“First of all, I was not pissed off. Flirt all you want. I don’t care,” I said. “Secondly, that’s none of your business.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Those were Logan’s words, booming from behind me.
My mind instantly went to the last party I went to, where Celia said that the minute the hockey players showed up, they caused a ruckus. I stepped back, hoping to act as a shield both ways. Logan damn well knew who Travis was and he knew he’d be here tonight. He was just trying to start trouble.
“Who the fuck are you is the real question.” Travis pushed away from the wall, standing at his full height.
I wasn’t even sure who could win this fight. If I were a betting person, I wouldn’t bet on it at all. I knew Logan had a rough upbringing, with his dad and all, but Travis had grown up in a bad part of the city, the kind where people took their bikes inside their apartment and chained them anyway.
“I already told you, he’s my friend.” I glared at Travis.
“Friend.” Logan scoffed. “We’re not friends, Amelia.”
In my drunken state, that hurt. It wasn’t that he said we weren’t friends, but the distasteful way in which he’d said it that got me. I managed to shoot him a glare over my shoulder and almost took it back when I got a good look at his clenched jaw and flexed bicep. He definitely looked like he was ready to fight.
“This is my ex-boyfriend. Travis, this is my friend, Logan.”
“Stop calling me your friend.” Logan’s glare met mine.
“Are you kidding? You wouldn’t even kiss me in there and you want me to call you what exactly, if not my friend?”
Travis snorted. Logan’s gaze turned murderous. I started sweating, my feet shifting as I stood my ground between them. I was definitely sober now.
“Okay, I’m going to walk away from both of you now because you’re both being ridiculous.”
“I’ll go with you,” Travis said.
“Fuck you. She’s leaving with me.” Logan stepped up to my side.
In the old romance movies I’d watch with my parents, this was the scene that would always make me giddy—two men fighting over the same woman. Who wouldn’t want that? Well, the answer was me. I didn’t want that and the entire thing was making me feel sick. Really sick this time. My stomach made an angry sound that had me running back to the bathroom and kneeling over the toilet. I held on to the bowl with both hands and threw up again. From the corner of my eye, I could see them both standing by the door. I glanced up briefly before turning my face toward the bowl again.
“Please leave,” I whispered.
I flushed the toilet but stayed on the floor. I was disgusting. I’d never vomited in my life, not from drinking, not in front of Travis, who was staring at me with a look on his face that said he might vomit soon too if he didn’t get out of here. I heard shuffling and closed my eyes at the loud whispered discussion they were having that I couldn’t make out on top of the EDM music that was now playing. Soon after, there was banging, and then shouting and finally, the door opened and closed again. I didn’t even bother to look up.
“Please leave. I’m throwing up.”
The footsteps continued toward me. This time I did look up because guys were stupid and didn’t know how to aim in the first place, and I definitely didn’t want a drunk one to pee on me by mistake. I was surprised to see it was Logan walking toward me with paper towels and a bottle of water.
“What are you doing?”
He crouched down in front of me and started wiping my face gently. I closed my eyes because it felt so good right now. But having my eyes closed made the room shift faster, so I opened them again.
“You look upset.”
His gaze met mine. “Do me a favor and don’t talk.”
“I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes again. “I’ve never been this drunk before. I mean, I have, but not this year.” My brows pulled. “Not in a few years.”
“So why tonight? Why did you decide to come to a toga party of all places and get drunk tonight?” He stopped wiping my face.
“Because I’m sad.” My lip wobbled when I said that out loud, my eyes pooling with water. I hadn’t said anything aloud. I hadn’t spoken about my brother’s state or my father’s indiscretions. I hadn’t spoken to anyone about any of the things that were burdening me, and the mixture of the alcohol and information felt excruciating tonight. “I’m so terribly, terribly sad.”
“Are you going to tell me about it?” He sat beside me, our backs leaning against the wall, his head turned toward me.
I bit my lip hard, shaking my head. I couldn’t. I couldn’t start talking about Lincoln right now, not here, not like this. I would break more than I already was. Just thinking about my brother in a hospital bed, my brother, whom I hadn’t visited since I left him because I didn’t want to deal with the full reality of seeing him like that. I was a pansy. I was a pansy and I was alone and I needed my best friend to wake the fuck up so that he could help me deal with all of these things. My best friend. Why hadn’t he told me about dad? About Lana? Why hadn’t he said anything? I could’ve helped him. I wasn’t sure how, but I would’ve tried. Anything was better than the helplessness I felt right now. Anything was better than sitting drunk on a bathroom floor with the hottest guy I knew wiping vomit off my face because I couldn’t seem to keep myself in check.
“Why do you care?” I sniffed. “You’re not my friend, remember?”
“I’m not your friend.” He put his hand on mine and held it. “I’m your blood, remember?”
I felt a crack in my chest as the tears trickled down my cheeks, as if it had grown a little, enough to fit him in, and that scared me. I hadn’t known him long enough to feel this way. I didn’t know him well enough to feel this deeply for him, yet I did. In the past, I’d fallen slowly, after being friends with guys for a while. This felt different. Maybe it was the fact that instead of turning his back on me, he’d helped me when I was on the floor vomiting. Maybe it was realizing that I couldn’t carry the weight of my fucked-up family and really needed someone in my corner. Maybe it was the alcohol, still coursing through my veins despite my body’s attempt to get it out. Whatever the case, Logan had taken ownership of a part of me and even though I couldn’t understand it entirely, I knew there was no use in questioning these emotions. The heart never asked for permission, it just felt.
“Can we get out of here?” I whispered.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I just miss my brother. I miss him so much.” I started to cry again. Logan let go of my hand and wrapped an arm around me. There was a knock on the door, then another. Someone on the other side started yelling.
“Shut the fuck up and leave,” Logan roared back. I flinched at his voice beside my ear. He held my head to his shoulder again. “Sorry.”
“Maybe we should just go,” I said. “I feel like brushing my teeth anyway.”
“Not a bad idea.”
He stood up and offered me his hand. I placed mine in it, meeting his gaze. It was the same hand he’d touched just a minute ago, the same hands we’d held during our blood oath earlier. I was really grateful to have him pulling me up and keeping me steady. He handed me the bottle of water as we walked out of the bathroom, and I took it gratefully, twisting the cap and gulping down half the contents. We beelined toward the front door, but on the way, we were stopped by numerous people—guys asking where he was going, girls pressing themselves provocatively onto him as I watched.