Page 122 of Snared Rider

Chapter Thirty

When I wakethe room is lit only by a single lamp. My head is fuzzy but the effects of the booze have worn off leaving a dull ache behind my eyes. Memories of lying with Logan make me reach across the bed for him, but I find cold sheets.

This makes ice settle in my stomach. Was he merely trying to do the right thing, again? Did I read more into what happened last night than I should have?

“Hey.” His voice startles me and I twist in the blankets to see him sitting in the chair pushed against the wall. He has a laptop balanced on his legs, but he closes the lid and slides it onto the top of the chest of drawers.

I watch as he pushes up from the chair and moves across the room. I can’t help but feel relieved he didn’t leave, and I don’t want to know why I feel that way.

Logan drops onto the edge of the bed and strokes my hair. I melt against his palm.

“How’re you feeling? Do you need water?” he asks.

I nod and he helps me sit. I’m glad he’s here because my ribs are throbbing and honestly, I’m not sure I have the strength to get up unaided.

When he has me upright, Logan hands me a glass from the bedside table. He must have got this while I slept, knowing I’d need it when I woke. Alistair would never have been that thoughtful.

I take a long sip, the water cool as it hits my throat. I could drink a jug of it, but my stomach is roiling uneasily and I don’t want to overload it.

Once I’m finished, Logan takes the glass from me, placing it back on the bedside table.

“I’m not sure taking tablets on the amount of alcohol you drank last night is a good idea, but do you need your pills?”

I nod fervently. Yes, I really do need painkillers.

The booze dulled everything last night, but this morning I’m feeling every bump and scrape with renewed vigour.

He reaches for the pharmacy bag on the bedside table and pops out the tablets. I take them from his upturned palm, my gaze anywhere but on him. The way he’s looking after me makes me feel warm in a way I should not be feeling.

“Afternoon drinking doesn’t really seem like your thing,” he tells me, and he’s not wrong. I’m not a big drinker. Mainly because my mother is an alcoholic and there is always the fear I’ll follow in her footsteps.

Also, because two pints either has me in hysterical tears or dancing on tables. There is no middle ground. Last night is a prime example. I drank a bottle of Gin and sobbed all over my ex. That was not one of my finer moments.

“While I appreciate you helping me up to bed you didn’t need to stay with me.”

“Beth,” he says my name in a patient way that tells me he did need to. “You were trashed and you were upset. I wasn’t leaving you alone.”

I fiddle with the edge of the blanket, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, because in the stark light of day, without Gin fuelling me, I’m mortified by my behaviour last night.

“I’m sorry you saw me like that.”

“I don’t care that you were drunk, love, but I do care why you were trying to drown yourself in booze.”

Humiliation floods me. God, he saw me when I was brought low and that is not something any girl ever wants, particularly if it’s her ex witnessing that emotional breakdown.

He reaches out and seizes my hand. My heart stutters at the all too familiar touch, a touch I’m beginning to covet.

“Forget for a moment that you’re pissed off with me and try to remember that before this shit happened we were friends. Good friends. There was nothing you couldn’t tell me back then, Beth, and there’s nothing you can’t tell me now.” His voice softens. “Let me help.”

Friends.

The word feels foreign when I look at him because what we are is so much more than friends. But what we are is also so complicated I can’t give it a word.

‘Friends’ seems like a safe place for us to be right now, so I close my eyes, letting my head fall against the headboard even as I draw my knees up to my chest.

“If I remember correctly, I gave you a list of reasons as to why I was drinking when you found me.”

He considers me. “You mentioned Alistair was a wanker, I remember that.”

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