Chapter 13
Music thumped through the floorboards, giving the house a pulse.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, the edges of my vision soft and fuzzy, a half-empty solo cup dangling from my fingers.
I’d only meant to have one drink after practice.
One. But then Joe had shoved a shot at me, and someone else had shoved another, and now the world rocked enough to be dangerous.
I shook my head, trying to steady my breathing. I hated that I loved alcohol this much, the way it let me forget my shoulder, my mom, my dad.
Just don’t puke. Don’t make a scene. Be normal. Be fine.
Someone brushed past me, laughing, sloshing beer onto my arm; the stickiness mingled with the hairs, twisting them together. I straightened, pretending it didn’t smell like a frat house had died in here.
“Easton!”
I knew that voice before I turned. No. Not here.
Gavin.
I turned too fast, nearly falling, and there they were: Gavin, bright-eyed, wearing a stupid snapback backwards, ready to audition to be on some low-budget reality show, and Jake beside him, hands jammed in his jeans pocket, trying so hard to look unfazed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, pushing away from the counter.
“We got invited,” Gavin said, grinning, clearly lying. “Well, someone on the baseball team said we could stop.”
“Who?” I asked.
He opened his mouth, panic flickering behind his eyes.
“That’s what I thought,” I muttered. “You can’t be here.”
“Relax,” Jake said, trying to deepen his voice. “We just want to hang out. A couple of minutes. Please?”
And then Gavin hit me with it: the stupid, hopeful look he always had when he wanted something from me, like I was supposed to make the world bend for him.
I scrubbed a hand across my face, closing my eyes, wishing I was drinking alone in my bed. God, my head was spinning.
“You get one drink,” I said, holding up a finger. “One. Then we’re leaving. Immediately.”
Both boys lit up as if I’d given them the key to adulthood.
Gavin bounced and turned toward a bottle of vodka. “Yes! Hell yes! Jake, we’re getting a drink.”
“Whoa, no,” I said, grabbing Gavin’s hoodie and pulling him back toward me. “Liquor is too much for you. You get—” I scanned the counter. The least deadly thing was a can of Bud Light abandoned in a puddle of condensation. I shoved it toward them. “This. Split it.”
Gavin made a face. “But I wanted to try a shot."
“Cool,” I said. “Guess we’re leaving.”
He scrambled. “No! Fine. That’s fine.”
Jake cracked it open dramatically, and both boys took the tiniest sips imaginable. Gavin tried not to cough. It was pathetic. It should’ve been funny, but all my focus was on the dread, just waiting for the shoe to fall.
I herded them toward a quieter corner of the living room, away from the beer pong tables and the cloud of vape fog hovering in the air. All I needed was ten minutes. Then I could get them out.
“How’d you get here?” I asked.
“We walked,” Jake said. “Zach dropped us off at the mall earlier.”
“You walked here?” I snapped. “This neighborhood is thirty minutes away.”
“That’s not far,” Gavin said.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Okay. We’re leaving soon. Finish your—”
“Easton.”
My entire body froze.
Zach stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands balled at his sides, his expression sliding from confusion to disbelief to fury in less than a second.
“Oh my god,” he said, walking toward us. “Are you kidding me?”
“Zach—” I started, but he held up a hand, jaw tight.
“You brought them here?”
“I didn’t bring them,” I shot back. “They showed up.”
“And you let them drink?” His voice cracked upward. “He’s fourteen!” He pointed at Gavin as if he were revealing evidence in a trial.
“It’s one drink, Zach,” Gavin said, voice small.
“Jesus, shut up, Gavin, you’re a moron. We’ll talk later,” Zach muttered, not even looking at him. His eyes stayed locked on me. “And you’re supposed to watch after him.”
“I am,” I snapped. My words came out sharper than I meant. Sloppier, too. And louder. “That’s why I said just one. And we’re going to leave.”
Zach’s face hardened even more. “You’re drunk again.”
I swallowed. The room wasn’t spinning anymore—it was tilting. “So what?” I muttered. “I’m allowed to drink.”
“Not with my brother,” he shot back. “Not with the way you drink.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut deeper because of that.
“You were drinking when you were a freshman,” I said, trying to defend myself. To defend Gavin.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t being dragged to a party with a bunch of juniors by an alcoholic eighteen-year-old.”
Alcoholic. The only word that landed. The music kept pounding, but it felt like it was playing for someone else, somewhere else.
“You think I’d let anything happen to him?” I said, stepping forward. “You think I’m stupid?”
Zach didn’t blink. “Right now? Yeah. You are. And you put him in a cast once.”
His punch landed.
My hands curled into fists. “Back off.”
“No,” Zach said. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to act as if you’re part of us but pull shit like this.”
Gavin flinched, his ears turning red.
Jake whispered, “Guys—”
“Shut up,” Zach and I said in unison.
My throat burned. “I said they could have one drink. I’m not letting them get wasted. I’m not—” My voice wavered. “I’m not my dad.”
“You sure about that?” Zach’s face flickered—only for a moment—like the anger had cracked. But then he straightened. “You should’ve told them to go home.”
I wanted to scream I tried!, that I wasn’t good at saying no to Gavin, that they looked up to me and I didn’t want to disappoint them the way everyone else had disappointed me. But the words stuck in my throat.
“We’re leaving,” Zach said. “Now.”
“Fine,” I said. “Good.”
“Good,” he fired back.
We stared each other down, both breathing hard, the music pounding through the walls. Gavin and Jake stood frozen and wide-eyed.
I tore my gaze away, shoving open the front door. Cold air slapped me across the face, sobering me enough for the shame to crawl in.
We walked in silence down the sidewalk—me weaving slightly, Zach stone-faced, the younger two trailing behind like guilty puppies.
When we reached the car, Zach broke the silence. “No one tells Mom or Dad,” he said. “No one.”
“Obviously,” I muttered.
“And you’re not watching Gavin alone for a while.”
That hit harder than anything he’d ever said.
“Okay,” I said, even though he’d yanked out a piece of me.
Zach huffed, angry but scared underneath. “You can be such an idiot.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring out my window. “I know.”
The car ride went in silence until we parked at my house. I opened the door, the weight of the night refusing to leave. I turned toward Zach. He wasn’t even making eye contact with me.
“Zach,” I whispered.
“What?” he said, staring the other way.
“Can you step out of the car for a second?”
“Whatever, Easton.” But he did.
I walked around the car, facing him as he had his back to his door. “You’re right.”
He finally looked at me, his face still pissed. “I’m what?”
“You’re right.”
“Not sure I’ve ever heard you say that.”
I looked away. “Must be the alcohol. But I never should’ve let them spend another second in that house. I acted sorry for myself, got drunk, and acted dumb. I’ll... I’ll try to be better.” I shoved my hands in my jeans, picking at the lint as I waited for a response.
“Next time I tell Mom,” he said.
“Deal,” I said. “Won’t happen again.”
“Better not, dude,” he said. “Tell them to fuck off next time; they’re idiots for even showing up.”
“Got it,” I said.
Zach shook his head at me as he got back in the car. Gavin stared at me out the back window, his forehead pressed against the glass.
Dumbass.
I walked inside, the guilt shoving aside the alcohol. I flicked off my shoes, my left one hitting the wall before clanking to the floor. The house’s warmth chased away the chill on my nose.
I didn’t bother to turn on a light until I got to my room. I reached for the bag under my bed, the smoothness of the bottle rubbing my calluses as I took my last drink of the night.
The sliding glove still sat on my nightstand, a reminder of the decisions I’d made tonight. I’d failed my promise to Tanner. I needed to make better decisions.
But I knew I couldn’t.