, you’re big. Like, tall. Really, super, a lot tall.”
“Six-seven,” I told her. I held out my hand, and she grabbed it. “Now come on. Let me help you.”
“But you’re not just tall,” Cassie said, grabbing my hand and using it for balance as she wove her way toward the back hall where the bathrooms were. “You ever see Brave?”
I shrugged. “The little Irish girl, and the mom who turns into a bear?”
She giggled, a snort and a tinkle of laughter. “Scottish, but yeah.”
I laughed. “I’m the bear?”
“The big mean one. Just, you know, you’re not mean.”
“Try not to be.”
She stopped at the bathrooms—peered at the door. “I have to pee.”
I guided her one more door down. “That was the men’s. This is yours.”
She blinked. “Oh. I’m a woman. Gotta use the little women’s potty.”
I sighed. “Yeah, you are, and yeah, you do.”
She looked at me over her shoulder. “You noticed, did you?”
I met her eyes. “Yes, Cassandra. I noticed.”
She wiggled her hips side to side in a sultry shimmy, eyebrows dancing suggestively. “Ooh, I got the full name. You must really like me.”
“Go pee.”
She widened her eyes. “Oohhhh boy. Yeah, I’m about to leak.”
I pushed the door open for her, and she carefully wobbled in. I let the door close, and only moments later I heard a slam, as her body hit a bathroom stall divider.
“I’m okay!” I heard her yell. “I’m fine!”
I grimaced. That was loud.
Another loud sound.
A stream of curses.
“Dammit,” I muttered. Another crash. “Fuck it.”
I pushed into the bathroom, and found Cassie clinging to the outside of the stall, trying to pull the door open—it was a push, which was her problem.
I wrapped my arm around her waist again, holding her up. “Come on, let me help.”
She looked down at my hand, on her waist—carefully placed in a nonthreatening location, above her hip. Touched her hand to the top of mine.
“You have big hands.” She grabbed my hand, held her palm against mine—her hand was dwarfed by mine—the top of her fingers only reaching the first crease at my mid-knuckle. I could fit her entire fist into my palm. “Really, really, really big.”
“Yes, I do.” I used my toe to nudge the stall door open, guided her in. “Here you go. Can you manage from here, or should I get Kitty to help?”
She snorted. “I can manage my own pants, I think.” I let the door close. “I think.”
I rested my head against the stall. “You think?”
“Whoops,” she said, and I saw her feet slip, and then a thud as she landed on the toilet. “I’ve got it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.” A pause. “Go away. I don’t want you to hear my pee noises.”
I laughed. “Fine, but yell and I’ll come help you back out.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I exited the women’s bathroom and waited outside. A couple of minutes later Bast came by.
“Someone’s going through some shit, huh?” he said, carrying a fresh case of beer back toward the bar.
“No kidding.”
“Kitty was talking about how Roman’s dad was worried about her.”
“I can see why.” I pushed open the door an inch. “Cassie? You okay?”
Silence.
Bast just laughed. “Go get her. She’ll need a friend when she wakes up.”
“You know where she lives?” I asked.
“With her mom,” Bast said. “Kitty can tell you, I think.”
“Cool.”
When I went in, I found Cassie in the stall, passed out.
I made sure her clothing was all in the right places, and then lifted her in my arms and carried her out. Kitty gave me directions to her mom’s house, but I remembered Cassie saying her mom would give her a hard time. I debated, and then figured she’d rather deal with her mom on her own after she’d sobered up.
So, I carried her back to my place.
Tiny little thing. Barely weighed anything at all.
But damn, she carried a lot of hurt inside.
Cassie
Ohhh god. Oh god.
Oh…fuck my entire skull.
Nope. Not time to be alive yet. Too soon. Wayyy too soon.
How about now?
Nope. Still hurts to be alive. Even the thought of opening my eyes sounded like agony.
“Cassie?” A voice, whispering as quietly as possible, but still a deep, powerful, bone-rattling bass rumble.
Who? Familiar, and comforting, somehow.
“Ng. Gah. Nnnng.”
A blast of air through nostrils—a laugh. “Here. I’ve got you.” A paw, so big it cradled my entire skull, lifted me gently. I sighed, sinking into the paw, letting it support me. My head tipped forward. “Open your mouth, darlin’.”
I couldn’t even formulate a protest against being called darling. I opened my mouth, and felt pills touch my tongue. A plastic rim touched my lips, and I gingerly allowed the cool wetness into my mouth.
I swallowed hesitantly—my throat was on fire, raspy, bitter, rough. My mouth hurt, and the water felt nice. My stomach didn’t agree, though.
“Now this.” A different something was being held to my lips, and I let him pour something into my mouth, tasted it, swallowed it. Sweet, but not too sweet.