Page 88 of The Ring
What should I do? Of course, I’m not leaving him here, but dragging him all the way by myself seems almost impossible. I’m tall—5’9—but he’s 6’3, and I wouldn’t exactly describemyself as strong. I don’t remember the last time I actually exercised, and at this point, half of him is probably dead weight.
“I’ll be right back.Don’t move,” I say firmly.
He gives me a half-nod.
I start to almost run around the ship, trying to find Laurie, Nate, or Lucian—anyone I know who might still be here. At this point, I’d even settle for Weberly.
The last thing this night is missing is for lightning to strike the yacht and split it in half. I knock on the first wooden door I come across, because with how this night is going, that could actually happen.
Thankfully, something finally goes right. Just as I reach the last floor, having almost lost all hope, I spot Laurie talking to a group of people.
It pains me to interrupt him—he finally seems relaxed—but I need someone to help me with TJ.
I walk over to him and tap his back. “I need your help.”
He turns around and narrows his eyes. “For what?”
“Follow me, and you’ll see,” I say, turning. Laurie quickly excuses himself from the group and starts to follow me.
I stay silent as we make our way back to where TJ is. When we reach him, I simply gesture towards TJ with a flick of my hand, letting Laurie take in the situation.
“Fuck, TJ,” Laurie mutters, running a hand through his hair.
“Those were my exact same words,” I huff. “I have a driver waiting outside, but I need someone to help me get him to the car and then inside the house.”
I could have asked the driver for help, but with all the chaos from the race, it would take him hours to park and get here, if they even let him in. And while I wouldn’t say he’s mean, he doesn’t seem to like driving us around. He’s not Joe. Joe only drives me in London; this one’s the chauffeur stationedhere. Two nights ago, Annabelle almost threw up on the way home, and I was half-expecting him to leave us on the side of the road. I don’t think he’d be thrilled about helping someone high.
Laurie sighs. “Then let’s get on with it.”
He lowers himself and picks up TJ by his left arm, while I grab his right. Together, we drag him out. TJ doesn’t complain—he’s just going along with it.
“You know he’s going to have to stay at your house,” Laurie tells me.
I nod as we continue to drag him.
I’m very aware of that. Lucian’s parents may tolerate them getting drunk and even doing drugs as long as it’s not too noticeable, but not like TJ is. And they already hate me, or at the very least, dislike me. If I show up at their house with a completely high TJ, they’d probably think I’m the Antichrist.
After my workout of the year, we managed to get him to the car. TJ slumps in the backseat beside me, while Laurie sits in the front.
“Drink this,” I order TJ, passing him a bottle of water from the cup holder in my door.
“You are cute when you are bossy,” he slurs, glancing at me, though his eyes still seem lost.
I’m mad. I’m mad at the person who organised the party, mad at TJ for getting high, and mad at myself because I kind of feel responsible for him being like this. But maybe I’m giving myself too much credit—maybe he fought with Weberly, and that’s why he’s like this. Because this isn’t recreational or social drug use. This is fucked-up drug use. The type when you really want to drown something.
Still, even if it shouldn’t, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Just drink the water.”
Halfway through the drive home, TJ falls asleep, resting hishead on my shoulder—or maybe he passes out, but I prefer to think he’s sleeping.
I can’t help myself; it’s like my hand is on autopilot. My fingers gently thread through his brown curls, and I keep doing it for the rest of the silent car ride. If Laurie sees it, he doesn’t say anything.
When we get home, we get a few nasty looks from the driver as we get TJ inside. It’s easier than the trek from the yacht to the car. Maybe he’s sobering up, or maybe practice really does make perfect. Either way, I still curse the entire way there in my head.
“I’m guessing this is not how you expected to spend your birthday,” I tell Laurie as we enter the house. Technically, his birthday was yesterday, but we’re still within his birthday window for a few more hours.
“Not at all, but it could have been worse,” Laurie chuckles. It’s nice. It’s the first real laughter I’ve heard from him in a while.
“Definitely. Someone could have barfed on you.”
