Chapter 27 Break the Glass （Kieran）
brEAK THE GLASS (KIERAN)
The blender hits the counter so hard something cracks. The sound punches through the music like a gunshot.
“Jesus Christ.” I push Riley aside and grab the two sophomores mid-shove. “You want stitches? Put the knives down.”
They freeze. The room deflates.
I glance toward the hallway where I left Wren. The idea of her here without me sits sharp and wrong in my chest.
“I’m heading back,” I tell them.
Riley nods. “We got this.”
I push into the crowd, scanning for a messy ponytail, an oversized hoodie, the soft curve of her shoulder against the wall.
The hallway is packed with bodies, beer, laughter. Someone spills vodka down their shirt.
No Wren.
A pulse of unease hits my ribs.
Ease up, moron. She’s here somewhere.
Aubrey steps into my path, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Hey, did you see Wren? She wasn’t where I left her. I thought maybe she went to you.”
“Weren’t you with her a minute ago?” The words come out too sharp, too fast.
Aubrey blinks. “Maybe she ducked into the bathroom?”
“Yeah.” I force my voice down a notch, even as something coils tighter in my gut.
Stop panicking. Wren’s an adult. She’s fine.
Still, I head down the hallway, checking open rooms, alcoves, the cluster by the stairs.
Nothing.
“Wren!” I call over the music, loud enough to turn heads.
I pull out my phone. My last text to her is still on read.
KIERAN
On my way back. Where are you?
Delivered. I stare at the screen, willing it to change.
I hit call. The phone rings once, twice—
Voicemail.
“She’s not answering.”
Dalton appears beside me, hand landing on my shoulder. “Relax, man. She probably—”
“She’s not answering,” I repeat, harder.
Riley comes from the other direction, sees my face, and his smirk drops. “What’s going on?”
“Have you seen Wren?”
He lifts a brow. “Kier, come on. It’s a party. She’s fine.”
Dalton chuckles. “She’s probably in the bathroom line. It’s twenty people deep.”
My jaw grinds. “Where’s Reed?”
The question hangs in the air.
Dalton’s face shifts, the joke gone instantly. “He walked past us a few minutes ago.” His voice drops. “What are you thinking?”
I don’t answer.
Because I’m already moving, shoving past bodies, Dalton and Riley flanking me. Aubrey’s right behind us, panic rising off her in waves.
We turn the corner. And the world goes silent.
Reed is halfway up the stairs.
Wren hangs against him—dead weight, legs dragging, head lolling onto his shoulder. His hand is clamped around her waist, knuckles white.
My heart stops. Then restarts in a roar.
“HEY!”
The whole staircase freezes. Reed’s head snaps around. And in that instant, I know.
Guilt flashes across his face. Then calculation. Then fear.
For a split second he tries to haul her up another step—instinct, panic, get her away before anyone sees.
But then he switches tactics fast, as if his brain needed a second to register that he’s been caught.
“Kieran?” Too bright. Too smooth. “Thank God you’re here, man. She’s hammered, almost fell. I was just getting her somewhere quiet.”
Quiet.
My vision goes red.
I shove through the crowd and hit the bottom step hard enough the wood shudders.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” My voice is ice cracking under weight. “Now.”
Wren’s knees buckle. She slips. Reed yanks her upright like she’s a puppet.
“Relax,” he says quickly. Fake laugh. Fake calm. “Jesus, I’m helping her—”
“You roofied her.”
Reed’s smile twitches, breaks, reforms. “What? She’s just drunk. Look, I was trying to—”
I take one slow step up. Then another. The crowd peels back, clearing the path.
“You put something in her drink.”
Wren tries to lift her head. A tiny sound slips out, broken and scared. Nothing in her eyes focuses.
I reach them in two strides. Reed tightens his arm around her, but she slides anyway, body folding forward.
I catch her before she hits the step, her weight collapsing into my arms. Something inside me snaps clean in half.
I ease her into Riley’s arms. “Get her downstairs. Clear the stairs.”
Riley nods, pale as chalk. He scoops her up and growls, “Move,” and the crowd evaporates.
I turn back to Reed.
He raises both hands fast, talking too quickly now. “Dude, what—what’s your problem? I was trying to help you! You want to finish the bet, right? She was already halfway there—”
The words hit me like acid.
The bet. The fucking bet.
This is what I started. This is what I enabled.
My fist connects with his nose. The crack is clean, loud, satisfying. He ricochets off the wall, eyes wild.
He swings back, but it’s sloppy and desperate. I duck under it.
I hit him again. My knuckles split. His head snaps back.
Again. Blood on his teeth.
Again. Someone’s yelling, but I can’t hear them over the roar in my ears.
Hands grab at me—Dalton, maybe someone else—but I can’t stop.
“You fucking drugged her,” I snarl, slamming him into the wall. “You were planning to rape her.”
“No—” His voice cracks. “She was—she was already into you, I was just—just helping—”
“Helping?” I hit him again, hot blood slicking my knuckles. “You call that helping?”
He scrabbles at my wrists, eyes rolling. “You’ve been talking about this bet for weeks. Isabelle said you weren’t closing. I thought you’d thank me—”
“Thank you?” The world tilts. “You thought I’d thank you for drugging her? You thought I’d rape her?”
“It was just something to loosen her up. Everyone does it—”
My fist pulls back for another hit—
“Kieran, enough!” Dalton’s grip clamps around my arm, dragging me back.
Riley’s voice cuts through from downstairs. “Go! Take her home! We’ll handle this!”
The world snaps back into focus.
Wren.
I sprint.
Aubrey’s holding her at the bottom of the stairs. Wren’s head lolls, eyes barely cracked, breath shallow.
Fear floods my chest, cold and sharp.
I cup her face, hands shaking. “Rules. Hey. Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.”
Her lashes flutter. “Kie...”
“I’m here.” My voice breaks. “I’ve got you.”
Her pupils are blown wide. Words slurred. She can’t stand.
I scoop her into my arms. She folds into me, weight limp, cold.
She tries to say something, barely audible.
“I know, sweetheart.” My throat clenches. “I know. I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
Dalton appears with her jacket. Riley forces a path through the hall. Aubrey’s crying but already pulling out her phone.
I look up the stairs. Reed sits slumped on the step, blood leaking from his nose.
He meets my eyes.
And he knows.
This is over for him.
The ER doors slide open and the world goes fluorescent—cold, bright, too much.
“Help!” Aubrey calls. “She’s been drugged, she can’t stand—”
A triage nurse takes one look at Wren in my arms and waves us through.
“Set her down here. How long has she been like this?”
“Twenty minutes,” I manage. “She was fine, then she couldn’t stand. She’s cold. Not responding right.”
They move fast. Pulse ox. Blood pressure. Warm blanket.
“Pulse elevated. Breathing slightly slow. Pupils reactive.” The nurse’s eyes flick to mine. “Did she take anything?”
“She didn’t choose it,” I say. Every word scrapes my throat. “A guy put something in her drink.”
Her expression hardens. “We’ll run labs. She’s stable enough to monitor. You did the right thing bringing her in quickly.” She hesitates. “Has there been any sexual contact you’re worried about?”
My heart slams against my ribs. “No.” The word tears out of me. “I got there before—before he could do anything.”
“We’ll talk to her again when she’s a little more awake,” the nurse says evenly. “If she remembers anything different, we have options for evidence collection and support. For now, let’s focus on keeping her stable.”
My knees almost give. If I hadn’t intercepted him…
They shift her on the bed, and I try to step back, but Wren whimpers and reaches blindly.
“I’m here,” I say, catching her hand. “Right here.”
Her lashes flutter. “Kieran...”
“Yeah, sweetheart.” My thumb drags over her knuckles. “I’ve got you.”
They hook her up. Ask questions. Time blurs into beeps and soft footsteps. A middle-aged doctor steps into the bay, calm but focused.
“She’s stable,” he says. “Her vitals are holding, and she’s responding to supportive care. Based on her presentation, this looks consistent with an involuntary sedative, likely a low dose.”
Aubrey swallows. “Can you tell what it was?”
“Not from routine labs,” the doctor says. “Those don’t pick up most sedatives used recreationally or in assaults. If you’d like, we can send blood and urine for a specialized tox screen. It’s optional, but I recommend it, especially if she decides to report this.”
“Yes,” Aubrey says immediately. “Please.”
My voice is low and lethal. “Do the tests.”
The doctor nods once. “We’ll collect now. Results may take several days.”
“She’s going to be okay?” My voice sounds foreign.
He nods. “You got her here fast. That matters.”
Aubrey covers her mouth, tears spilling over.
His gaze drops briefly to my hand, where dried blood rims the split skin across my knuckles.
“You should have those cleaned and wrapped,” he says. “We can get you some gauze.”
“Later,” I say. “I’m ok.”
The doctor glances between us. “Have you considered filing a police report? We have an advocate who can help.”
“We’ll talk about that once she is better,” I say. “Right now I just need to know she’s okay.”
He nods and leaves.
Aubrey hands me the bottle of water the nurse left. Her eyes are red, hands still shaking.
“She’s going to be okay,” I tell her quietly.
Aubrey presses her fist to her mouth. “Because you got there in time.” Her breath shudders. “I shouldn’t have left her. I should’ve stayed. I should—”
“No.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, then softens. “Aubrey, stop. This is not on you.”
She wipes her cheek, trembling harder. “We’re always told to look out for each other. And we do. But I left her for two minutes. Two minutes.” She shakes her head. “How is anyone supposed to stay safe? Never go to the bathroom? Never talk to anyone? Never have a drink?”
A quiet anger settles low and cold in my chest, an anger I don’t point at her.
“You’re supposed to have fun. You’re supposed to feel safe enough to take a fucking breath without thinking someone’s going to try to violate you.”
Aubrey exhales shakily. “I just…I don’t understand how shit like this still happens.”
I glance at Wren, curled under the blanket, breathing shallow but even. Aubrey sinks into the chair beside mine, letting out a long, shaky exhale. “We’re not letting her out of our sight anymore.”
“Good,” I say. My jaw tightens. “That’s the plan.”
My phone buzzes.
DALTON
We’ve got Reed
Should we call campus security?
Guys are saying better to handle internally
What do you want us to do?
I look at Wren—unconscious, pale, small in the hospital bed. The rage is still there, coiled tight. Part of me wants to go back and beat him to a bloody pulp for what he tried to do.
But that would be letting him off easy.
KIERAN
Let him go
DALTON
Seriously?
KIERAN
I’ll deal with it tomorrow
DALTON
Man, just let him walk?
KIERAN
He’s not going anywhere
Let him spend tonight thinking about it
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
DALTON
Okay
Your call
For what it’s worth? We’ve got your back
All of us
I set the phone down and lean forward, resting my forehead against Wren’s hand.
I agreed to that dare. I laughed about it with the guys. I let Reed think I was playing.
And he took it as permission.
My hands shake. I press them flat against my thighs.
This is on me. All of it.
I don’t know how to fix it. Don’t know if I can.
But I know one thing: that bet is over. Whatever comes next is on me.