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Maybe she would’ve been fine to rally, but I wasn’t about to let her sit back down with that idiot kid. I realize they were just having a good time. It was innocent enough, and if it was any other girl aside from Gabby, I wouldn’t have cared much at all.

But it wasn’t.

It was my girl he was touching. Nobody touches my girl.

Except…she’s not mine. Because of me and my decisions.

That doesn’t mean I want her any less than I’ve always wanted her.

A stab of guilt plows into me. Did I just make her leave a good time with her friends to get her away from the douchecanoe?

I keep telling myself I did it because she barfed in the bathroom of a bar. Nobody wants to get sick on a night out with friends, and once the vomit comes, that’s always a sure signal the night’s over.

“You’re an asshole,” Gabby says as I navigate toward home. Her eyes are closed and she’s leaning her head on the cool glass of the front passenger window. She didn’t exactly fight me when I put her in the front seat of my truck. I grabbed an old blanket I keep in the back in case she has to puke again. It’s better than puking all over my leather seats, I guess.

“That’s fine,” I mutter. She can beat me up all she wants. It’s not worse than what I’m doing to myself.

“I hate you. I hate that your truck smells just like you.” She’s grumbling, and she’s nearly passed out.

“I love you,” I whisper when I know she won’t hear me.

My chest aches with regret.

It’s a short drive, and she’s out by the time I pull into Troy’s circular drive. I walk over to the passenger side and open the door slowly since she’s passed out against it. I lean in and unbuckle her seatbelt, and then I heave her into my arms and carry her into the house.

Troy is in the living room, the first room off the entry, when he sees me carrying his daughter through the house.

“What the fuck?” he demands when he spots us. He jumps to his feet and tosses the tablet he was working on to the side.

“She was out with the intern kid in the Spongebob shirt and some other kids,” I explain. “I ran into her at the bar. She drank too much, so I brought her home.”

“Jesus, Coop. Thanks for looking out for her. Is she okay?”

I nod and don’t say anything, and then I carry her up the stairs to her room. I lay her on the bed, and Troy is right behind me. I want to stay with her, to pull off her shoes, to watch her sleep, to make sure she’s okay, but her father’s here now.

It’s not my job anymore.

“You’re a good man,” Troy says as he starts pulling her shoes off. “The best. Thanks for what you did tonight. I won’t forget it.”

“It was nothing,” I say softly, gazing down at the girl I somehow have come to love more than anything in the world. My heart squeezes. Can this really be it for us? “Just saw a girl in trouble and handled it.” The words feel thick around the lump in my throat.

“Are you in for the night?” he asks.

I nod.

“I was just getting ready to leave for the club. I have some work to take care of there, and then I was planning to head to Joanie’s afterward. Can you keep an eye on her, make sure she’s doing okay?” he asks. “I wasn’t planning to be home until after noon tomorrow, but I can change my plans if it’s asking too much of you.”

“Of course,” I say. “I’ll be around. Don’t change your plans.”

“Text me if you need anything. I’ll have my phone on me.” I nod, and he reaches over to squeeze my shoulder. He presses his lips together. “They sure don’t make them like you anymore.”

“Thanks, Troy. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

He nods and leaves. I head to my room, take a quick shower, throw on some basketball shorts, and check in on her. She’s in the exact same position we left her in.

I head downstairs and find some water and ibuprofen for both of us. The house is quiet, so Troy must be gone. I climb back up the stairs and set the pills and water on Gabby’s nightstand, and I stare down at her as she sleeps peacefully. She’s going to be hurting in the morning.

I shift her a little so she’s resting more comfortably on her pillow, and then I glance around her bedroom.

There’s a textbook open on her desk. I walk over and glance at what it is. Something about consumer behavior that looks boring as fuck.

I spot a t-shirt and pair of short shorts I’ve seen her sleep in, and I’m sure they’d be more comfortable than the jeans and tight shirt she’s currently wearing, but I feel like I lost the right to undress her when I told her we couldn’t be together.

I finally settle onto the chair at her desk and turn it so I can prop my feet up on her bed. I pull my phone out and start doing a little research on the Vegas Heat.

I learn who’s already publicly signed with the team. Aside from myself and Danny, I spot former White Sox pitcher Rush Ross along with former Braves right fielder Duke Owens. Troy’s building a team of superstars, and I’m not mad about it.

Her phone starts ringing—loudly, and it interrupts my research. I spot the brick outline in her jeans pocket. I slip out her phone and glance at the screen as I click the side button to silence the call.

Justin Larson .

I’m pretty sure that’s the Spongebob jackass.

I think about answering, but it’s not my right to. I shouldn’t even have looked at the screen, but the fact that they exchanged numbers already and he’s calling her when she disappeared from the bar speaks volumes.

I decline the call and click the volume off so the loud ringing doesn’t wake her should she get another call, and then I pace around her room a bit as I try to figure out what to do. She’s fine. She could sleep in here alone. I should go back to my own room.

But I promised Troy I’d look after her.

She’s already tossed up most of the alcohol, so now it’s just about sleeping it off and curing an epic hangover in the morning.

And maybe when morning comes, we can have that talk we need to have…if she’s up to it.