Out of the Ashes (The Game 5)

I lifted my eyebrows.

“He can’t see me screwin’ up again,” Sloan mumbled. “Fuck.” He quickly leaned sideways, as if he was gonna throw up, but he just spat. “He needs to stay away. He’s already messin’ with my head. Can’t fuckin’ think straight near him.”

Well, hey.

I exchanged a look with Lee, who merely smirked a little.

Sloan furrowed his brow and glanced at Lee. “Who’re you?”

“Kingsley. Greer is a friend,” Lee replied.

“Oh.” Sloan leaned back again and blew out a breath. “He’s mentioned you.”

“He’s mentioned you too,” Lee said. “You think you can stand up?”

Sloan shook his head sluggishly, and I looked over my shoulder, estimating what would be quickest—if I ran home and grabbed a bottle of water or if I went down to the square the next block over where I knew a corner store was open. Lee had been smart enough to bring his wallet.

Sloan stifled a belch in his fist. “I’m done standin’ up. What’s the point if I just end up on the ground again?”

Oh boy. Someone was having a really bad day.

“Goddammit, I think I called him earlier.” Sloan palmed his face, then slipped his fingers into his hair, under the beanie, and tugged at it. “I need a lobotomy.”

I need more information. Keep talking about Greer.

Greer was such a fucking sweetheart. A gentle giant, a rough-around-the-edges teddy bear, with the height of a basketball player, the body of someone you didn’t wanna meet in a dark alley, and a heart of gold. It made perfect sense that he and Lee were friends and met up from time to time because they both possessed an eloquence that didn’t stem from higher education, but rather a lifelong passion for literature and culture.

Not many knew that about Greer—or Lee, for that matter. My boyfriend was quiet and observant around other people, and he looked like the former Navy mechanic that he was. Although, his brand of mechanic required a more advanced degree since he’d literally worked on battleships and aircraft carriers. But he was a grease monkey, then and now. And Greer… He was probably the only man Lee and I had never shied away from playing with during our orgy phase, because Greer was protective of his friends’ relationships. He was safe. He’d been rooting for us.

It was a shame he lived so far away. While Lee and I had to drive half an hour south of here across the river to get to Mclean, Greer had to drive an hour from the opposite direction. And his hour wasn’t city traffic either. He lived out in the sticks, on the wrong side of Winchester, on a small farm he’d restored on his own, with his rescue dogs and chickens and whatnot. A far cry from the life he’d led as a Marine once upon a time.

“Should we bring Sloan home with us?” I asked Lee. “If Greer is driving all the way from Winchester—”

“He was in Mclean,” he replied quietly. “He should be here within ten.”

Oh. Okay. “Do you want me to run home and get him some water and painkillers?”

“I won’t say no to a whiskey,” Sloan slurred.

“I think that’s the problem, honey,” I said.

Lee let out a silent chuckle before he nodded to me. “Water and painkillers are a good idea.”

It was settled. I got the keys from him, then turned around and hurried home.

Greer hadn’t arrived yet by the time I made it back, but at least Sloan looked more alive. He’d abandoned the ground and stood on the curbside, where he threw up in the gutter.

Lovely.

“Good thing I brought snacks too,” I said, out of breath. “Sloan, I got chewing gum and two slices of cold pizza here for you.” And painkillers, water, and a Coke. An ice-cold Coke was my hangover cure. The sugar was magical.

Lee eyed me, amused. “You think he needs minty fresh breath right now?”

“Absolutely, because he’s obviously in love with the man on his way to get him.”

I was a romantic, and Greer deserved all the happiness. Maybe this puke monster could give it to him.

Sloan groaned in obvious protest, but he was too busy emptying his stomach.

As soon as he was done, he accepted the Coke and two painkillers, and the water shortly thereafter.

“You look a little old not to know your alcohol limits,” I noted.

He huffed and gulped down some more Coke.

It was gonna be a while before he sobered up, judging by how much he swayed.

Sloan looked to be the same age as Lee.

“He’s here.” Lee was peering down the street, and the sight of Greer’s heavy-duty truck was too familiar. It couldn’t be anyone else at this hour.

“Fuck me,” Sloan mumbled, then promptly bent over to throw up again.

“You’re supposed to tell him that,” I supplied helpfully.

He actually flipped me off!

Greer was out of the truck as soon as he’d pulled over.