Page 43 of Play Pretend

Trinity’s head whipped toward the stage, and Brynne cackled when she turned back to scowl at us. “I donotlike him,” Trinity repeated. “He’s my arch nemesis.”

“Your hot arch nemesis,” Brynne teased. “Come on, you know you’d ride that horse home.”

“Horse?” I laughed, and she grinned.

“A guy that big? You know he’s hung like a damn horse.”

I couldn’t help the belly laugh that erupted from my throat. Ronan’s attention turned my way, and when our eyes met, his face softened a fraction, but it immediately hardened when Dean said something to him. He looked back at the other man, the veins in his neck straining as he hissed something back.

If he ever talked to me that intensely, I’d wither into nothing. But Dean didn’t seem deterred. If anything, he just got more annoyed.

Finally, the group of men broke up, and Ronan headed back toward our table as Dean went back to his.

“Tell your sister to stop antagonizing Blackrock Bay,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Maybe Blackrock Bay should start winning. Then I won’t have to antagonize you,” she shot back. “Get good, Teenie Weenie!”

He opened his mouth, but another man clapped him on the shoulder, jerking him into his seat. Ronan stood for another moment, glaring at Dean before he sat beside me, his warmth immediately enveloping me once more.

“We’re taking a small break.” Tommy sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Be back in ten minutes for round two.”

“Bathroom time!” Brynne said, jumping to her feet. Trinity shot up, but they both stared at me like they were waiting for something.

“I think you’re supposed to go with them,” Ronan said.

“Oh,” I breathed. “Right.”

I slid from my wobbly barstool, the alcohol hitting me all at once. My foot tangled in the bottom rung, and the world around me blurred as I soared through the air. Hard ground stopped my fall, and humiliation filled every inch of me as all eyes turned my way.

ronan

One moment, Willow was on the barstool beside me, and the next, she was on the dirty floor. I leapt to my feet, my arms outstretched. It was too damn dark to see if she was seriously injured, but she wouldn’t look at me, at anyone, and that made me uneasy.

She’s hurt.

She’s hurt.

She’s hurt.

The thought planted like an unwanted seed in my mind, repeating over and over until it was the only thing I could focus on.

“Willow.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn’t control myself. Fear had already wrapped its icy fingers around my throat and squeezed.

How badly was she hurt? Had she cracked her tailbone or hurt her spine? The thoughts whirled in my head like a tornado, spiraling around and around, each one worse than the last.

And the only thing I could focus on was that she was hurt. Not that she was on the floor, or that she might be embarrassed.

She washurt.

My vision blurred, past and present blending together. For a moment—a fleeting moment that came and went so quickly, I wasn’t sure it even happened—I was back in Trinity’s room five years ago. Her blood was on my hands—she was hurt.

My heart crawled up my throat, pulse beating rapidly as I glanced toward my sister. But she was fine—of course she was. It was Willow that was hurt. We were at The Taphouse, not in Trinity’s room.

There was no blood.

No death lingering in the air.

Nothing but neon lights and music blasting from the speakers.

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