Chapter Nine
Blaze
"What are you drinking?" Morgan asks, snuggling up against my side at the poker table in Wade's living room during our weekly poker game on Thursday night.
"Whiskey."
She nudges my glass, her nose scrunched up. "Is it good whiskey?"
I grin, sliding the glass closer to her. "Taste it, Calamity."
"Really?" Her eyes widen before she grabs it like she thinks I'm going to change my mind. But hell, she's old enough to drink. If she wants to know, I'm not going to stop her. I'd rather she do it here with me than in some goddamn bar full of assholes I might have to kill later.
I watch with a smirk as she sniffs it, her nose scrunching again. But she takes a tentative sip anyway. Surprise flares in her eyes before she licks her lip and then empties my glass without missing a beat.
"That's good. Strong," she says, setting the empty glass on the table. "Can I have more?"
"Jesus Christ," Wade mutters, hiding his face behind his hand.
Bishop just grins at her, reaching for the bottle.
"Don't you dare," I growl, my eyes narrowed on him.
"Why the fuck not? It's not like a shot will hurt her."
"Yeah," she says, poking me in the ribs. "It's not like a shot will hurt me."
"Baby, you're wild enough when you're sober. Keeping up with you drunk is going to shave years off my life." That's not an exaggeration. Keeping up with her when she's stone cold sober is a full-time job.
"Chicken," she breathes, grinning at me.
I know what she's doing, and I'm not falling for it.
"I bet I can outdrink you."
"The hell you can," I growl.
"Want to bet?"
"I do," Bishop says, raising one big hand in the air, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
I flip him off. "I'm not betting you that I can outdrink you, Calamity."
"You aren't. You're accepting that I can outdrink you." She flashes me a grin, her arms crossed. "Unless you're scared that I'll beat you."
Goddammit.
"Never going to happen," I mutter.
"Prove it," Wade says. I shoot him a death glare, but he just grins at me. "What's the worst that can happen, Blaze? She's safe with us. If she wants to get wasted, let her." He shrugs. "She'll have a roaring hangover tomorrow, and that'll be that."
"I will not have a hangover," she grumbles.
"Yeah, you will." I shake my head, motioning for Bishop to pass me the bottle. "But it's your choice, Calamity. If you want to get whiskey wasted and wake up hating life tomorrow, knock yourself out."
"Are you going to drink with me?"
"I'm not taking your bet, baby." I've been drinking a helluva lot longer than she has. On a ranch, there isn't much to do some days except drink and play poker. I fight dirty, but not this dirty.
She pouts at me, her bottom lip out. And I damn near give in, just because I can't resist that look.
"I'll take it," Bishop says. I whip my head in his direction, threatening to murder him with my eyes, but he pretends not to see me, his eyes locked on her. "What's the wager, Calamity?"
She taps her bottom lip, thinking about it. "Five dollars."
"Hell no," Wade laughs. "If we outdrink you, we get to teach you to ride."
"A bull?" she asks, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.
"Jesus Christ," I groan, tipping my head back. She's scared of my horse, but wants to ride a bull. I'm not going to make it to sixty. I damn well know I'm not.
"Horse," Wade says. "You live on a ranch now. You should know how to ride."
"Can it be Jon Bon Pony?" she asks, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Sure," I say when Wade looks to me for approval, not because I want her doing this, but because she needs to learn to ride, and there are no better teachers on this ranch than the two men sitting at this table with us.
If anyone can help her get over her fear of horses, it's them.
It damn sure isn't me. Just the thought of trying to teach her to ride gives me anxiety.
"I guess I'll take that wager," she says, "but only because I'm not going to lose."
Bishop fights a smile. "Then let's do this."
"Wait!" she cries, throwing up her hand. "What about when I win?"
He and Wade share a look that says there isn't a chance in hell of that happening, but Bishop shrugs. "Name your wager."
"When I win…" she says slowly, "the two of you have to agree to do me a favor. Any favor I want, whenever I ask for it."
"Hell no," I growl, killing that idea. God only knows what she'd ask for.
The possibilities are literally endless with her, and Hudson might kill us all if she gets Bishop and Wade arrested for whatever madness she'll try to drag them into.
And I know she'll try. Chaos follows in her wake like it's her damn shadow.
"Well, you're no fun," she grumbles at me.
"It's not like she's going to win, brother," Wade reminds me.
Bishop nods his agreement.
Goddammit.
"Fine." I throw my hands up. "If you win, they can do you a favor.
But I have to agree to it," I quickly add…
just in case a miracle happens here. Better to hedge my bets than risk chaos and anarchy.
When the fuck did I become the most reasonable person in this room? My, how the goddamn tables have turned.
She beams at me, and I pour a round of shots.
It quickly becomes apparent that she swindled the hell out of us.
This girl—she doesn't even hesitate. She shoots the first, then slams the glass on the table like a pro.
Son of a bitch.
I pour another round. She throws it back the same way, not even blinking.
"Fuck," Bishop mumbles, suspicion written all over his face.
Morgan just smiles sweetly and nudges her glass toward me.
By the fourth shot, Wade looks less amused and more worried, and Bishop starts hedging his bets with water.
But my Calamity is a fucking force of nature.
Every time she throws one back, the room gets quieter, the stakes a little higher.
By the sixth, Wade's face has gone white, and he's clutching the edge of the table like it might float him out of this disaster.
Bishop is sweating. I see the patches growing on his t-shirt even though he's trying to play it cool.
Morgan's still upright. Hell, she's more than upright. She's fucking radiant, with one elbow braced on the table and her chin in her palm, like this is the easiest thing in the world.
Shot seven goes down, and Bishop barely gets his to his mouth before he sags backward, groaning. "I'm out," he mutters, both hands up in surrender. "I'm too goddamn old to drink like this."
"Chicken." Morgan grins at him. "I thought you were tough."
Bishop just shakes his head in awe. "Where the hell did you learn to drink like this?"
"I worked in a bar for six months right after I turned twenty-one." She beams at him, wobbling a bit before she manages to right herself. "People tip more when you're willing to drink with them."
"Jesus Christ," Wade groans like he's about to crack. "She fucking played us."
"Uh-huh. Like a fiddle," she says, her tone all sunshine and sugar.
I lose it. Just absolutely lose every last ounce of composure I have, laughing like a madman.
She's slouched there, cocky, beautiful, and so fucking perfectly proud of herself for swindling us.
I love her so goddamn much it physically hurts.
It's an ache in my chest, burning and sweet at the same time.
I laugh so hard I choke. Bishop comes back to life long enough to look at me like I've finally lost it, but that just sets me off again.
Wade tries to rally, throwing back two more shots out of pure spite, but immediately regrets the decision. He lays his head on the table, his face a sickly shade of green. "Fuck it. I'm out. I'll do whatever the hell favor she wants so long as it doesn't involve any more fucking whiskey."
Morgan blinks at me, her gaze a little fuzzy but happy. "Did I win?" she asks, her voice is soft.
"Yeah, baby," I say, and it comes out half a laugh, half a confession. "You won."
"Oh good." She looks so pleased for half a second, and then her face scrunches up like she just remembered something really, really important. "Because I think I'm going to be sick."
I'm on my feet with her in my arms before my chair even hits the ground. The guys are still laughing, but I scoop her up, gentle as I know how, and carry her straight out of Wade's living room with her head nestled into my neck like she'd rather die than move.
"Sorry," she mumbles against my skin. "I didn't think I'd—"
I shush her, shouldering the door open and heading for our side of the yard, not caring that it's muddy as hell and my boots are going to track all over the house. She's breathing shallow, clinging to my t-shirt with both fists, like she might float away if she lets go.
When we hit the bathroom, she just looks up at me, green as grass, her eyes desperate.
"It's okay, baby," I say. "I got you."
She does her best, but it's bad.
I hold her hair back and talk her through it, rubbing circles on her back and crooning praise, even as she nearly sobs into the toilet bowl, vomiting up damn near every ounce of whiskey she just drank. My own stomach turns just watching, but I'll be damned if I let her do this alone.
When it's over, she crumples against my chest, shaking.
I get her cleaned up, help her brush her teeth, and make her drink the glass of water I fetch.
She only glares at me a little before she downs it and the Tylenol, then stumbles to the bedroom and faceplants into the comforter, the way a cat launches itself at something warm and safe.
I sit beside her, rubbing her back, listening to her breathing slow. She's exhausted, but she still manages to pat my hand, like she's thanking me for not laughing or leaving.
As if I ever would.
This is the best night of my life. Watching her hustle my best friends out of their pride with a smile on her face is one of those perfect moments I won't ever forget.
Christ, I love her so much it fucking terrifies me.
The truth is right there on my tongue, choking me, desperate to be out in the world, where it belongs to her.
But I know she won't remember this tomorrow, and I don't want my words to be something she forgets.
I want the truth to be something she carries with her forever, the same way she will my heart.
So I lean down and kiss her forehead instead. "You're the best part of my life," I rasp, my voice so thick with emotion, I'm not sure she can even make sense of it.
But she wraps both arms around my neck, her face pressed to my throat, and sighs like she's never been happier. "I'm glad I didn't run, Blaze."
Jesus.
I pull the covers up, tuck her in, and sit on the edge of the bed until her breathing evens out. My phone buzzes, but I ignore it. Instead, I count her breaths, pretty goddamn sure they're the most significant sound in my world.