In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(21)

I don’t know that she was, though. I wonder if Kacey Cleary gives a f**k about anything anymore. Her Facebook account is inactive. She hasn’t posted a single word and the well-wishes have dwindled, as everyone moves on.

I do know that she shouldn’t be at a party in this state. I’ve heard of bad things happening when girls get that drunk. Especially when they don’t care.

But what do I do?

A blond stumbles into my chest with two beers in hand. “Hey, do you go here? What’s your name?” She’s tipping her head back way farther than necessary to look up at me, telling me she’s trying to flirt but is too drunk to do it right.

I smile down at her anyway. She’s a good cover. I can stand right here and watch Kacey. “I’m Trent, and I used to go here.”

“Really? When’d you graduate?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Kacey shift from the wall and begin climbing the stairs, her arm hooked around the railing to help her. Two guys following her.

Shit. “Uh . . . two years ago.”

“Cool. I’m Kimmy, by the way. Here.” She shoves the beer toward me, splashing some onto my chest.

Just what I want. To smell like a brewery. I take it anyway, because you just don’t come to a keg party and not drink. I suffer through another few minutes of conversation, worrying about where Kacey went and what’s going on, when Kimmy asks, “So, who did you come here with?”

Perfect. My out. Rich has disappeared into the crowd. He’s like his cousin—a social butterfly. “A friend. Actually, if you don’t mind, I need to go find him.” I flash her a smile. No reason to be a dick to her. “It was nice talking to you, Kimmy.”

I don’t wait for her response before I push my way through the crowd to the stairs, my pace picking up with each step. “Where’d the redhead go?” I ask the guys leaning against the railing at the top of the landing, waiting in line for the can. A head nod directs me to the closed door at the end of the hall.

The locked, closed door.

I start hammering against it with my fist.

I can just make out a male voice hollering, “Busy!” from inside.

“Open the damn door. She needs to get home. Now.” It’s a risky move. I don’t know how she’s going to react to any of this. I half-expect her to throw the door open herself and tell me to f**k off. But when she doesn’t, I start hammering against the door again. I’ve earned a small audience by now but I don’t care. “You’ve got exactly ten seconds before I bust this door down!” And I can. Easily. I’ll probably end up with a dozen frat guys jumping onto my back, too, but oh well.

“Whoa! Wait up!” someone yells behind me. A dark-haired guy steps in beside me. “Cole?”

It takes me a moment to recognize him. “Vance. Right?” A fellow Spartan who joined the team two years after me.

“Yeah.” He flashes a crooked smile. “How’ve you been?”

I brush his question off. “I need to get this girl out. She’s not up for whatever’s going on in there.”

He starts banging on the door. “Griff. Open up! It’s Vance.”

There’s a long pause, and then I see the handle jiggle.

“Hey!” a guy hollers as I barrel into him, pushing my way through and into the room.

To find Kacey lying on the bed in her black bra and panties, her jeans hanging off one leg. Unconscious. Or close to it, with her eyes shut, her limbs lax, her lips moving ever so feebly.

And two ass**les in the room with her. Ready to do God knows what.

Rage ignites in me and I lunge for the guy closest to me, the one who opened the door. The one with his shirt off and his belt undone. Vance jumps in between to stop me, but I send him flying with ease. “What the hell is she on? Did you slip her something?”

“No! Nothing! She was into it five minutes ago.” The guy’s hands fly up in surrender, fear touching his eyes as I seize his shirt. “She grabbed both of us and said she wanted it. But now she’s like that. We weren’t gonna do anything to her.”

“Right.”

A crowd has gathered by the door. I kick the door shut in their faces.

Vance has regained his footing and steps in between again, along with the third guy. “Look, everyone’s been drinking. Let’s not get out of hand here.” I know that’s directed at me. We may have played ball together but these guys are obviously his buddies, and he’s going to defend them no matter what. He juts his chin toward Kacey. “You know her?”

“Yeah.” After staring at her picture every day for almost two years, I can honestly say that I do know her. I know the curve of her slender nose. I know the kaleidoscopic pattern of her pale blue irises. I know how, when she smiles, it’s slightly crooked, earning a deeper dimple on the left side. I know the minuscule scar at her right temple.

“’Kay. Can you get her out of here?”

A wave of nausea hits me. Am I really going to do this? “Yup.” I know where she lives.

He hesitates. “You good to drive, man?”

My glare answers.

In seconds, I’m alone in a room with Kacey Cleary.

And I need to remind myself how to breathe.

She’s here, lying on the bed right in front of me, in a drug- and alcohol-induced unconsciousness. How often does she do this?