Page 108 of Unleashed

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t realize how much our spat affected you.”

If only he knew the depth of my despair had little to do with him. I nestled into his embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against mine. A couple of months ago, we had exchanged keys, and our building concierges had long since become accustomed to seeing us coming and going from each other’s apartments without question.

“You can put me down,” I protested, though my words were slurred. “I’m fine.”

Slade gently lowered me onto my shaky legs near the edge of my bed, his hands steadying me as I swayed. “How much of that stuff did you drink?”

“I dunno,” I replied, trying to focus but failing miserably.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Let’s get you into bed.”

“It’s still light out,” I slurred, my gaze drifting toward the sliver of sunlight seeping through the curtains.

“But you’re in no condition to be up and about,” he said firmly, guiding me toward the bed.

“Will you stay with me?” I asked, the vulnerability in my voice unmistakable. I craved his comfort, even though he had no idea what lay ahead for us.

“Of course I’ll stay,” Slade said, his tone softening. “We can go to work tomorrow if you’re up to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I go to work?” I wondered aloud, my mind struggling to stay focused.

“You should see how you feel tomorrow,” Slade said, his voice laced with concern. “I’m sure you’ll have a killer hangover based on how you smell.”

“How I smell?” I questioned, confused.

“Like you marinated in vodka,” he said with a hint of a smile.

Slade helped me undress, his touch surprisingly gentle. He slid me under the sheets, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out, slipping into a troubled sleep where two men—one with a familiar face and the other with a comforting presence—fought for my heart.

When I woke again, the room was shrouded in darkness. Slade lay beside me, his even breathing a contrast to the chaotic thudding in my head. The pain was relentless, like a hundred drums beating in unison. My stomach churned, and I fought the rising nausea.

I managed to turn over to glance at the clock. It read 1:43 AM. My mind immediately flickered to Michael. I hadn’t been lying when I said I still loved him. If he hadn’t vanished, maybe things would have turned out differently.

My thoughts churned as I tried to find some semblance of sleep, but when Slade’s hand gently stroked my bare back, I groaned in discomfort.

“Not feeling so great?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Like I was run over by a truck,” I mumbled, clutching my head.

“I think staying home is in order for you,” he suggested, his hand still soothingly caressing my back.

“But I have to finish the plans I was working on,” I protested weakly.

“They’re not due until the end of the week,” he reminded me.

“And we have a bunch of upcoming projects. I can’t afford to be out,” I argued, attempting to sit up. The movement intensified my headache, and I collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan.

“You’re staying home today,” Slade insisted. “I can work a half day or go in late.”

I laughed, though it hurt so much that I pressed my hands to the sides of my head. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been drunk before.”

“Not like this,” Slade said, his tone gentle but firm. “Let me take care of you today. You need it.”

I looked at him, the warmth in his eyes a stark contrast to the cold ache in my heart. For now, I surrendered to his care, knowing I couldn’t face the world—or my troubles—without some help.

“I’ve never seen you this drunk,” Slade said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I know you’re stressed. I should’ve been more considerate.”

“It was stupid,” I mumbled, trying to wave off the apology. “I was overreacting.”

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