Game All Night

by Helms, Lauren

  I weave through the groups of people on the streets. Friday nights are packed here on this popular block. Club hoppers and people out looking for a good time. Finally, I find Club Red and I have a tiny moment of relief when I see that there’s no line. I easily show my ID to the bouncer and walk through the open double doors.

  The club is packed and it’s difficult to see anything. Most of the light is colored dance-floor lighting, mostly red but with shades of purple mixed in. All of them are flashing from the dance floor, which covers half of the space on the far side of the club. There are two floors, so finding her still isn’t going to be easy just because I’m here.

  I scan through the crowd as I make my way to the first bar. It’s a longshot, but I plan on asking the bartenders if they’ve seen her. I scan several people at a time as I push through the crowd. Damn, this place is big. Of course, she couldn’t have picked a smaller, more low-key place to need to be rescued from.

  I squeeze in at the bar, and flag down a bartender. He nods, waiting for my order.

  “Hey, I’m looking for someone, she’s about this tall,” I bring my hand up to my shoulder to show her height, “red hair —”

  He shakes his head and cuts me off. “Come on, man, do you see how many people are in here right now? I don’t have time to remember who I saw or didn’t see, not even from five minutes ago. Do you want a drink or not?” he asks, then turns away when I say no.

  I pull out my phone and turn around scanning the dance floor, I text her.

  As I’m typing, something catches my eye. I look up and see her, just through the crowd of bodies.

  She’s dancing, her body moving in time with the music. I can tell her eyes are closed, she’s letting the music flow through her. She’s absolutely beautiful. My heart slams into my chest as it feels like I haven’t seen in her ages. Twelve days isn’t long, but clearly going even a day without seeing her twists my heart in knots. I can’t take my eyes off of her.

  That is until I see the tall, muscular dude dancing way too close to her.

  His hands roam freely across the body that I’ve claimed as mine. A body she’s given me permission to claim. Yet this tool thinks it’s all right to touch her without consent. I can tell she isn’t dancing for him, but for herself.

  Now I’m fucking pissed.

  I waste no more time. I push off the bar and head straight into the sea of people, ready for a fight. Whether that be with the nameless schmuck who picked the wrong girl to dance with or the angry Ruby. We’ll find out when I drag her away from her mindless, careless escape and into my safe and waiting arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ruby

  All week, Jess and Kate, the office party girls hounded me to go out with them tonight. They aren’t my favorite people. You know, those “friends” that think you’re their best buddy but would drop you the second something better comes along? You know, that friend that promises not to drink so you can, but five minutes into the party she’s wasted? That’s Jess and Kate. They’re quite a pair, those two. If we were all still in school, they would be classified as frenemies.

  Before Morgan and I became work BFFs as well as real-life ones, I partied a little with them. I always regretted the decision the day after — sometimes the night of. But I haven’t been myself, and while they don’t know why, they circled like vultures until I gave in and agreed to go out with them tonight. With Gia, Morgan and Bernie out of town, I had nothing holding me back. The last thing I wanted to do was go home and wallow in my self-made bed of depression. Which is what I finally realized it was.

  With my mind made up, I decided to drink away my problems. Classic, I know. With alcohol in my system, my fingers did some talking to someone I was trying my damnedest to ignore.

  I sent Link the first text and then another and freaked out. I wasn’t … I’m still not ready to face him. But he engaged my conversation and over the span of an hour, I only got madder at him.

  Mad at him for what? For being perfect. I hate him. No. I don’t really, but in that moment, I hated him for being strong enough for both of us.

  I’ll deal with all of that tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to just keep dancing until my feet fall off. I’ve had so many shots already, I should probably switch to water.

  I push further onto the dance floor. I’ve lost Jess and Kate somewhere along the way, but that’s fine, I wasn’t really here for them. I’m here for me. Finally, I’m able to let down my guard. To feel something other than what I’ve been feeling. The music courses through me.

  Shortly after claiming a new spot, someone comes up to me and starts dancing with me. At one point I look up into his face and I wouldn’t be able to tell him apart from any other man in this club. But truthfully, I don’t care if he dances with me or moves on.

  Several songs later he gets closer, bolder it seems. His hand goes to my hip. My eyes are closed, and his touch isn’t threatening. Not long after that first touch, the stranger’s hands start to roam. While I keep time with the rhythm, my mind travels back to the last club I was in, only a few months ago back in California. Dancing with Link felt so right. We moved in sync with each other. Like puzzle pieces finally fitted together — together at last. His hands were welcome. His breath on my neck only making me hotter by the second.

  But the stranger’s hands don’t feel right, they feel all wrong.

  I don’t know why, but I open my eyes suddenly. I feel the music better when I close out the world around me. But when I open my eyes, I see Link. It’s just my mind playing a trick on me. I’ve conjured him up and now he’s an illusion in the distance.

  I stare a little harder, he stares back. I know he’s not really here. For one, he wouldn’t stand by and let someone else dance with me. Two, he has no idea where I am. I never even told him I was out. I only told …

  No, Morgan wouldn’t have sent Link …

  I squeeze my eyes shut and then pop them back open, and this time, Link is standing right in front of me. My eyes widen and I abruptly stop dancing right as the stranger’s hands run up my stomach to my chest. But just before he gets a handful, Link yanks me toward him and the strange hands and warmth fall away.

  “Hey, what the fuck man?” the stranger grumbles, coming to his own halt.

  “Back off. Keep your hands to yourself unless you’re given permission, asshole,” Link spits.

  “She’s been fine with my hands all night. You need to go back where you came from and let us be, bro,” the stranger replies. He’s standing next to me and he’s clearly looking for a fight. Before I realize it, Link is in the guy’s face.

  “I told you to back the fuck off,” Link growls. I try to slide between them, but they are nearly chest to chest. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a bouncer on his way over.

  Stranger’s hands go up in surrender. “Whatever, this shit isn’t worth my time.” He takes a step back then turns and slinks away.

  I’m still in shock over Link being here, so I don’t object right away when he turns and yanks my hand to follow him. He doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t say a word. And that pisses me off. I dig in my heels and stop walking.

  He gives my hand another yank before he turns around. He’s mad, I can see it in his eyes even with the club being so dark.

  I finally find my voice. “What are you doing here, Link?” I shout over the music.

  There is a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Taking you home.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re fucking drunk, Ruby, were you going to go home with that guy? Do you even care that his hands were all over you?”

  I scoff at that.

  “Of course, I fucking care, you asshole. How dare you accuse me of being a slut,” I shout at him.

  His lips purse, his jaw clinches, he’s holding back what he really wants to say. “I’m taking you home, Ruby,” he growls.

  “I’m not ready to go home yet, so you can leave.” I say this and there’s a tiny flicker in the back of my
mind that tells me I’m going to regret my meanness once I’m not so wasted.

  “Get to the fucking car, Ruby.” His face is as red with anger as the pulsing lights that fill this place.

  Since telling him off doesn’t seem to work, I use the silent treatment and retreat to the restroom. I’ll be safe from his judgmental stare there.

  I rush into the last stall and stand there. Now that the music from the dance floor is just the tiniest bit muted, I start to wobble with the drastic noise loss.

  Deep breaths, Rubes.

  My head is fuzzy and I’m not feeling the fun part of being drunk anymore. I push out of the stall to the sinks and bend down to splash water on my face.

  That’s when I face myself in the mirror. The person I see staring back at me nearly makes me cringe. Who the hell am I looking at? A drunk, crazed and angry, poor excuse of a woman.

  Embarrassment immediately floods my body. I grab onto both sides of the sink and hang my head between my arms. I can’t look at myself any longer.

  I start to play back what the hell just happened out there.

  I didn’t invite the faceless man next to me to dance, but I didn’t mind the warm body next to me. The person himself meant nothing, it was the warmth, the illusion that someone was with me. That’s all I wanted. The feeling that I’ve missed over the past couple of weeks, ever since I kicked — well, tried to kick — Link to the curb.

  The stranger’s hands were all over me. At first, his touch startled me, but I quickly realized I wasn’t feeling it. So I didn’t stop it. But when he took his second pass, his hand grabbing more than its fill without proper permission, I felt it. And it felt wrong.

  Link’s face pops into my head, the look of pure rage on his normally easy-going face. The thought of how disappointed he must be with me hits me like a ton of bricks. Like a shot of vodka taken to fast. It nearly knocks me on my ass, I grip the sink even harder. Move over embarrassment, make room for the feeling of pure and utter failure, it’s a sharp knife driving straight into my heart.

  What have I done?

  Why am I doing this?

  In a moment of clarity, I realize why.

  I lost my baby.

  My body failed me. I failed me. I failed Link.

  Deep in my bones, I know the baby was his. I hadn’t kept our baby safe.

  I have been telling myself and everyone else, over the past weeks that I’m fine. It was easier to act as if I hadn’t wanted the baby, that I wasn’t attached to the idea of holding a baby that was half me and half Link. Tears start to flood my vision. My heart cracks open just a bit before I get control. I’m not going to lose it in some dirty night club restroom. I can’t allow myself one more embarrassing moment right now. I need to get home before I let my revelations finally pull me under.

  With another deep breath I lift my head. I sway with the movement; my moment of clarity being replaced with the slosh of all the drinks I swallowed down tonight.

  Pushing through the restroom door, I’m startled to see Link leaning against the wall. I’m surprised he’s here. He still looks pissed, but there is worry mixed with his anger. Just a little bit.

  “You’re still here,” I say.

  “Like I said, I’m taking you home.” His voice is gruff and lets me know there is no more room for argument. He grabs my hand and starts walking. I don’t fight back this time. I know he’s right to haul my drunk ass home. I shouldn’t be here.

  We don’t say anything to each other during the walk to the parking garage. Which I realize is going to cost him more than what’s reasonable for a prime spot on a Friday night. I sway a bit as we come to a stop at his car. His arm goes around my waist. His scent hits me and I resist the urge to bury my face in his neck.

  He opens the passenger side door and deposits me into the seat. Then he reaches around me and buckles my seatbelt.

  “I’m not going to throw up,” I tell him on a hiccup.

  He chuckles, but quickly regains his anger and replies, “That’s usually something a drunk person says right before they throw up.”

  “No, I mean it. I won’t throw up, so don’t worry about it.” I shake my head.

  “I’m not, the car can be cleaned,” he tells me. There isn’t much warmth in his tone, but at least he isn’t growling at me. With that he closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side.

  We don’t even get out of the parking garage before I puke on the floor of his car. I can’t fight back the tears that come this time, I’m a crier when I puke. But I’m able to control the tears enough to not let them get out of hand. Link shoves a wad of fast food napkins in my face and I wipe my face and start apologizing for the mess. And the smell. He tells me to just calm down and close my eyes and focus on not getting sick again.

  So that’s how I stay for the remainder of the ride home.

  Oh my god. On top of the roaring bitch I’ve been and the grade-A intoxication tonight, I just puked in Link’s new car. After promising him I wouldn’t. A tear leaks from my eye and I can’t help it, I swipe it away. I can feel Link’s stare on me.

  The more I sit here next to him, the more I stew about the night. I didn’t ask him to rescue me. I didn’t really need saving. And he’s pissed for whatever reason. If anyone should be pissed, it should be me, since he ended my night of fun. Unless … unless he was out having fun as well. I see my reflection in the window and realize I’m scowling. The thought of Link having fun without me pisses me off. Since everyone is out of town, his options for company are limited. And I don’t like any of the options. But I bite my tongue.

  Moments later the car shuts off. Link gets out of the car as I open my tired, heavy eyes. I’ve slept more in the past two weeks than I have in the past year, it seems. Yet I’m suddenly exhausted. My door opens and Link is there. He’s not extremely close, but I feel his nearness, his warmth, his concern, yet it’s all accompanied by his anger.

  “Rubes,” he says more softly than I expected. “Let’s get you to your apartment.”

  I nod and unbuckle myself. I can’t stand for him to do it for me. Not now. Not after what I’ve done.

  I carefully move my foot over my mess on the floor mat and tell him, “I’ll clean this up. I’ll also pay whatever it costs to get the smell gone.” I push myself out of the car. I brush away his helping touch, and he closes the door instead. His hand goes to my lower back and I twist my body away from him.

  I want his touch. I want his warmth, his protection. But I don’t deserve it. Not now, at least. Shame is my new middle name.

  He takes it all in stride. He doesn’t try to touch me again, but he guides me through the lobby, into the elevator, and up to my apartment. I can’t handle the back and forth of my emotions tonight. I’m starting to regret all the drinking. I want to cry one minute, and then the next I’m pissed. God, being a woman really sucks sometimes.

  His touch finds me again when I step out of the elevator too quickly. The movement causes me to stumble and the realization hits me that I’m still quite drunk. But no sooner do I recover, than Link is by my side, his hand on my elbow, giving me just the support I need.

  When we get to the door, I shake him off. I fumble with my key before Link gently takes it from my hand and unlocks the door. Why is he being so nice to me when I’m being so damn mean to him?

  I knew the apartment would be dark and empty when I returned tonight, but the silence is deafening.

  “What do you need, Ruby?” His voice is gravelly. I stand there in the middle of my apartment and fumble for words. He doesn’t wait for my reply. “Some water, that’s for sure. How about something to start combating that hangover?” He rounds the corner into the kitchen.

  He comes back with a couple of Tylenol and bottle of water, which he offers to me.

  “Why did you show up tonight?” I snap. I know I sound like a brat, but apparently, it’s my new thing.

  “Morgan called me,” he says, and that’s all I get. At some point during the night, I acci
dentally texted Morgan. I call it an accident because I’m pretty sure I made a sexual reference that was supposed to be for Link. But it had her texting back, worried about where I was and what I was doing. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach a re-read of tonight’s texting spree. Or … maybe I should do it and delete all the incriminating evidence while there’s still vodka flowing through my blood stream.

  I make a disgruntled noise and take the offered medicine.

  “Sorry about ruining your night, but you can leave,” I finally tell him.

  Please don’t leave me.

  He shakes his head rolling his eyes at me.

  “You’re an angry drunk, Ruby. It’s unbecoming,” he says, his tone laced with bitterness.

  “Shut up, don’t be a dick,” I snap.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He takes a step back.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that you’re angry all the time anyway, so why would it be any different when you're drunk?”

  “Of course, I’m fucking angry,” I shout.

  “Why? Tell me why you're angry, Ruby.” He’s goading me but I’m not ready to talk about it yet.

  “What does it even matter?” I say, starting to lose steam.

  “Because you won’t tell me anything and angry is the only emotion you seem to allow yourself to show.”

  “Whatever, Link.”

  “Exactly, just blow me off. Blow off your feelings,” he mutters.

  “Just go home,” I seethe.

  “No.”

  I swear, if he tells me no one more time, my head is going to explode.

  “Why are you so pissed? Is it because you had to cut your own night short to come rescue someone who didn’t need saving?” I say snottily.

  He sighs and looks toward the ceiling. Shaking his head, he looks at me with exhaustion. “I’m pissed because of what you did tonight and how you’ve been acting overall for the past couple of weeks,” he says without emotion.

  I ignore his response, because he doesn’t answer the question I wanted him to.