Page 17 of The Rowdy Ones

“I have to go,” I whisper. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

I’ve barely ended the call when I sense another person’s presence. Then a hand covers my mouth. I want to scream, but I’m frozen in fear.

“Shh,” a familiar voice growls. “It’s me. Wild.”

Relief floods through me and I blink away the tears on my lashes. I’m not sure my heart will ever stop hammering in my chest.

He removes his hand from my mouth. “Sorry. I just didn’t want to wake up Mom and Dad coming through the front door.”

The crazy man climbed through my window?

“What are you doing here?” I demand in a low tone. “You scared me half to death.”

Now that the fear has dissipated, my other senses catch up. What’s that smell?

“Have you been drinking?”

“Little bit,” he grunts.

“You reek.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s Rowdy,” he says, voice slightly slurring. “He’s sick.”

Sick?

The anger I’d felt earlier toward him is long gone, thanks to Weston. Concern washes over me as I sit up.

“Sick how?” I ask. “Is he drunk too?”

He pushes what feels like my coat into my hands. “We ran into Evan.”

My stomach hollows out. Evan hurt him. And now, because of me, he ran into the one person he most likely never wanted to see again. “Oh no.”

“Put your coat on. I think he needs you. I’m too drunk to figure out what he needs right now.”

I stifle a yelp when Wild grabs my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. He dresses me like I’m a toddler, quickly and without room for argument. If we’re going outside, I need to throw on some pants, but before I can mention it, he’s cramming my feet into my boots.

“Wild—”

He scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder like he’s a villain and I’m his prize. If it didn’t alert the whole family, I’d scream at him to put me down. I hold on to my phone for dear life so I don’t lose it as he climbs through the window with me in his grip. As soon as we’re outside, snowflakes touch my bare legs.

I’m irritated he won’t just let me walk to the RV, but there’s no sense in arguing with a drunk person.

Thankfully, the man plays football and is built for speed. Drunk or not, he flies across the yard, so I’m not exposed to the elements for long. Once inside the RV, where it’s toasty and warm, he sets me back to my feet. Then, again, like I’m a child, he strips me of my coat and boots.

“He’s in his room,” Wild says, physically turning me and shoving me gently in the direction he wants me to go in. “I got him a bowl in case he pukes again.”

With my hands reaching for surfaces or walls to guide me, I gingerly make my way to the bedroom. A thin door is closed, but it easily opens for me. Almost as soon as I enter the space, my legs hit what feels like the bed. I close the door behind me, then crawl onto the bed to find my brother.

I find the bowl first, which is thankfully empty, and set it aside. Then I feel around until my hand touches smooth fabric stretched over hard muscle. Found him.

“Hey,” I murmur, scooting closer to him, and lie down on my side to face him. “Heard you were sick. How are you feeling?”

He grunts and it doesn’t sound good.