Page 72 of Echoes in the Storm
I shrug. Sitting isn’t a bad idea; my feet hurt. “Okay.”
I look around for Susie and Bevan as he steers me toward an empty table tucked around the side of the bar, but whether it’s my blurred vision, or the dim lights in here, I don’t know—I can’t see them.
My arse hits the seat, and by the time the rugby guy comes back with an iced water, I’m almost asleep with my head on the table.
“Thanks,” I murmur, reaching for the glass and managing to avoid spilling it in the nick of time.
“Cammie, right?”
“How do you know?” I point what I hope is an angry finger his way, my head still on the table, but given his smile I’d say I don’t quite pull it off.
“You went to school with my big sister.”
Of course I did.Wait. Did he say big sister?
“How old are you?” I ask sceptically.
“Twenty-five. Why?”
Pfft. Baby.“No reason.”
I manage to get the glass to my lips and sip the tasteless water. Ugh.
“What brings you out tonight?” Rugby Boy asks. “You’re not usually here on a Saturday.”
“Usually too busy,” I answer.Sitting at home, wallowing in my misery.
Fuck drunk tears. I swipe at my face, trying to stop the flow.
“You okay?” he asks. “Should we step outside and find you somewhere quiet, more private?”
Because somewhere quieter where the echo of Duke’s words will fill my head like angry thunder isexactlywhat I need. “No. I’m fine.” I use my sleeve to wipe the last of the tears away. “Do I look okay?” I ask hopefully, aware I probably resemble a road kill racoon about now.
He smirks, handing me a paper napkin. “You might want to go to the ladies to use the mirror.”
“Right.” God, I’m such a mess.
I push to my feet using the table as ballast, and head in the general direction of the toilets. I only need to correct my wayward path a couple of times, which, given how many vodkas I’ve consumed tonight, is quite the achievement.
I push through the swing door to find exactly where Susie and Bevan went.
“You realise I can see your reflection in the mirror,” I announce. “You really should check you shut the stall door properly.”
“Oh my God,” Susie exclaims slamming the door shut.
Frantic whispers ensue before she appears, looking rather sheepish, Bevan in tow. “Sorry, Cam.”
“It’s okay.” I wave my hand dismissively at them … and then promptly vomit into a hand basin.
“Oh, shit,” Bevan cries, doing the typical male thing by backing away from the mess in such a rush that he collides with the wall.
“Fuck, Cam.” Susie, on the other hand, rushes to my side to scoop my hair out of the way. “Time to go home, huh?”
“I don’t want to ruin your night,” I mumble into the basin as I turn the tap on.
She exchanges a look with Bevan in the mirror and sighs. “It’s okay, honey. Your welfare comes first.”
“No.” I swat a hand at her, hitting her shoulder. “Rugby Boy can take me home later.”