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Chapter 25

Jamie’s body sagged when he saw her, and he immediately trotted over, stopping a few feet away from her. “Thank God you’re still here,” he said. “I thought you left.”

“Waiting on my ride right now,” Claire said coolly, looking off into the distance, wishing Laureen’s car would pull up right then.

“Claire… will you look at me?” Reluctantly, she turned her head and met his gaze. Illuminated by the street lamp overhead, his blue eyes shone with remorse. “I’m really sorry,” he told her. “That was an asshole thing of him to say about Nick, and he shouldn’t have touched you. But honestly, Greg’s not a bad guy. He just wasn’t thinking. He’s a little wasted… we’re all a little wasted.” He grinned crookedly.

“Yeah, no shit," Claire spat sharply, annoyed at the fact that he was still making excuses for his jerk of a friend. “Here’s a question, Jamie – how does he know about me and Nick in the first place? What have you been telling those guys about me?”

“Nothing!” Jamie said quickly. “All he knows is that you’re dating Nick. But come on, it’s not like it’s that big of a secret – it’s Nick fucking Carter, for God’s sake.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Go away, Jamie,” she muttered. “Go back to your buddies and leave me alone; I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Claire, come on, don’t do that,” Jamie pleaded. “I don’t want to leave with you mad at me. I just wanted to say sorry and make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, you said it, and I’m fine, thanks.” Crossing her arms even tighter, she looked away again, wishing he’d take the hint and leave.

“How’s your hand?” he asked. “That was some punch you gave Greg.”

She felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Did I give him a black eye, you think?” she asked.

“Mm… maybe not that much… but probably a bruised cheek at least,” Jamie offered. “Either way, he’s pretty humiliated, getting hit by a chick and all. Where’d you learn to punch like that? Did I teach you that? Or did Nick?”

“Neither,” smiled Claire. “My big brother taught me.”

She had gotten her first boyfriend at the age of fifteen, not long after she’d finally developed noticeable breasts (yeah, she was a late bloomer), and when Kyle had found out, he’d taken her out to the garage, where he kept all his old weight-training equipment from his football days, and shown her the proper way to punch on his punching bag. This was the first time she’d actually put the lesson to good use. Kyle would be proud.

Jamie returned her smile. “So,” he said, “you have a ride coming?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “You can go back inside; she should be here soon.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Go on; I don’t want them to come looking for you.” She shooed him away with her hand.

He grinned. “Alright. Will I see you again before I leave?”

She shrugged. “I dunno… definitely not tomorrow.”

“Friday? Maybe you and Di and I can meet for breakfast?” he suggested. “Nick too, if he wants.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“And make sure you call a cab or something to take you back to your hotel tonight. You shouldn’t be driving.”

Smirking, he nodded and saluted her before spinning on his heel and walking back up the sidewalk, weaving ever so slightly. She was amazed he had sobered up just enough to have a logical conversation with her. She hoped he would stay that way long enough to remember her warning about the cab.

Her worries vanished when she saw a familiar car slow and pull up to the curb in front of her. Laureen rolled down the window and stuck her head out. “Hey!” she called. “Hop in!”

Relieved, Claire went around the front of the car and climbed in on the passenger’s side. Turning to Laureen, the first thing she said was, “Thank you so much!”

“Oh, anytime! That’s what friends are for, right?” replied Laureen, taking her foot off the brake. “So… if you don’t mind my asking, what happened??”

As they drove, Claire told Laureen the story, about canceling her plans with Nick to hang out with an old friend was in town and how Jamie’s friends were jackasses and how Greg had insulted Nick (that one elicited a gasp of horror from Laureen – “he didn’t!”) and how she had finally socked Greg and ran out.

“Good for you, girl,” Laureen said emphatically. “He deserved it!”

“Thanks,” smiled Claire. “Thanks for everything.”

“Quit thanking me, it’s fine!” Laureen insisted. “Now, where do you live?”

Claire opened her mouth to give Laureen directions to her apartment complex and then changed her mind. “Actually, could you take me to Nick’s?”

“Sure!” Laureen’s whole face lit up, and Claire chuckled.

“Thanks, Laureen.”

“I said, quit thanking me!” Now they both laughed.

***

It was not even eleven o’clock yet, but Nick was looking forward to going to bed. He’d had another long, boring day and even longer, more boring night, as he sat moping around, trying not to be angry at Claire for ditching him for Jamie. I’ll see her tomorrow, he’d told himself, but it hadn’t helped much. He had wanted to see her tonight.

Now he just wanted to go to bed. He had just gotten undressed when he heard the doorbell rang.

“What the-?” Who would be here this late? He stood in his bedroom for a few seconds, debating this, and finally decided to go to the door, figuring it might be important. When he peeked through the peephole in his front door, he was surprised to see Claire standing there. Quickly, he unlocked the door and yanked it open.

“Hey,” Claire said, smiling sheepishly at him. Before he could even ask what she was doing there, she turned and waved, and only then did he notice the car in the driveway, its bright headlights preventing him from seeing who was inside.

“Who was that?” he asked, as the car pulled away, the taillights fading in the distance.

“Laureen – you know, my friend from work. You met her once,” Claire said.

“Oh… right,” Nick said, remembering. “Why did she drive you? Where’s Jamie?”

“Looooong story,” answered Claire, stretching out her words. Narrowing his eyes to squint at her, standing there beneath the porch light, Nick realized two things – one, she was drunk; and two, she looked like hell. Still beautiful to him, but… hellishly so? Her eyes were bloodshot, which meant she had either been crying, or she was high. Neither sounded very Claire-like, but judging by her smeary mascara, he guessed she’d just been crying. But why?

“Claire, what happened?” he asked, concerned.

“Like I said, long story. Hey, can I come in? It’s really humid out here.”

Wordlessly inching back on his crutches, Nick opened the door wider to let her in. “Come sit down,” he said, leading her into the living room. They sat next to each other on the couch, and only when Claire dropped her hands into her lap did he notice that the back of her right hand was a mess. Her knuckles looked puffy, and worse, they were bleeding.

“Claire!” he cried, snatching her hand to inspect it closer. “What the hell happened?”

“Oh,” she said, gigging as her eyes fell upon her battered hand. “I got into my first bar fight!” she announced, her eyes shining with pride.

Nick blinked at her, then looked back down at the coagulating blood on her hand, which appeared to be coming from small cuts on her knuckles. Suddenly, the injury made sense. “Wait, you mean you punched someone?” he asked in disbelief.

She nodded, her head bobbing up and down exaggeratedly. “One of Jamie’s friends,” she said. “Greg. He was a dick.”

Nick couldn’t help but grin. His woman had punched a guy? Dayum. If only he could have been there to see it. “How was he being a dick?” he wanted to know. “He didn’t try to come onto you, did he?” Without even realizing it, he clenched his hands into fists.

“Something like that,” she said vaguely, and he got the impression she was not being totally honest with him. He was about to probe further, then decided against it. What did it matter what the guy had done? Claire had obviously taken care of it; the cuts across the back of her hand were evidence of that.

“Do you want some ice for that?” he asked, knowing it had to hurt, even if she was intoxicated enough not to realize it.

“Sure…”

Dutifully, he got up and hobbled to the kitchen, where he scooped some ice into a Ziploc baggie, wrapped a clean dishcloth around it, and carried it awkwardly back to her. “Here, this’ll help with the swelling,” he said, feeling almost like a nurse as he sat beside her and helped her hold the makeshift ice pack over her hand. After half an hour, the ice had melted, and Nick said, “Well, you ready to hit the sack? Don’t forget, we’re supposed to go back to the ER tomorrow morning.”

“Oh…” Claire nodded. “Right. But um… how’m I s’posed to get home? I don’t have my car…”

Nick snorted. “Like I’d let you drive even if you did. No, hon, you’re stayin’ here tonight.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, here. Now c’mon, let’s go to bed, shall we?”

“Okay,” she nodded amicably and let him pull her up off of the couch. He led the way back to his first floor bedroom, glad he hadn’t moved back upstairs to the master bedroom yet, for trying to haul himself up the stairs on crutches while keeping an eye on her would have been too much.

She went into the bathroom to wash her face, and when she came back, he was in bed, one of his t-shirts lain out on her side. “Put that on and get in, babe,” he instructed her, patting the empty space on the bed.

She smiled, picking up the t-shirt. “You’re good to me, Nick, you know that?” she murmured, as she slowly stripped off her clothes and pulled on his t-shirt, which hung loosely on her slender frame, the bottom hem brushing her knees.

“I have to be,” he replied as she climbed into bed beside him, leaning over to take her freshly-scrubbed face in his hands and place a soft kiss on her lips. “I love you.”

She giggled. “Aww… I love you too.”

He smiled. She was cute when she was drunk; in the past, he’d usually been too drunk himself to realize that. It crossed his mind to take advantage of the fact that he had her here in his bed, drunk, while he was perfectly sober. But he decided against it. Come Saturday, she’d be sleeping in his bed every night, and they could make love whenever they wanted to. Whenever they both wanted to.

With that thought, he turned off the lamp beside his bed and slid down beneath the covers, feeling her do the same next to him. Rolling over to face her, he reached out through the darkness and touched her shoulder, running his hand gently down her arm. “’Night, Claire,” he whispered.

“G’night, Nick.”

Smiling, he closed his eyes.

***