Page 75 of Scarred Crown

“Nick?” I shake him and try not to move my body. Every jarring action makes me wince.

My head throbs with each beat of my heart, and my mouth is like sandpaper. This isn’t just a hangover. This is quite possibly the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life. Why would I get this drunk?

The bells are still going off.

“Nick, what is that noise?”

“Huh?” He pries open one eye and squints at me. “Phone? Alarm?” He frowns but doesn’t move.

“Oh, no.” I scramble off the bed, and then I almost puke when the room spins. I clutch the bed and try to stay upright. “We have to get a taxi. We need to get to the airport.”

“What time did we go to bed last night?” Nick sits up and rubs his face. “Did we do drugs? Jesus, what did we smoke or snort? I don’t remember anything after…” His voice trails off. “That can’t be right.” He shakes his head and then grimaces. “I had some weird dreams last night. Really vivid though.”

“I don’t know what we did last night,” I cry. Panic is zipping through me. We cannot be late getting back, which means we cannot miss our flight. Nick cannot find out about his father from some tabloid story.

I gather my stuff as quickly as I can without jostling myself too much. It’s the hangover dance I haven’t done in years. Move quickly while also barely moving.

Every time I turn my head to the side, the pounding intensifies, and I think I’m going to vomit. I’m still fully dressed, so I’m guessing we didn’t have sex. Hopefully, I didn’t collapse in a puddle of tears or confess my undying love for Nick or my barely repaired broken heart.

I groan. If I was drunk enough, I probably did all those things. Wouldn’t be the first time I poured my heart out inappropriately. Thank the lord he also seems to have gotten blackout drunk. What were we thinking?

“You all right?” Nick is moving equally slowly around the room picking up his things. “I smell like a brothel.”

“I really hope we didn’t go to a brothel.”

He chuckles. “The scandal. Can you imagine? If we did, I’m sure we had a fabulous time.” His phone is still going off, and he silences it, and then he stares at his hand. “I hurt myself?”

“Me too.” I flash my bandage at him.

“Doesn’t hurt. I think I might still be drunk.”

“What if they don’t let us on the plane?” I press the heel of my hand into my forehead. If we didn’t do drugs last night, I need them now. The whole twenty-four hours after we left the casino is a blur. How is that possible? I could have slept with Nick, and I would never remember it with this hangover. The thought makes me sad. I might never get to do it again. Why did I get so drunk?

We take turns teetering in and out of the bathroom, neither of us saying much. I down some aspirin I find stashed in the bottom of the toiletries bag, and then I offer some to Nick. He chews the aspirin, and I wince. His ability to do that has always baffled me.

Nick slings his bag over his shoulder and drags our rolling suitcases behind him. I don’t have the energy or the balance to protest him taking my things for me.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt this rotten,” he admits.

“This is why I don’t drink.” I open the hotel room door.

“I thought you didn’t drink because you get depressed?” He looks like he’s trying to walk with his eyes barely open. The suitcase wheels rattle behind him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for first class. I’m sleeping all the way home.”

The guards I hired flank us on the way to the elevator. They aren’t the same ones from the casino, but I vaguely remember the agency telling me there’d be a shift change halfway through the night.

I can’t even summon the energy to grill the guards on what Nick and I got up to once the alcohol and who knows what else took over.

At the airport, I’ll check social media to see how much damage control I need to do. If we got this drunk, we must have done something dumb.

###

At the airport, we make it through security to the VIP lounge where Nick and I try every hangover cure he and the staff can remember. My head is too fuzzy, so I’m not checking my phone. If we did anything publicly stupid last night, I’ll face it in a few hours after I’ve had more sleep. Alex hasn’t texted me, and Bellerive is five hours ahead of Vegas. Whatever we got up to can’t be that bad. He’d have raised hell if Nick or I embarrassed the country.

In first class, we recline our seats into the flat sleeping position, and just before I drift to sleep, Nick nudges me.

I pop open one eye in response.

“Thanks.” His voice is brimming with sincerity.