Page 104 of A Little Broken

Her head does the tiniest of bobs, but it’s enough. Enough to give me hope that she’s hearing me. That she agrees. That maybe, just maybe, she can learn a thing or two from the count’s mistakes.

“Where’s Rory?” she whispers.

“I dunno. I think she went home.”

Her head bobs softly. “I was a bitch. I mean, I’m always a bitch, but I was an even bigger bitch than usual, and…”

“She’ll be okay, Tate.”

Tatum licks her lips. “What if she leaves me?”

“Rory’s not gonna leave you.”

The sheen in her eyes makes them brighter, somehow, and the sight cuts straight through my chest. “And what about you?” she whispers. “You gonna leave, too?”

Her words are lazy, but just as slurred, though I have a feeling it has more to do with exhaustion than the alcohol left in her system. I hesitate, taking in our reflection as silence envelops the bathroom. She looks…so much younger like this. Her makeup is stripped from her. Her guard is down. It gives me a glimpse of the Tatum she keeps locked away. She looks more vulnerable, too. And broken. So fucking broken. I want to giveher the world. Want to tell her she has nothing to be scared of. Nothing to fear.

You gonna leave me, too?

Her quiet snores reverberate through my chest as she falls asleep against me, and I drop a kiss to the crown of her head. “Not a chance, Tatum.”

31

TATUM

My eyes feel like they’re glued shut, but I pry them open anyway. Well, for about a millisecond. Grimacing, I toss my forearm over my face and let out a groan.

Noooo. My head is killing me. I can feel it pulsating behind my eye sockets and between my brows. Smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, my nose wrinkles. Yup. My breath tastes like ass and my mouth feels like it spent last night traipsing around the Sahara Desert. I roll onto my side and open my eyes again, this time squinting in hopes of blocking out the morning light filtering in through the window.

Okay,morningmight be a bit of a stretch. It appears the sun is high in the sky, refusing to wait for anyone, including a very hung-over Tatum Taylor, AKA me. Or at least, I think I’m hung over. That, or I got hit by a truck and don’t remember. Actually, I don’t really remember much at all.

Where am I?

White walls. A four-poster bed. Silk sheets. A guitar in its stand. Wait. Am I at…Paxton’s? Shit, why am I at Paxton’s? And not justatPaxton’s, but in his room. In his bed. Blindly, I reach for my boobs, confirming I’m not naked, and let out a, “Thank you, Jesus,” under my breath. I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’tbreak my rule. That’s something, isn’t it? I sit up slowly in an attempt to keep the walls from spinning—it doesn’t work—and press my palm to my temple. The party. What happened at the party? It’s all a blur. A really foggy, blur.

Perfect.

Stairs creak outside the bedroom, and I tug the sheets tighter around me, my head still throbbing. When Pax appears in the doorway, my spine straightens, but I don’t say a word.

Balancing a tray of…something, he enters the room. “Drink this.” He offers me a glass of water. “And take these,” he adds. In his hand are two white pills.

I quirk my brow at him.

“Aspirin,” he clarifies. “For the headache.”

“Oh.”

He sets the tray on the nightstand. “I also brought some toast, crackers, and a Gatorade, if you’re up to it. But first,”—he drops the pills in my palm—“aspirin.”

Grateful, I pop them into my mouth and reach for the glass of water. I’m so parched, my tongue still feels like sandpaper, so I take a big gulp, hoping to erase the feeling.

“Don’t chug it,” Pax orders. “Pretty sure you puked up a lung last night. No need to do it again.”

I lower the glass and lick the moisture from my lips as I study the man in front of me. He looks good. Freshly showered in a T-shirt and jeans. His blond hair is still damp and pushed away from his face, giving me the perfect view of his toasty, espresso gaze. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask.

Reaching up, he dabs at the corner of my mouth with his thumb before dropping his hand back to his side. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re mean enough to yourself for the both of us.”

The cold, dead organ in my chest heats a couple degrees thanks to the warmth in his gaze before it sparks a memory from last night. I’m on my knees in front of the toilet. Pax is holdingmy hair back. I was so pissed. I… My shoulders fall, the night flashing in incoherent and undecipherable pieces, leaving me even more lost.

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