As soon as he's gone, I turn back to Bridge. "How bad was it?"

She bites her bottom lip, raising her eyebrows.

Crap. That bad?

"I'm a hazard to myself," I murmur.

"No," she says and then drops her head on my shoulder. "You had some drinks, you're on a boat, and you slipped. Grace has never been one of your strong points."

"Gee, thanks," I say wryly.

Bridget just raises her eyebrows even higher.

"Okay, okay, you're right. How's that little thing called empathy working for you?" But I'm grinning too.

"Great," she chimes.

Patrick strolls back in bearing gifts—a bag of ice and some chocolates. Have I told you he's prince charming yet? I've mentioned it, right? Because I don't think he's ever looked so good, Halloween costume and all.

I greedily steal the candy, and then remember I only have the use of one hand. Bridge unwraps a piece of chocolate and hands it to me.

"See, empathy," she whispers.

I snatch the candy.

"Good news," Patrick says and gently lays the bag of ice over my wrist. For a moment, it stings, but then the freeze feels good, numbing some of the pain, cooling the fire beneath my skin. "Apparently, the party was about to end anyway. We're five minutes away from docking. So as soon as we get off, we can take you to the hospital to get your hand checked out."

"You don't need to do that," I say, turning to him. "Bridget can take me, I don't want to ruin your whole night."

But he doesn’t respond, he just leans forward and kisses me instead. I'll take that reply anytime! Suddenly, the pain doesn’t seem too bad anymore. His lips are the perfect distraction.

"I'm going to go find Ollie," Bridget murmurs, easing off the couch.

Normally, I'd feel bad forcing her from the room, but I'm too wrapped up as Patrick slips into her spot, hardly breaking the kiss as his arm lands across my shoulder, gently tugging me closer without jostling my wrist.

But then he pulls back, eyes focused on mine.

"So, you and that guy?"

"Huh?" I whisper, in a daze, completely confused by the shift. "What guy?" And then I remember the song, the duet, Ollie and I on stage but in a world all our own. I bite my lip, widening my eyes and trying to look shocked. "You mean Ollie?"

"Is something going on?" he asks with a hint of vulnerability in his tone, one I'm not at all used to from him.

I place my uninjured palm against his cheek, locking our gazes so he knows I'm telling the truth. "No. There's nothing going on. Ollie is practically my brother. I've known him for my entire life."

And I think for the first time, I actually really want to mean those words. They're not an afterthought or an excuse, they're more like a prayer, a hope that one day they'll honestly be true.

"Good." Patrick lifts one corner of his lips, cockiness back full force. But I prefer it that way—on him, it looks good. And then he kisses me again. But it ends far too soon when a cough in the corner of the room pulls both of our attentions away just a moment later.

And of course, it's Ollie.

How long has he been there?

"Hey, sis," he says.

Wonderful. I guess that answers my question.

"Bro!" Bridge slaps him on the arm as she walks past, pushing him out of the doorway, before taking a seat. "We're pulling in. Ready to make our grand exit?"

"I'm not so sure I'm ready for a grand anything," I mumble.

"I heard your stage exit was pretty grand," Ollie drawls, grinning. "I'm heartbroken I missed it."

"Where did you run off to so quickly?" I ask.

But before he can answer, the boat shudders, coming to a somewhat jerky stop. And a second later, partygoers stream in, searching for coats and purses, taking one last drink, and then trickling out, asking each other where to go next.

Anyone up for the emergency room?

No? No takers?

I ease off the couch, using Patrick's hand as an anchor as he helps pull me up.

"I have your purse," Bridge says, coming to my other side. Ollie and Aubrey follow silently behind. And then all five of us join the masses and walk slowly down the steps, across a ramp, and back onto solid ground.

Poof.

Just like that, the magic of the night is over.

"Shoes?" Patrick asks, looking at the footwear lined up along the edge of the dock. Most of it is picked over, and he finds his boat shoes easily. Bridget eases into her heels. Ollie finds his boots. Aubrey slips into a pair of sneakers. And me? I stare at the red pumps Bridget forced me to don for the evening, wondering if I can put enough hatred into one glance to set them on fire. Or maybe telekinesis. I would happily send them tumbling over the edge and into the river if I could.

Bridge follows my line of sight. "Oh…right."

"Yup." I sigh. Bring on the pain. But a moment later, I'm airborne. "Wha…?"

I look up into Patrick's smiling face, nice and cozy in his strong arms. Which really—the boy's got muscles. He doesn't look strained at all. Let me just say, John tried lifting me multiple times while we were dating and I'm lucky to still be alive. But Patrick…well, he can whisk me off my feet any time he wants.

"You already broke one wrist this evening, I think we should cut our losses," he says. I just shrug, happily kicking my bare feet, and wrap my one available arm around his neck. And though I feel Ollie's eyes boring a hole into my side, I don't give into temptation to turn around and look.

He has Aubrey.

I have Patrick.

Everything is exactly how it should be…until we hail a cab.

"I'm coming," Ollie growls as Bridget pushes him away from the door.

"Just take Aubrey home, or go out and have a good time. Either way, we're fine. Skye has me and she has Patrick, really you don't have to come."

I sigh from my spot in the cab, watching the meter begin to tick, and am half tempted to close the door and leave all four of them behind.

Ollie scoffs in Patrick's direction. "She's known him for, what? Three weeks? I don't trust this guy. I'm coming."

"Back off, man," Patrick growls.

Bridget just rolls her eyes. "Stop being so overprotective. We're fine."

Ollie ignores her, stepping closer to Patrick—a little too close, challengingly close. "Look, I've known Skye since she was five, and I've never let anything happen to her." Well, that's not exactly true, I silently charge—he knows exactly what he's let happen to me. We both do. But Ollie doesn’t even pause, he just barrels on. "If anyone is going to help take her to the hospital to make sure she's okay, it's going to be me."

"Well, Patrick is her boyfriend, so I think he can handle it," Bridget says, tugging on Ollie's arm.

And then everyone pauses.

I start silently choking in the backseat.

What did I say before, about the boyfriend conversation only happening in awkward sober conversations or totally drunken slips? Yeah…crap.

"Bridge!" I hiss. She looks at me with a broken expression, clearly aware the situation is getting away from her.

"Since when are you her boyfriend?" Ollie spits.

"Since now," Patrick replies.

Wait, what?

I grin.

"Oh, give me a break." Ollie crosses his arms. I can’t help but notice Aubrey is shrinking in the corner, looking at me with some concern.

Okay, time for me to step in.

"People!" I shout, a little louder than I intended, but the ice has almost completely melted and the pain in my hand has turned to a throbbing pulse. "Remember me, the one who needs to go to the hospital?"