**Colby Byers**

Colby

"His face..." I giggle, my head still spinning. I close my eyes, imagining Cole's pretty face right after Wyatt punched it.

Why did he punch it? Maybe he didn't...

...He definitely did. I think.

Wyatt looks at me with concern. How did I end up in his car? I can tell he's angry because his jaw is tight and his eyes are narrowed, focused on the twisting road in front of us. We've been driving for days now, and the way this road winds is making me even dizzier.

"You need to pull over," I warn when I notice the contents of my stomach dueling inside of me.

He ignores my request, still glowering at the unpaved back road that seemingly leads to eternity. I detect the bitter taste of bile creeping up the back of my throat, but swallow hard, hoping to prevent my dinner from reappearing. I think I'm ok...

"Dodge, we need to go back to the party," I pout, propping my hands under my cheek as I rest my head against the window. "Everyone misses me, I can feel it."

He chuckles quietly. I've missed his laugh.

My stomach growls audibly, and my insides churn. "Pull over," I say, reaching for the handle with one hand while my other clenches my raging belly. "Now."

"I'm not pulling over, and you're not going anywhere but home. Why don't you just go to sleep or something?" he suggests, annoyed. He locks the car doors, keeping a finger poised over the button just in case. He knows me too well, I suppose.

"Wyatt, I'm gonna—"

Before I can finish my sentence I clamp my hands over my mouth to stop the vomit from escaping, but it's useless. I glance up to find Wyatt covered in chunks, and it smells awful.

"You've got to be kidding me, Colby!" he shouts, pulling over. I'm relieved when he gets out of the car, 'cause the stench exits with him. I breathe in the fresh air gratefully.

I unlock my door, exiting the car. I stumble over to where Wyatt stands and trip in front of him, only to be caught by his strong arms and bare chest.

"You have puke in your hair," he says bluntly, guiding me back to the car. He settles me into the passenger's seat, crossing his body over mine to fasten my seatbelt. I take in his familiar scent and remember, briefly, all of the reasons being around him makes me ache.

"Stay put," he says sternly, shutting me into the car. He stalks around the front, taking a seat behind the wheel. Gravel shifts beneath the tires as we return to the deserted road.

"Where'd your shirt go?" I slur.

He turns to me, a single brow raised in question.

"I can't believe that prick did this to you," he mumbles. "You picked a real winner."

"What're you talking about?" I ask in confusion. Wyatt's furious, but I'm having difficulty focusing on anything aside from his bare torso and the strong line of his jaw.

"Answer me honestly, Colby," he begins, the look on his face far from angry when his eyes meet mine. "You really didn't drink tonight?"

My lust makes a one-eighty, taking a direct flight into rage.

"I don't drink like that anymore, Wyatt. You'd know that if you were still my friend." I fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

Pain flashes in his eyes, but I don't regret what I said. He's been so distant since... Well, things are just different now.

"Anyway," I say, "looks like we're home. Bye." I practically fall out of the car and spastically manage my way back to my feet. By the time I'm upright, Wyatt is beside me, helping to stabilize my swaying body.

"Colby," Wyatt says cautiously. "I think Cole—"

"Stop talking Wyatt," I interrupt. "This is my song!" The new Jason Aldean track streams from Wyatt's car. I grab his hand, pulling myself close to him and resting my head on his chest. When I peek up at him, I can't read his expression, though I used to read him so well.

I do know that I like this, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"It's time for bed," he says abruptly, pulling away from me. He places his hands on my shoulders, spinning my body in the opposite direction toward my house.

"I'm not ready for bed yet," I whine, pushing my bottom lip out. "Dance with me. Come on, please?"

"No," he says firmly. "Follow me."

He walks away, and I stumble after him, tripping over one of our sprinklers. He laughs when he glances back to find me on the ground.

"Wyatt Loring Matheson, offer me your hand and help me up," I order.

He's still laughing, even harder actually. Really, I should be annoyed, but I love his laugh.

"Well?" I persist.

Finally, he backtracks, offering me his hand and effortlessly lifting me up. I steady myself, brushing the grass from my clothes.

We stand there for a few moments watching each other when my stomach begins swirling again. I turn, propping myself against the side of the house and leaning over the shrubs. Wyatt rubs my back with one hand while holding my hair away from my face with the other, as I add some new landscaping.

"I'm so sorry, Wyatt," I say, feeling embarrassed when I wipe my mouth with the arm of my sleeve.

"Don't be," he smirks, looking up at the sky. "You seem more coherent. The second round of chunks probably helped get rid of whatever Cole spiked your drink with."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, suddenly irritated. I begin massaging my temples, my brain throbbing against my skull.

"I picked you up from the party because of that video you sent," he says in explanation. "You looked pretty hammered, and I didn't like the way Cole was looking at you. You told me you didn't drink at all, and I believe you, but that only leaves one other option."

"That's ridiculous. Cole may be a little bit handsy sometimes, but he's not like that," I snap. "You sort of sound jealous, you know."

He scoffs at that, shaking his head. "Listen, B. You brought me into this by sending that video."

"Whatever," I say, flippantly. "I still don't believe Cole would drug me."

"Explain the puking then, and the fact that you couldn't remember anything past your nose when I first picked you up. Unless you lied about not drinking."

"I didn't drink, Wyatt! I already told you that." My voice breaks, tears forming in my eyes. I turn from him in frustration. "I don't know what happened. I can't remember anything between when I got to the party and when you hit Cole, and everything after that is all muggy."

I feel his arm wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into him. "Maybe it wasn't him," he says doubtfully. "I don't know who else would do something like this to you, but either way, you're home now."

I work to harness my composure. I really don't believe Cole would do that. We are kind of a thing, but that seems utterly desperate. That's one thing Cole is not.

"Thanks for bringing me home," I say, wiping the remaining tears from my cheeks. "I guess I'd better get inside."

"Are you feeling any better?" he asks. "I'd suggest some Ibuprofen or something. You'll get slammed tomorrow if you don't stay ahead of it, especially if your head is already giving you trouble."

"I feel better, other than the headache," I say.

Wyatt messes with the window near the newly decorated shrubs, sliding it open easily. "Good thing we live in a safe town. I could always tuck you in," he adds, winking. "Help you feel extra safe."

I roll my eyes in response, walking over to the window and planting my hands firmly on its frame. His hands are at my waist, helping me through the opening.

"You wish," I tease, turning to face him. "Thanks again."

He nods, departing for his car. He raises his hand in a half-wave when he reaches it.

I whip my phone out of my purse then, typing out a quick text to him.

Don't make your mama wash that nasty shirt of yours. Be a man and wash it yourself.

Send.

I watch him pull his phone from his pocket. He smiles. A few seconds later, my phone vibrates in my hand.

You should brush your teeth. Your breath is nasty.