Page 107 of Finding Delaware

Taylor stares at me briefly before releasing my shoulders, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Check your pockets. Make sure no one robbed you while you were out.”

Ah, hell.

I pat myself down, pulling out my wallet with frozen fingers to ensure nothing is amiss. When everything is accounted for, I sigh in relief and try to stand. The minute I do, the earth tilts on its axis, and I fall with a groan, head swimming. Clearly, I’m still fucked up.

“Goddammit.” Taylor tries to catch me, looping his arms under my own, and I notice his wince as he pulls me to my feet. The warmth from his body floods me as he presses me into the wall for stability, and my arms tighten around him involuntarily.

He stiffens, trying to back away. “Let me go, Huck.”

“S-sorry,” I chatter, willing my frozen hands to unhook themselves from around his shoulders. “C-c-cold.”

My arms fall from him, and I brace for the frosty air to hit me when he steps away.

But he doesn’t. He hesitates, keeping our bodies flush, his face tilted down so I can’t read his eyes.

“Did Royce leave you like this?” There’s a catch in his voice, almost like anger, and I shake my head quickly.

“No, I was-s awake when h-he left. T-told him I’d be f-fiiiiine.” That last word turns like a whine as the cold wind hits me, and I find myself burying my frozen nose into the crook of Taylor’s neck. He jolts but doesn’t move, thank fuck, because I feel like a damn icicle right now. Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if my lips are blue.

We stay like that for a moment, pressed against each other outside of the bar, and eventually, Taylor’s warm cheek falls against the side of my head.

“You scared the shit of me,” he whispers, hot breath against my ear, and I murmur a ‘how so?’ into his skin. “When I walked out here and saw you slumped over like that... you’re ice cold, Huckslee. I tried to wake you twice. I thought...”

He trails off, and the reality of what he’s saying hits me like a ton of bricks.

Dead. He thought I was dead.

Fuck.

Guilt flattens me like a steamroller, causing my arms to come up and crush him to my chest. His grip tightens on me as well, and for a moment all the bullshit falls away while we just hold each other.

“I’m s-so sorry, Taylor.” My voice breaks, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. “So goddamn sorry.”

“You could have frozen to death, man. What were you thinking?”

I shake my head, trying to burrow further into him even though I’m as far as I can go. “Wasn’t thinking. Was t-tired. Drunk.”

“I shouldn’t have let you use my tab,” he mutters, and I feel his swallow against my lips. “You have a drinking problem, Huck.”

“I know. I know.”

I do. Had one for a while, but it’s only gotten worse since coming back. Which is hilarious if you think about how strict Utah’s liquor laws are compared to California’s. How the hell does that make sense?

The door of the bar flings open, bursting whatever bubble Taylor and I had found ourselves in because he pulls away from me quickly. It’s almost painful, like a bandaid being ripped away, taking a piece of myself with him. Matthew and Xed step out onto the sidewalk, eyeing us curiously, and my heart sinks when Christian steps out after them with Blondie tucked under his arm.

Reality is a cold, hard, big-tittied bitch.

“What’s going on, Tay?” Christian asks slowly, glancing between us, and I turn away to pull up the Uber app again, not interested in hearing this conversation. My insides feel hollow, like they’ve been scooped out with a spoon. I get about ten feet away when Taylor calls my name, and my plan is to ignore him until his hand wraps around my arm, yanking me back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His nose is scrunched, adorably irritated. If it weren’t for the empty feeling in my bones, the look on his face would make me smile.

“I’m calling another Uber.”

He spins around and tugs me back toward the bar. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m driving you home.”

Driving? So he’s still sober?

“Taylor, no.” I try to dig in my heels, but he’s strong, and I’m still freezing. And drunk. “You don’t have to do that. It’s fine.”

---