“Murph!” He managed to collect himself just enough, chuckling once more as he looked down at me, his eyes still smiling so brightly beneath the dull light of the garden lights. “That shit’s at least three-quarters rum!”

“Rum?” I shrieked, my nose crunching up in disgust. I didn’t even know what rum was, but suddenly my belly twisted again, and acid burned its way up the back of my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth and turned away from Harley, bending over and retching once more into the already soiled bush.

“Where’s Nash?” Harley asked from over my shoulder as he smoothed an awkwardly tentative hand over my back in a show of support.

I finished bringing up whatever the hell was even left inside of me, and I turned to him, scrubbing my hands over my face and smoothing my hair back from my clammy forehead. I took a few deep breaths. “I don’t even know.” I shook my head. “He left a while ago to help John Portman fix his truck.”

“He just left you?”

I nodded, looking down at the vomit stains splattered down the front of my dress.

Harley cursed once under his breath. “Here.”

I looked up, watching as he unbuttoned the flannel shirt he was wearing, shrugging out of it before handing it to me. I took it from him, looking him up and down left in only his jeans and T-shirt.

“You can put that on to cover your dress.” He nodded to the shirt before glancing out over the backyard, checking for what I wasn’t sure. I shrugged his shirt on, thankful that it covered most of the sick that had splattered on my dress. After tying my hair up into a knot on top of my head, I folded my arms around myself, shivering as the cool night breeze whipped through the air.

“C’mon.” He held a hand out for me. “I’ve only had one beer. I’ll take you home.”

I hesitated a moment before giving him my hand, feeling something unfamiliar flutter low in my belly when our skin touched. But I ignored whatever the hell that was, and I allowed him to lead the way through the dimly lit yard and around the side of the house, until we came to his beat-up old truck parked at the end of a long line of beat-up old trucks in the driveway. Harley stopped to unlock the passenger door with his key, opening it for me. But I hesitated once again, gripping his arm and offering him a wide-eyed look.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“I can’t go home like this.” I shook my head. “Momma will kill me!”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a laugh.

“It’s not like your house. I can’t come and go as I please, and I certainly can’t be drunk and covered in my own spew,” I continued, gripping his arm even tighter. “Momma will kill me, then she’ll kill you. And if Nash ever reappears from wherever the hell he disappeared to, she’ll kill him, too!”