Page 131 of Headstrong Like Us

“I don’t know,” he says this time. The gut-punch is swift.

I squeeze his hand. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

He nods in agreement.

“Hold on, one second.” Reluctantly, I drop his hand to move to Thatcher. “Can you guard the bathroom door? I don’t want anyone coming in.”

“We’re right behind you.”

He follows with Jane, and I lead Maximoff.He’s letting me lead him.I’m not sure he notices that he’s a couple steps behind me. He’s deep in his head.

We reach the men’s bathroom.

A couple minutes pass while we wait for the two guys pissing in the urinal to vacate. Once they’re gone, it’s quiet, door shut, and I’m marginally relaxed knowing Thatcher is outside the doors.

Maximoff splashes some water on his face. “I can’t believe Kinney is here—shit, Kinney. I should be watching her.” He swivels back about to charge out the door.

I put a hand on his chest. “Easy, wolf scout. Your little sister has all of Omega watching her tonight. She’s fine.”You’re not.

He swallows hard and skates a hand through his damp hair. “Farrow…I feel really weird tonight.”

“Maximoff,” I whisper. Our eyes lock in an intense beat, and I watch paranoia twist his face. I can tell he’s running through the night in his head. He has to be thinking about the drink.

And then he says, “You—you took a sip. So you would know.”

This might be one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. “Yeah.” Breath is imprisoned inside my lungs.Say it. Fucking say it.“Maximoff, there was vodka in your drink.”

He blinks rapidly.

“You’re okay,” I assert.

He turns around and bolts to the nearest stall. Kneecaps skidding to the floor. I follow quickly, bending down behind him. He sticks two fingers in his mouth.Maximoff.

I rub his back in circular motions, and the contents of tonight fill the toilet.

“You’re okay,” I whisper.

His body heaves.

I wish I’d been here earlier.

I’m here now.

Several more minutes pass, he’s white-knuckling the toilet, and he starts puking up bile.

“Relax, there’s nothing left to vomit.” I squeeze his shoulder. “You’re okay. Just back up.” I reach over and flush the toilet.

He falls back on his ass and slumps against my body and the stall. I have a protective arm around his shoulders, and I touch the back of his skull in affection. “You’re okay.”

His knees are bent, palms rubbing over them. Horror-stricken eyes meet mine. “Am I drunk?”

“I don’t think so.” I scan him quickly. “How many glasses did you have?”

“Five.” His reddening eyes fix on the ceiling. “Some temp bodyguards were tasting them for me.”

I’m fucking pissed at these green dipshits. “Not all five cups were spiked. At least one was nonalcoholic.”The one I tasted.

He cringes. “I should’ve been drinking water. I always drink water at bars.” He groans. “But of course, I just wanted tonight to be fucking special and different.” Both hands rise to his head and he threads his fingers through his hair in distress.