Page 89 of The Good Boys Club

Cian held my gaze for the longest time. Tears tracked down his face. I felt the warmth of my own tears stripe my cheeks, but the sensation was instantly lost to vast numbness. The December air was no longer frigid, the buzz from the joint long since vanished.

“Mash . . . you’re holding me back.”

It was a good few minutes before I spoke. Before the white noise in my brain had subsided long enough for me to squeak out a word. “Okay.” I wiped my tears on the heel of my hand. Walked away from him. Returned. Nope. I had to get out of here. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

I guessed there was no point in hanging around in Remy any more. Might as well message Nana and the betas . . . tell them I’d be home soon. Maybe I could accept the call of the alpha at the next full moon, the Wolf Moon in January. How fitting.

If Cian needed space, needed me to ease off and let him be who I was stopping him from being, I would give it to him. I loved him too much to do anything that would hurt him.

“You’re holding me back.”

Okay, but . . . fucking ouch.

I walked back to him, but I wasn’t staying. I just had to . . . “Keep away from the fucking edges, okay?” I said. Not that I thought he’d jump, but he was wankered and accidents happened. I could stay here with him, make sure he got home safely, but I wasn’t wanted. He’d made that much abundantly clear.

I turned towards the fire exit.

“Wait,” Cian called out. I paused. “Mash, I do lo—oh, fuck . . . I . . . I’m gonna be sick.” He leaned forward over the planter and vomited.

I was beside him in an instant, my hand on his back between his shoulder blades. I took his glasses from his face to save them from falling into the barf and brushed the sweaty hairs from his forehead. “Okay, okay, okay,” I said, as I continued to rub his back.

“Mash?” He spat into the planter and then vomited again. “I’m sorry. Please don’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .” He began sobbing.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. You’re such a mess right now.” I didn’t have any napkins on me to clean him up, so I used his decorative pocket square to wipe the sick off his chin.

Once I was certain there was nothing left inside him, I stood. “Let’s go get you some hydration.”

With my arm around his waist, we walked to the exit and I hailed a cab to his apartment. I swiped his key card to let us in, turned his alarm off with the code, and took him straight to his bedroom, snatching a bottle of water from the fridge on the way there.

“Did I barf on you?” he said, as I was unbuttoning his shirt.

“Not yet,” I replied. “But the night’s still young.” I undid the button and fly on his trousers, and wiggled them down his legs. “You want PJs, Bangers?”

He nodded. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell backwards on the bed.

“Arms up, big boy,” I said, after rifling through his drawers and finding a clean T-shirt and pair of pyjama pants.

He lifted his arms like he was a toddler at the pool waiting to be dressed. I pulled the bottoms onto him and laid him on his side.

“I’m gonna get you a bucket. Just in case.” But before I had finished speaking, Cian was asleep.

I stood in his bedroom, my hands on my hips, and I puffed out all the air in my lungs. Fuck, he had really said all those things to me.

“You’re holding me back.”

Had he meant them? Or worse still, had he meant them but never intended to say them?

Usually, when I stayed over, I’d crawl straight into bed next to him. It was big enough. This time, it felt . . . wrong.

I took a blanket from his cupboard and settled onto his sofa, though I left the door open in case he called out for me in the night.

My neck was stiff when I woke, just another reminder I wasn’t twenty-four any more. Another reminder of exactly how much I was letting everyone else down.

Cian was snoring when I popped my head into the bedroom to check on him. He hadn’t been sick again, but it was best to let him sleep in until all the booze was out of his system.

I raided his fridge. Found stuff to make chicken and waffles for breakfast. I was nowhere near as good a cook as Ci, but I could keep myself alive if I had to. I plated one up for me, and one for Ci, which I left inside the oven to stay warm.

“Hey,” he said, only moments later, sauntering into the open-plan kitchen diner. His hair was rumpled, his PJ pantssnagged up around one knee. He took in my shirt and dress trousers, and a frown crossed his features.

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