Delicate Us

Chapter 18

Syler

Madds's devilish eyes were on me, screaming, "Drink!"

Syler chugged one shot after another. When she had had enough, she stood abruptly, the legs of the chair screeching against the stage. The lights came on and thousands of people surrounded me, chanting along with Madds.

"Drink, drink, drink!"

Tears streamed down her face, begging for this to be over—for Trace to run out and put a stop to Madds. To hit him the way he hit the man at the bar. But he never did. Instead, Madds stood, came to her and let his nails sink into her arms. Dribbles of blood leaked from her skin as she let out a cry for help. Loud enough to wake herself up.

Syler gasped. The cold floor pressed against her bare back. Sweat poured down her temple. Her stomach was cramping and each tremor down her body felt like an acidic lightning bolt.

But something comforting anchored her. Calmed her. The feeling of strong arms wrapped around her.

"Syler..." he called.

She slitted her eyes open to be met by piercing green ones. "Trace?"

A concerned side smile emerged on his face. "Hey."

She sat up in alert, realizing she wasn't on stage anymore.

"Whoa, take it easy." His hand came down on her back to keep her steady, stroking her hair away from my face.

"Where am I? What happened?"

"You're backstage. You passed out. You'll be okay."

She scrunched her eyes in humiliation. "No, no, no! I had one song left."

"You did great. And you're done for the night."

"One left, Trace!"

He pulled her into a hug, whispering, "You did great. You're done for the night." With a quick kiss on her head, he was gone in a flash, taking her breath with him.

Two paramedics came into her shaky vision, asking questions, taking vitals, and shoving a water bottle in her hand.
Syler was placed on a gurney with a blanket, and carried away to an ambulance, where she was stuck with a needle for IV rehydration.

The next few hours were a tired blur of tests and fatigue. Her eyes closed when her heart rate steadied, and she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

★★★

Syler pulled forward a heap of covers between her arms. Her head pounded, but at least her stomach wasn't cramping anymore.

She was in her room. The curtains were drawn, and it was quiet and peaceful. Her limbs felt heavy, sinking into the mattress. With a groan, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked for her phone, spotting it right next to her hand.

She lugged it to her face, wincing at the brightness and seeing that it was 2 PM the next day. She had several missed texts and phone calls, but she only opened Trace's message.

Trace: I hope you're well. Sorry I couldn't stay. I have a game today. I'm really worried about you. How are you feeling?

The message was from a few hours ago. Had he stayed the night?

Syler: I feel better, thank you. The contract says I have to be at all your games. What time does it start?

A text from him rolled in quickly.

Trace: You're out of your goddamn mind.

Syler: I want to be there.

Trace: Rest