36. Brielle

I'm scrolling through my phone, one thumb flicking across the screen in search of a ride.

Sierra leans against me, her words tangling together. "Brielle, isn't this the best night ever?"

"Totally," I mutter, though I'm preoccupied with the glaring fact that no cars are available. Sierra is too far gone to notice, her laughter bubbling up as she tries to sing along to the off-key rendition of some eighties power ballad blaring from the speakers.

"Nothing?" Sierra slurs, squinting at my phone.

"Nothing." I decide I'll have to make a call, hopeful for a local taxi service that maybe isn't listed online. My thumb hovers over the contact list, ready to dial. The frustration nips at me, but I shove it down.

"Okay, let's figure this out," I say out loud, more to myself than to Sierra. My finger taps the screen—the cold glass beneath giving way to the warmth of action. I lift the phone to my ear, listening to the ring, willing someone to pick up on the other end.

The phone buzzes against my ear, unanswered. A sharp whistle cuts through the din of the bar, and I lower the phone, tension knotting in my stomach. Sierra's head lolls toward the sound, a sloppy grin spreading across her face.

"Hey, pretty ladies," a voice slurs from behind me. It's thick with that confident sleaze that sets my teeth on edge. I turn, eyes narrowing at the man swaggering toward us, his grin too wide and hungry. He reeks of cheap cologne and alcohol.

"Not interested," I snap before he can get another word out.

"Aw, come on," he coos, undeterred. "A couple of drinks, a few laughs."

I square my shoulders, feeling Sierra sway beside me. "I said no."

He doesn't stop. One step, then another. His leer is like a stain I want to scrub off. My pulse quickens, but not with fear. Anger simmers beneath my skin, hot and ready.

I'm about to repeat myself, louder, when his hand snaps out, fast as a snake strike, grabbing my butt. Instinct takes over. I twist away, my fist clenched tight as a drum.

"Back off!" But it's more than a warning—it's action. My arm swings, power surging from shoulder to wrist to knuckles.

Crack!My punch lands square on his jaw, a satisfying jolt up my arm. He stumbles back, disbelief splashed across his face.

"Damn," I breathe out, shaking my hand. The sting feels good, feels right. Nobody touches me without my say-so. Nobody.

Heat prickles my cheeks as he clutches his jaw, shock morphing into rage. His eyes narrow into slits, dark intent gleaming within.

"You little bitch," he spits. The words hang heavy in the air, venomous and vile. "You're going to pay for that."

My heart pounds, a staccato beat against my ribs, but I don't flinch. I won't give him the satisfaction. Sierra murmurs something unintelligible beside me, her words slurred and distant.

"Leave us alone," I say, voice steady despite the tremor of adrenaline coursing through me.

Before he can lunge, a solid form steps between us. Grayson. His back is a wall, muscles taut and ready.

"Move along, man." Grayson's voice is firm, no room for argument.

The guy sizes him up, the fury in his gaze flickering with doubt. He glares at Grayson, searching for some weakness, but finds none.

"Whatever," he grunts and then, in a last act of defiance, spits on the polished floor. He shuffles off, disappearing into the crowd, leaving a bitter taste in the atmosphere.

I exhale, the tension in my shoulders easing. Grayson glances over his shoulder, eyes searching mine for any sign of distress. It's clear he's got my back.

As Grayson's focus shifts to me, I see the concern etched in his brow. "You okay?" he asks, eyes scanning my face as if searching for any sign of injury.

"Thanks to you," I manage, my voice a bit more breathless than I'd like. "I just want to get out of here. Back to the hotel."

"Let's do that." He nods, decisive. "I've got wheels—a rental. Let me drive you."

Relief floods me, washing away the lingering unease from the confrontation. "Really? That would be amazing, Grayson." My gratitude comes out in a rush, each word laced with the tension that's starting to unravel from my shoulders.

"Of course," he says simply, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to come to my rescue.

Sierra sways on her feet, giggling at nothing. Grayson's arm is a steady presence around her waist as he guides her to the car. I shuffle alongside them, my heart still hammering from the confrontation.

"Almost there," he murmurs, more to Sierra than to me. The night air chills my flushed skin, the sounds of the karaoke bar fading behind us.

We reach the sleek rental, its dark paint gleaming under the streetlights. Grayson opens the back door with a gentle click, and together we maneuver Sierra onto the seat. She flops back, a drunken smile plastered on her face.

"Thank you," I whisper, watching as Grayson pulls the seat belt across Sierra's chest, clicking it into place.

"Always." His eyes meet mine, and there's a softness there that makes my breath catch. He ensures the strap isn't twisted, his fingers grazing Sierra's shoulder with practiced care.

"Safe and sound," he says, giving me a small, reassuring nod before closing the door with a soft thud.

I'm left standing there, staring at the closed door for a second too long. Grayson rounds the car and opens the passenger side for me. It's a simple gesture, but it feels intimate, considerate.

"Your chariot awaits," he teases lightly, but his voice is warm, wrapping around me like a blanket.

"Thanks," I say, stepping closer. Our bodies are inches apart, and my pulse races when I look up into his eyes. They're a stormy gray in the dim light, intense and focused on me.

"Anytime." His hand brushes mine as I slide into the seat, sending a spark of electricity through me. His touch lingers, intentional, and time seems to slow down.

"Seat belt," he reminds me softly, and I fumble with the latch, finally securing it. But it's an excuse to stay close, to maintain this connection that's crackling between us.

"Can't be too careful," I respond, voice barely above a whisper.

"Absolutely not," Grayson agrees, his gaze holding mine. There's a promise in his eyes, something unspoken but understood.

He closes the door and it's like breaking a spell. My heart is pounding again, but now it's not from fear or adrenaline. It's something else entirely—something I'm both excited and terrified to explore.

I watch Grayson stride to the driver's side, his movements confident and easy. The night seems to quiet a fraction, settling around us like the aftermath of a storm. He slides into his seat with a casual grace that has my stomach fluttering in an all-too-familiar way.

"I saw you punch that guy." He throws me a playful look. "Didn't know you had it in you. I like that side of you."

"Hey," I call out before he starts the engine, a playful edge to my voice. "Just so you know, I've got a mean right hook. You better keep it straight or you might just find out firsthand."

He chuckles, the sound deep and reassuring. "Noted. I'll be sure to drive extra carefully then."

The engine hums to life, and the car pulls smoothly away from the curb. Streetlights flicker past, casting intermittent glows across Grayson's features. Every once in a while, he throws me a glance that makes my heart tick faster.

"Feeling okay?" he asks, eyes on the road.

"Better now, thanks to you." The words come out soft, sincere.

"Good." There's satisfaction in his voice.

I sink deeper into the seat, letting the steady rhythm of the car soothe the lingering adrenaline from earlier. Watching Grayson handle the wheel with such ease, I can't help but feel safe, protected.

"Almost there." His voice cuts through the quiet, gentle as the night.

"Thanks again, Grayson. For everything tonight." I mean it more than he knows.

"Anytime, Brielle." And in the space between words, there's a warmth, a promise that somehow, we're in this together.

* * *

The hotel lobby looms,drenched in soft light. Grayson's arm is steady under Sierra's weight as we navigate through the automatic doors. She's giggling, a sound that's half delirious, half exhaustion.

"Left foot, Sierra," I coach. "C'mon."

"Stars are spinning," she slurs, and it's all we can do to keep her from crumpling into a sequined heap.

"Almost there," Grayson murmurs, his voice a low rumble of encouragement.

We shuffle toward the elevator, the digits on the floor indicator blinking upward. The cool air of the hotel feels like a balm after the tension of the karaoke bar, and I'm grateful for the quiet. Sierra leans heavily against me, her breaths warm puffs against my neck.

"Push three," I say, nodding at the panel as we stumble inside the lift.

Grayson's thumb brushes the button, and then he's back at my side, supporting Sierra's other shoulder. There's an ease to his movements, despite the awkwardness of our human cargo.

"Thank you," I breathe out, meeting his gaze. He just nods, eyes telling me it's nothing, but it's everything.

The ding of the elevator signals our stop, and the doors slide apart with a silent whoosh. We edge down the corridor, past closed doors and numbered plaques. Sierra mumbles something unintelligible, head lolling.

"Here," I say when we reach her door. Fumbling in her purse, I find the keycard and swipe us in.

The room greets us with its dim tranquility, only a lamp casting a golden pool on the floral bedspread. Grayson eases Sierra onto the edge of the bed, and she collapses back, arms splayed.

"Water. And aspirin," I insist, turning to the minibar.

"Nu-uh," Sierra protests weakly, batting at the air.

"Trust me, you'll thank me in the morning." My tone brooks no argument as I fill a glass and fish out a couple of tablets.

"Here." I press them into her hand, guiding it toward her mouth.

"Yuck."

"Down the hatch," Grayson says, backing me up, his presence a solid comfort.

Sierra grimaces but complies, making a face as she swallows. "You're bossy," she accuses, but the fight's gone out of her.

"Only because I care," I retort, tucking the covers around her.

"Thanks, Brielle," she mumbles, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Sleep tight," I whisper, smoothing back a strand of her hair.

There's a silence, filled with the soft sound of Sierra's breathing. I turn to Grayson, about to speak, but words aren't necessary. His eyes hold a world of understanding.

I draw the blanket up to Sierra's chin, the soft cotton whispering against her skin. Her breath evens out, the storm of alcohol-fueled emotions settling into a gentle ebb and flow. The room's cool air brushes over us, a stark contrast to the warmth under the covers.

"Happy," she slurs, the word a featherlight sigh, "you're here."

My heart clenches—a mix of protectiveness and affection. "Always," I promise, a low murmur in the hush of the room.

Sierra's smile flickers across her face, then fades as dreams take her. Her chest rises and falls, peaceful at last.

"Goodnight, Sierra," I whisper, but she's already miles away, lost in the quiet sea of sleep.