The figure was tall and broad. His face was a blur in my drunken vision. “Annabel?” he said. His voice was not Carson's. It was deeper, more of a rumble. The voice was familiar.“Fred?” I whispered, my voice thick.“Yeah, it’s me. What are you doing here? I was worried about you.” His hand was warm on my shoulder, a solid, grounding weight in my spinning world.“I… I just needed to get away,” I said, my head dropping forward. The world spun again, the neon lights of the bar swirling into a nauseating kaleidoscope of color.“From what? From who?” he asked, his voice now laced with a protective anger that was both fierce and comforting.I looked up at him. I couldn't focus on his face, but I could see the concern in his eyes, a genuine worry that sliced through the alcohol-fueled haze.“Everything. All of it. Victoria, Carson…” The dam I had been holding back for hours finally broke. I started to cry again. The tears came easily now, a hot, wet torrent on my face, mingling with the s
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