Page 99 of 1 Last Shot

I see Isabella frown out of the corner of my eye. "Take care of it how? Like pay her the money?"

I shake my head. "No, I mean I'll take you out of the firing line. I'll make sure she doesn't call your school." I hesitate, but force myself to add, "I'll stop coming around after class, too."

That seems to startle her. "I don't want you to stop. Ilikewhen you pick me up after class."

Her reaction is so instant, so raw, that I can't help believing her, even though I don't want to. But I don’t take it back.

Which only makes her more determined.

"I'm not ashamed of you, Kane. And I'm not worried about your mom trying to mess up my dance reputation. No one's going to listen to a random stranger over the owners of the fuckingNew York City Ballet."

I almost want to laugh at her hostility. Almost.

She sobers, and says, "I'm more worried aboutyou. Can she really get you fired?"

"She's done it before," I answer in a flat voice.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her frown at her mojito. "There has to be something we can do. Something preventative."

God, I want to kiss her right now. Not just because she used the word 'we' without even realizing it, but because she cares more about my mom's threat againstmethan the one againsther.

And yet, I can't bring myself to give in to the urge. Because the wall I built up so desperately at the apartment, the wall that's keeping the pain and the hate from rushing back in, is also protecting me from any kind of hope.

And Isabella is the definition of hope.

"Beyond giving my boss a heads up that she might call, I can't do much," I tell her stiffly. "And despite being a good bouncer, I'm not exactly in close enough with the owner to dispute the threat of getting the club taken down for illegal activity."

"So, then what does that mean?" she blurts. "You're going to pay her?"

I let out a sigh. "No. I don't have that kind of money to spare. I have no idea why she thinks I do, unless she really does think I would ask you for it. But it doesn't matter. I'll figure it out."

She hesitates, working up the nerve to push again. "But how—"

"I said I'd take care of it, Isabella," I snap. "Let it go."

I see her swallow nervously. She nods, then goes back to swirling her mojito.

I slam back the second vodka, feeling the liquor burn its way down my throat and settle deep into my bones. It's a comforting feeling—it complements the emotional numbness well. It shoves the bad feelings further into the recesses of my mind, and it lets the feel-good chemical seep deeper into my body with every drop that rolls over my tongue. I start to relax even before I wave for a third drink.

"Do you want something to eat?" I hear myself asking Isabella, still aware of her presence next to me even though I can sense the vodka start to take over my consciousness. I know it's happening because I don't register her hesitation, even though I know her well enough to know she has no idea what to do with this new side of me.

"No, I'm okay," she says in a quiet, hesitant voice. And then there really is a pause before she asks, "Are you… I mean… is drinking that much a good idea?"

"I already have a mom, Isabella,” I snap. “And clearly, she's more than I can handle. I don't need another one."

She's quiet after that. I half expect her to make some excuse to leave, since what normal person would want to be around me when I'm like this, but she doesn't. She simply sits quietly next to me as I sink further and further into my alcohol-addled insanity.

I don't know how much later it happens, I just know I'm drunk enough that things have started to blur in front of my eyes by the time it does. It even takes a second to register what I just heard.

"Hey there, beautiful. You look like you could use some better company. Mind if I take a seat?"

My head turns on a slow-motion swivel to take in the guy standing on the other side of Isabella. He's tall, but not exactly big, and he looks like a normal guy out prowling at the bars. Or at least, that's what my brain that's swimming in vodka is telling me.

"Um, no, that's okay," I hear Isabella say. "I'm with my b—my friend right now."

"Your friend that's ignoring you?" he asks with a small laugh. "Come on, I just want to talk."

And then he gets bold enough to physically crowd her. Stepping into her space, he gets close enough to place a hand on Isabella’s waist to ensure that he’s the only thing she can focus on.

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