Page 10 of A Reckless Memory

“Uh-huh. You hit the Fireball like you were sixteen and at a bonfire.” His muffled snicker hurt my head. “If you throw up, you’re cleaning it.”

I dimly recalled him telling me the same thing as he’d loaded me into the back of his deputy SUV. I’d told him it already smelled like puke in the back seat.

I took a long pull off the bottle of water he’d left me, but my stomach heaved. I glanced down at myself. I was still in my sweater that had soaked up the toaster-oven pizza and alcohol smell from the bar. Somehow, I’d gotten my bra off. I retained half of my ladylike demeanor. Meg would’ve been both proud and aghast.

I straightened my clothing and tried to keep the water down. “How’s Sutton?”

His snort was clear through the door. “Hurting. The uncontrollable laughter from last night isn’t to be heard this morning.” He paused. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” Hungover as hell.

“All right, then. I’m going. Eliot and I are going to stop in and check on Cody this afternoon.”

“I’ll swing by and see him before I leave town.” He’d claim he was doing well and act mildly annoyed at our concern, but that was Cody. “Thank you, Wilder.” I shouldn’t have needed him to bail me out, and he probably wasn’t surprised I’d been acting like I was sixteen. Last night had gotten out of hand.

“You can pay me back by driving Sutton to the bar to get her car when the alcohol’s out of both of your systems. Don’t make me pull you over. Because I will.”

And he’d let me go after a lecture. Different brother, same outcome.

I nodded even though he couldn’t see, and it made my temples pound. “Will do.”

When he was gone, I forced myself to stay sitting up. I had to check on Sutton and apologize for hitting the bottle too hard last night. No one should get dragged into the depths of my man troubles, especially not a happily married woman.

I thought back to her random comments throughout the night. How happily married was she? Happy enough that Wilder was ready to rescue us. The bartender had called Wilder for us and told him to pick up Birdie and her friend because Sutton kept accidentally hanging up on him.

Uncontrollable laughter. What had we gotten up to?

Dawning realization brought horror with it. Sutton’s big idea. The way I’d gleefully latched on to it. How I’d justified it.

Even worse—the shameful humiliation that was going to follow after Ansen read the application two drunken women sent to him around midnight on a Saturday.

I grabbed my phone, ignored how shitty I felt, and scrolled through my email. Breathing out my relief, I squeezed my eyes shut. He didn’t reply. Perhaps we didn’t send it. But it was also a weekend.

My eyelids flew open.

Shit. We used a new email.

Sutton was quite devious while loaded with Fireball. How about we use a different name and make the email all official? Ooh, name your rescue, and you’ll just go by Christie, Rescue Manager.

Christie. My middle name.

My stomach twisted until the little water I did drink threatened to come back up with the last two shots from last night. I found the new email account, still logged on, with a notification for a new message. Why did we have to be so technologically proficient when it came to this?

I went to the inbox.

I gasped so loud it echoed off the walls. I threw the blankets off my lap and raced out of the room and down the hall to my brother’s bedroom, heedless of how I felt moments ago.

Flying through Sutton’s bedroom door, I waved my phone like it was a spotlight and I was looking for a lost and wandering sister-in-law. “Oh my dear god, Sutton. He replied.”

Only her wheat-colored hair was visible from under the navy-blue blankets. Her groan mimicked mine from when Wilder woke me up. She squinted out from under the covers. “Who replied, and why is it an emergency?”

“Ansen.”

Confusion clouded her eyes, and I got to watch how I must’ve looked as the fog over the memories of last night cleared away. Her gray eyes widened, and she sat up. She put her hand to her head, but her gaze was on the phone. “What’d he say?”

“I don’t know.” I held the phone out like I wanted her to take it, but I was clutching it too tightly. A team of draft horses couldn’t drag it out of my grip.

“Well...look.” Sutton frowned at her nightshirt like she didn’t recall putting it on before she went to bed. Water sat on her nightstand, along with a small bottle of orange juice and a mini muffin.

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