Page 76 of To Have and To Hold
“Why not? I have shit I need to say,” Slade snapped.
Atticus gripped his chin and turned his head toward the banner strung up along the back wall. He leaned in closer to Slade’s ear.
“Don’t fuck this up for them,” he whispered. “You won’t forgive yourself if you do.”
Slade jerked his chin free from Atticus’s grip as he turned to stare at him. His eyes were hard, but Atticus swore he could see a well of pain in them.
“Fine.” Slade stepped forward, trying to force Atticus back. “But I don’t need your help gettin’ home.”
The sentence was too long for Slade’s sloshed brain to articulate correctly and came out in a jumble of nonsense.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Carson told Jennifer, stopping her before she could get to Slade.
Atticus took that as his cue to get Slade outside. It took effort, but he managed to steer Slade toward the door, hooking his arm around Slade’s waist and guiding him.
“Why’re you doin’ this?” Slade whispered. “You don’t want me.”
“You and I both know that’s not true,” he said merely to keep Slade distracted. Although itwasn’ttrue. Atticus wanted Slade more than he was willing to admit.
“Only want me to fuck you,” Slade muttered.
Atticus reached the door and pushed it open.
“Keep walkin’,” Atticus instructed.
“My truck…”
“Will be perfectly fine overnight,” Atticus told him as Slade stumbled down the step to the parking lot. “I’ll drive.”
“Are youdrunk?” Slade muttered, too much emphasis on the last word.
“No. I haven’t had anything to drink,” he assured him. And he hadn’t. Neither had Carson, which had honestly surprised Atticus. According to Carson, he hadn’t had any alcohol since the night before Atticus left for training. To show his support, Atticus stuck to Dr. Pepper, which the bar offered for free every night to anyone willing to be a designated driver.
“Is Carson comin’?” Slade asked when they reached Atticus’s truck.
He unlocked the door and opened it. “Do you want him to?”
“Yesh.” Slade tipped sideways and would’ve fallen if Atticus hadn’t grabbed his shirt and pulled him. “I want to watch him fuck you.”
“That’s the alcohol talkin’.” Atticus pushed Slade into the truck, helping him get situated, praying Slade didn’t throw up between now and when they got back to his house.
“And I want…” Slade frowned, tilting his head. “I want him … uh…” He smiled. “Oh, yeah. I want him to watchusfuck.”
Atticus didn’t bother telling Slade no one would be fucking tonight. And not only because Slade couldn’t stop rambling.
Which he did more of. “Or you want him to fuck you while you watch? I mean,Iwatch him and me.Youwatch him and me.” Again, his jumbled words didn’t make much sense.
He finally got Slade into the back seat.
“Don’t move,” Atticus ordered, stepping back to close the door.
When he turned, Carson was there.
“He okay?”
“No. But, hopefully, he won’t remember this in the mornin’. You wanna ride?” Atticus asked, holding onto the door.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll help you get him into the house.”
