Page 19 of Crazy Love
“I get it.” There’s zero point in tearing a strip off Knox. He’s not going to recall a damn word of it come tomorrow a.m. Right now, I’m better off lending my energy to getting him moved to somewhere he’s not going to cause us trouble.
Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes.
“Let’s get you to our room.”
“OK,” he agrees.
Yeah, as to how the fuck I’m achieving this miracle of locomotion is another matter. I start by grabbing his feet and sliding them towards his butt, so that his knees are bent. Then I grab hold of his hands.
“Up,” I command, but no joy. I go in closer, lifting under his stinky pits this time, but there’s still no obvious upward motion. The man’s like a ton weight jellyfish, no rigidity to him anywhere. “Give me a bit of a hand here, Knox, please.” It takes me everything I’ve got to get him something approximating vertical. And he only stays that way because I’m knee to shoulder with him, and his back is flat against the wall.
“I love this wallpaper,” he says.
Really? I can’t believe he’s admiring the damn flock fleur-de-lys nonsense, but then I don’t really believe the heaving noises he springs on me either as he splatters the contents of his stomach right over my shoulder and down my back.
“Christ, Teddy!”
“Sorry,” he gargles, before spewing up another gallon of carroty goodness.
For a moment, my concentration lapses as I screw up my face as the stench of alcohol, curdled cream and stomach acid burns the inside of my nostrils. Knox drops immediately with nothing to support him. His legs fold beneath his body, and his head hits the skirting board with an almighty thud. If nothing else proves exactly how far gone he is, that bump does it. He doesn’t even moan. Doesn’t whimper. I have to double check to make sure he’s still alive, but he’s definitely breathing. The tears that well in the corners of his eyes, crack open my heart for the umpteenth time this evening, but at least they’re an indicator that on some level he registered the pain, and not all his neural pathways are fucked. What it doesn’t do, is help with getting him upstairs and out of sight before he’s seen or smelled. That vomit is seriously putrid. I mean, vomit’s never good, but this…This is enough to make even a mother’s eyes water.
With that in mind, I strip off my shirt, and use the clean bits of it to wipe Knox’s face. Never mind that it’s my original Stone Roses Waterfall shirt. It obviously doesn’t work as a lucky charm, given how tonight’s going down. And Loveday already used the front of it to dry her hands.
“Something up, Nate?” Knox asks, giving me a lethargic side-eye.
You have got to be kidding me.
“You, Teddy are what’s up. You. You’re a headache I really don’t need. I don’t. The band doesn’t. You’ve got to stop this, or you’re going to prove Joel right. Believe me, you don’t want to do that.”
“We’ll go upstairs. I’ll go to bed,” he says like he’s some sort of Confucius clone. Getting him to either of those places would certainly be wise right now, but I’ve given that a shot already and I know he’s not going anywhere if I’m doing this alone.
I try Joel first, but the bugger doesn’t answer his phone. I guess he’s still pissed at me for not listening to him earlier. I shoot off a text to him instead, begging him for assistance. After that, I try Dane, but his number goes straight to voicemail.
So sorry, I’m screwing right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you if I haven’t already screwed you before.
Useless goddamned brother.
And I don’t get a reply from Joel either, which might mean he’s turned his phone off, or that he’s officially washing his hands of Knox, which rather leaves me stuck.
I have no choice. I do the unthinkable, and call the only other person on hand whose number I have.
-9-
Loveday Trevaskis
“It’s the zombie apocalypse. Do you have my back?”
I’m stripped down to my undies, getting ready to dive into my side of the bed I’m sharing with Jessie—Ivy claimed the single—when my phone rings and I answer to find Nathaniel Darke murmuring in my ear. My whole body goes rigid. I never expected him to call, especially not tonight…this morning…whichever it is. “Hold on.” I make an immediate detour towards the bathroom, my mouth going dry, and my skin tingling like I’ve just been zapped with an electric charge.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Can’t we have the lights out yet?” Jessie hollers. “And don’t turn the bathroom one on, it buzzes like crazy and is wired to the extractor fan.”
I snatch up a complimentary bathrobe, hammer my fist against the light switch, then slam headlong into the external corridor instead.
“Darke,” I breathe into the phone, my voice an excited whisper. “Where are you?”
“Doing reconnaissance. I’m in stairwell B, with a wounded comrade, so far we’ve managed to avoid being seen, but it’s desperate and there’s no shotgun in sight.”
I move along the corridor in the direction of the emergency exit plan I noticed earlier. That ought to tell me where stairwell B is.
