Handle Me

She sputtered, grimaced, sucked in air, then did it again.

“Easy, princess.” Ty moved for the bottle, but she pulled it out of his reach.

“I need to catch up.”

“You need to slow down or you’re going to end the night with your head hanging over the toilet.”

Savannah stared at him for several seconds, her expression blank. Then she tipped her head back and laughed. Belly-clutching, rolling laughter that was so out of place it felt ragged and painful.

All Ty could do was growl at her, “What the heck is so funny?”

“Do you know I’ve never gotten so drunk that I puked?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.”

“I’m thirty-two years old, Ty, and I’ve never been really drunk. I’ve never had a one-night stand. Hell, I can count on one hand the number of men I’ve slept with. And I promise you most of them weren’t worth the effort.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“I’ve spent my entire life doing the right thing. Making the right—safe—decisions. Working hard. Hell, I save lives for a living. But what goddamn good is that when Ryan is dead?”

Van grimaced and tipped the bottle back again. Ty wanted to wipe away the grief that sharpened her words and dulled her gorgeous eyes. But he couldn’t.

“So, tonight I’m going to get knee-walking drunk. I’m entitled. Feel free to go if you don’t want to watch the show.”

There was no way in hell he was leaving her alone. Not like this.

“For God’s sake, at least tell me you’ve eaten something today.”

Her lips twisted into a bastardized version of her smooth smile. “Nope. At least nothing that counts.”

She was going to hurt in the morning. But then, she was going to hurt tomorrow no matter what she did tonight. Ty understood the desire to drown the pain in alcohol at least for a little while. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing not thirty minutes ago?

“Fine, but you can’t drink alone.”

“Whatever.”

A breeze swirled through the open square windows. A shiver racked Van’s body. Ty could see the goose bumps spreading across her naked shoulders and arms from across the tree house.

Shaking his head, Ty walked over to the large plastic bin sitting on the far side of the small space. Lifting the lid, he found several old quilts and a couple of worn throw pillows Margaret had donated to the cause years ago when she’d remodeled.

They smelled of dust and age, but were dry and clean thanks to the well-sealed bin. Dragging them out, he spread one blanket across the floor, threw the pillows against the bin for support and left the second blanket in a pile so Van could wrap up. It might be early spring in Texas, but the nights could still feel like winter.

“Sit.”

Ty could tell the whiskey was already hitting her. Steady, perfect Van tottered as she tried to lower her body gracefully to the ground.

Instinct had him reaching for her, but she shoved his helpful hands away.

With a sigh, he settled beside her. Almost shoulder to shoulder, but Ty made sure not to touch her. Not just because it was obvious she didn’t want him to, but because he wasn’t really interested in torturing himself any more than necessary.

They sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. She didn’t seem to notice that he barely took a sip when it was his turn. Or maybe she did and didn’t particularly care. Either way, the heavy silence didn’t last.

After about fifteen minutes Van broke it. “Do you remember that time you and Ryan crashed my slumber party?”

Of course he remembered. That was the night he finally realized Van was no longer the little sister who’d followed blindly behind his best friend, but a young woman with breasts and hips and soft pink lips he suddenly wanted to crush beneath his own.

He could have stopped her from sharing more—should have—but he didn’t.

He needed the good memories right now, because the bad ones felt like they were going to crush him.

A laugh fell from her parted lips, not quite bright, but not quite broken. “God, I was so pissed at y’all. I’d worked hard to get Kelley Morgan and Julia Price to come over. You guys scared the shit out of us and they both went screaming home in the middle of the night. Ruined my fifteenth birthday.”

That wasn’t the way he remembered it. “We didn’t ruin a damn thing. Kelley had a thing for Ryan and was only there because she thought you were her ticket into his pants. We were doing you a favor.”

Van shoved his shoulder, pushing him sideways. “You don’t think I knew that? Hell, I promised they could bump into him in the hallway after his shower, wearing nothing but a towel.”

Ty slowly turned to face her. “You pimped out your own brother just to get those girls to come to your birthday party?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? Not my finest moment. And you can’t convince me Ryan would have cared.”

No. No he wouldn’t have.

Shaking his head, Ty said, “God, I’ve missed you.” He had no intention of saying the words aloud, but apparently the whiskey had lubricated his tongue.

She grinned, her gorgeous pink mouth going wide and a little lopsided. Her gaze was blurry and bright, her movements sluggish as her shoulder bumped his and her head rested against him. “Me, too. Sucks, you know?”

She swayed slightly. Ty wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him to stabilize her. He stared down at her, a jumble of emotions tangling inside. Maybe if he’d been sober he could have sorted them out, but right now, that ability was lost to him.

What he did know was that she was beautiful and in his arms. Exactly where he’d always wanted her, but never expected her to be.

If she’d kept that aloof edge she used as a buffer he might have been able to resist. But her expression changed. The laughter melted away to something deeper, darker. Something he recognized because he felt it, too.

Need.

God, he couldn’t be good when she was looking at him that way.

Without thinking about it, Ty leaned down and kissed her, something he’d wanted since that summer she’d turned fifteen.

He couldn’t have her back then.

Hell, he couldn’t really have her now.

But the way she responded to him...he couldn’t let her go, either. Not tonight.

She made a sound deep in her throat, a strangled cry mixed with a whimper. The echo of it shot straight to his cock, as her fingers clenched in his shirt, wrinkling the fabric. But he didn’t give a shit. Because she wasn’t pushing him away, she was tugging him closer.

Her head fell back, offering her mouth, opening to give him more.