Eleven

Logan
THE BAR IS CROWDED, full of youngsters determined to have a good time. There’s some indie crap thumping over the sound system and the dance floor is crowded with heaving bodies.
It makes me feel old.
She’s here somewhere.
Jade has followed me in through the front door. “Do you see her?” he shouts over the noise. Scanning the room, I spot her friend. She’s with a group of friends, all of them men, sitting in a booth. There’s no sign of Arya, but the table is littered with shot glasses and tumblers of beer.
“Penelope,” I say by way of greeting, and she interrupts me before I can ask her Arya’s whereabouts.
“Logan,” she shouts above the noise. The three guys at the table regard Jade and me with hostile wariness.
“Where is Arya?”
“Oh, she woke up and went outside for some fresh air. And who’s this?” She smiles rather too brightly at jade, interrupting me again. What an exasperating woman. She is definitely drunk beyond her senses.
“This is my driver, Jade. Where’s Arya?”
Her smile broadens at Jade, and I’m surprised by his answering grin. I wonder why I even bothered to do the introductions.
“Outside? Where?” I shout.
“Oh. That way.” She points to double doors at the far end of the bar.
Pushing through the throng, I make my way to the door, leaving the three disgruntled men and Penelope and Jade engaged in a grin-off.
Through the double doors there is a line for the ladies’ washroom, and beyond that a door that’s open to the outside. It’s at the back of the bar. Ironically, it leads to the parking lot where Jade and I have just been.
Walking outside, I find myself in a gathering space adjacent to the parking lot-a hangout flanked by raised flowerbeds, where a few people are smoking, drinking, chatting. Making out. I spot her.
Hell! She’s with a whoreson, I think, though it’s difficult to tell who it is in the dim light. She’s in his arms, but she seems to be twisting away from him. He mutters something to her, which I don’t hear, and kisses her, along her jaw.
“No,” she says, and then it’s clear. She’s trying to push him off.
She doesn’t want this.
For a moment I want to rip his head off. With my hands fisted at my side I march up to them. “I think the lady said no.” My voice carries, cold and sinister, in the relative quiet, while I struggle to contain my anger.
He releases Arya and she squints at me with a dazed, drunken expression.
“Logan,” she says, her voice terse, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to smash the disappointment off his face.
Arya heaves, then buckles over and vomits on the ground.
Oh, shit!
“Ugh, excuse me, miss!” the whoreson leaps out of the way in disgust.
Fucking idiot.
Ignoring him, I grab her hair and hold it out of the way as she continues to throw up everything she’s had this evening. It’s with some annoyance that I note she doesn’t appear to have eaten. With my arm around her shoulders I lead her away from the curious onlookers toward one of the flowerbeds. “If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” It’s darker here. She can puke in peace. She vomits again and again, her hands on the brick. It’s pitiful. Once her stomach is empty, she continues to retch, long dry heaves.
Boy, she’s got it bad.
Finally her body relaxes and I think she’s finished. Releasing her, I give her my handkerchief, which by some miracle I have in the inside pocket of my jacket.
Wiping her mouth, she turns and rests against the bricks, avoiding eye contact because she’s ashamed and embarrassed. And yet I’m so pleased to see her. Gone is my fury at the moron. I’m delighted to be standing in the parking lot of a bar with my mate.
She puts her head in her hands, cringes, then peeks up at me, still mortified. Turning to the door, she glares over my shoulder. I assume it’s at him. I turn to look but he seems to have disappeared. Coward!
“Why are you here?” she sounds sick.
“Your friend called me.”
“She what? I shouldn’t have left her with my bag,” she says mostly to herself.
“She told me you had blacked out and I couldn’t stop wondering if you were not actually dead.”
She looks at me, mortified.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally, while her fingers twist the soft linen.
Okay, let’s have some fun.
“What are you sorry for, Arya?”
“The phone call, mainly. Being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” she mumbles.
“We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you.”
Arya frowns for a moment, as if angry, that little v forming between her brows, and I suppress the urge to kiss it. But when she speaks she sounds contrite.
She looks up at me, her eyes unfocused, and she sways a little. She might pass out, so without giving it a thought I scoop her up into my arms.
She’s surprisingly light. Too light. The thought irks me. No wonder she’s drunk.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“I need to tell Penny,” she says, as her head rests on my shoulder.
“I need to tell Kate,” she says.
“We can tell her later,” I say.
“No, now. She will worry.” I don’t need to be told about how much she can insist.
As much as it pains me, I put her down and agree to take her inside. Holding hands, we walk back into the bar, stopping at Penelope’s table. One of the young men is still sitting there, looking annoyed and abandoned.
“Where’s Penny?” Arya shouts above the noise.
“Dancing,” the guy says, his dark eyes staring at the dance floor. Arya collects her jacket and purse and, reaching out, she unexpectedly clutches my arm.
I freeze.
Oh.
“She’s on the dance floor,” she shouts, her words tickling my ear, distracting me.
What?
I roll my eyes to hide my confusion and take her to the bar, order a large glass of water, and pass it to her.
“Drink.”
Eyeing me over the glass, she takes a tentative sip.
“All of it,” I command. I’m hoping this will be enough damage control to avoid one hell of a hangover tomorrow.
What might have happened to her if I hadn’t intervened? My mood sinks.
Arya sways a little as she’s drinking, so I steady her with a hand on her shoulder. I like the connection-me touching her. She’s oil on my troubled, deep, dark waters.
Hmm…flowery.
She finishes her drink, and retrieving the glass, I place it on the bar.
Okay. She wants to talk to her so-called friend. I survey the crowded dance floor, uneasy at the thought of all those bodies pressing in on me as we fight our way through.
“Steeling myself, I grab her hand and lead her toward the dance floor. With a tug, she’s in my arms. Finally, we spot Penny in a bald guys arms. She looks so out of this world. Arya approaches her and they exchange a few words. Her friend grins through the entire conversation and Arya looks worried for her friend.
When we’re off the dance floor she looks back at Kate, then at me, swaying and a little dazed. She breaks off and starts to stagger.
“Fuck-” By some miracle I catch her as she passes out in the middle of the bar. I’m tempted to haul her over my shoulder, but we’d be too conspicuous, so I pick her up once more, cradling her against my chest, and take her outside to the car.
Jade is outside waiting. This is what I meant by agile. He didn’t get carried away. He opens the door to the back of I place her on the seat. I close the door and enter from the other side. Inside, I pull her into my arms and cradle her.
“Arya.” I give her a little shake, because she’s worryingly quiet. “Arya!”
She mumbles something incoherent and I know she’s still conscious. I know I shouldn’t take her home but that’s exactly what I do.
She sleeps in my arms as I head up to my room. I need to get her out of her jeans and her shoes. The stale stench of vomit pervades the space. I’d really like to give her a bath, but that would be stepping beyond the bounds as of now.
And this isn’t?
In my room, I drop her purse on the sofa, and lay her down on the bed. She mumbles once more but doesn’t wake.
Briskly I remove her shoes and socks and put them in the plastic laundry basket in the corner of the room. Then I unzip her jeans and pull them off, check the pockets before stuffing the jeans in the laundry basket. She falls back on the bed, splayed out like a starfish, all pale arms and legs, and for a moment I picture those legs wrapped around my waist as her arms around my neck.
I sit her up and she opens her eyes.
“Hello, pretty face,” I whisper, as I remove her jacket slowly and without her cooperation.
“Logan,” she mutters.
“Yes, sweetheart.” I ease her down onto the bed. She closes her eyes again and rolls onto her side, but this time huddles into a ball, looking small and vulnerable. I pull the covers over her and plant a kiss in her hair. Now that her filthy clothes have gone, a trace of her scent has reappeared. Apples, fall, fresh, delicious…Arya. Her lips are parted, eyelashes fanning out over pale cheeks, and her skin looks flawless. One more touch is all I allow myself as I stroke her cheek with the back of my index finger.
“Sleep well,” I murmur, and then head into the living room to complete the laundry list. When it’s done, I place the offending basket outside my room so the contents will be collected and laundered.