Page 52 of Clubs

Rolling his eyes, Emory stood. Hopefully, Declan would be back soon. She’d be his problem then. For now, Emory would just make sure nobody tried to stuff her in the back of their car.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

DECLAN

Getting fingerprinted was no big thing.

I knew to keep my mouth shut, so, that was what I did. I didn’t discuss the case with any of the officers who spoke with me, didn’t say a word that could get me in trouble. Just my name, and my birthday. Apparently, they needed that. They also required I show them my driver’s license, but no words were required for that.

Still, it was close to an hour before I was out of there. Along the way home, I texted Brooke and asked her to call me. She didn’t respond. Not unusual.

It wasn’t that she blew me off when she was mad. She just needed space. Too much of it, though, for my liking.

I loved her. Even if she wouldn’t tell me she loved me, I loved her more than anything. So, I tolerated it. But I meant what I said earlier. A time was gonna come when I’d run out of patience. I’d gotten close to it today.

But that wasn’t her fault. Everything that was going on with Ria, I knew it wasn’t Brooke’s fault. Brooke didn’t choose the life she was born into. Things were worse for her than they were for most.

Brooke had a lot of issues, and she needed to work on them. I couldn’t make her do that, though. That was something she needed to do on her own. Whether or not she would was what would decide what came next for us.

Yet, the moment that thought ran through my mind, I felt the worst sinking sensation in my gut. Losing her terrified me. It was hard to believe given the way that I had acted this afternoon, but that was the truth. Neither of us were great with emotions. But she was virtually emotionless most of the time, and I just wanted to see her feel something. Anything.

Not this, though. Not what I saw when I walked into the bar.

Flapping his lips together in a trill, Emory looked between me and Brooke. Who was draped over the countertop. In her palm, she fisted a bottle of vodka. Her forearm, however, she used as a pillow. Even from here, I could smell the booze mixed with her perfume.

“Jesus Christ,” I said under my breath, walking that way. “How much did she drink?”

“Too much, clearly,” Emory said

“Clearly.” Setting a hand on her back, I coasted it up and down slowly. “Brooke.”

All I got was a vague moan in response. Not the kind I liked, either.

“Sweetheart, wake up.” Gently, I shook her shoulder. She barely flinched. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Eyes fluttering open, she made what she could of a smile. “Declan.”

“That was my name, last I checked.” I tucked some hair behind her ear. “How you feeling?”

Smile dissipating, she shook her head. “Not good.”

“With your breath smelling like that, I can’t say I’m surprised. Can you walk?”

She nodded, then took the hand I offered her. The moment her feet touched the ground, her upper half attempted to do the same. I caught her before she fell, then shot Emory a look over the bar. “What the hell happened?”

“Ria, I’m assuming,”

“What, did Ria open her mouth and pour the bottle down it?” Bearing almost all of Brooke’s weight, barely able to keep her on two feet, I glared at him. “Wasn’t it you pouring her shots?”

“Hey, she’s your girl,” Emory said, crossing his arms against his chest. “She didn’t exactly ask for permission when she came behind the bar and grabbed the bottle.”

Of course she didn’t. Did Brooke ever ask for permission for anything?

“I’m sorry,” she slurred. “I’ll pay for it.”

As if I was worried about the money. “Let’s just get you back to my house. Get some water in you. And maybe some sleep.”

She slurred another apology, and I only kissed her forehead in response. This was far from the way that I had envisioned her being vulnerable with me, but it was kind of nice. Practically carrying her back to my house was a small feat. But at least for once, she needed me. It wasn’t how I would’ve liked for her to have needed me, but it was something.

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