“I’m risking my job just being here,” Mikayla says from her spot on Bailey’s bed. She’s got a bottle of water in her hands, but she watches Nicolette take a swig of her drink with a jealous look in her eyes. “We could be arrested for this, Cole.”
“Dude, relax,” Nicolette says. “No one’s gonna arrest a pregnant lady.”
“Are you kidding? I’d get in more trouble than anyone! Bailey’s a senior and she was in middle school while I was graduating college.”
“Jesus,” I say. “You’re ancient.”
“And you still go to a pediatrician!”
It’s hard to drink when you’re laughing. Delilah pries the bottle from me while I’m distracted and pours a few fingers’ worth into a plastic cup. “Take it slow, my dude,” she says. “Scotch is meant to be savored.”
I narrow my eyes as she’s slow to hand the cup over, holding the bottle out of my reach. There’s a hard look on her face, her lips pinched and eyebrows pulled together. I take the cup from her and look down at the tiny drop of alcohol she gave me.
A couple miles away, my team is probably talking all kinds of shit about me. Commiserating over an embarrassing loss and pinning it all on me. A couple shots of whiskey aren’t going to be enough to loosen the knot of anxiety in my chest.
I toss back the sip of scotch and hold the cup back out to Delilah. She gives me what I’m guessing is supposed to be a meaningful look before pouring me my refill. We repeat the same process until my nerves start to give way to tingling in my fingertips, numbness in my tongue, and a haze in my head. Delilah must see it on my face, because she screws the cap back onto the bottle and says, “Slow down.” She takes it with her when she goes to sit on the floor next to Jade.
There’s some reality show playing on the TV on Bailey’s dresser, but no one’s paying attention to it. Mikayla and Bailey are on the bed talking, Nicolette’s got her legs crossed on the old wooden armchair in the corner, leaning forward to put herself into Delilah and Jade’s conversation. Nova and Madison come in from the cold and close the door to the balcony, rubbing their arms to warm up. Nova’s all red in the face, still looking photo shoot ready in baggy sweatpants and one of my old National Team T-shirts cut into a crop top under a cardigan.
I stand in the middle of the room for a second and just soak in their presence. It’s a little weird, having them all here in a place I’ve started to associate with home. Family and home haven’t gone together for me in a long time.
They’re not leaving until tomorrow, but I miss them already.
SEVENTEEN
Dorian and Barbie showing up is enough of a distraction that I’m able to get the bottle of whiskey back before Delilah notices. I don’t remember much of the night after that aside from collapsing face-first into bed.
Now, Barbie’s on the floor with his entire upper body tucked under my bed. With the sunlight coming through the blinds and the whiskey headache, I’m about five seconds from joining him when panic hits me so hard and sudden it knocks the breath out of my chest.
I scramble for my phone in my sheets and almost drop it, my hands are shaking so bad.
No messages.
I’m the one who should be apologizing to Cauler, making first contact, so I don’t know why the empty screen hurts so much. But it does. Like a sucker punch to the gut.
I’m about to message Nova for help when six bodies come crashing through the door making as much noise as humanly possible.
Barbie whacks his head on the underside of my bedframe while Dorian screeches awake, clutching his blanket to his chest and putting his back against the wall. His horror dissolves into straight-up mortification when he sees it’s my sisters and Nova. He pulls the blanket over his head and says, “Terzo, it’s your turn to kill me now.”
“I think I’m concussed,” Barbie says from the floor.
Delilah and Nicolette step over him to jump on my bed. “Get up, get up!” Delilah says while Nicolette groans, “I’m hungry, dude, let’s go.”
“How are you not hungover right now?” I mumble. I push myself upright, forcing them over the edge of the mattress. Nicolette almost stomps right on Barbie’s head.
“We’re adults and know how to pace ourselves,” she says, maneuvering around Barbie while he curls into a ball to protect himself. He barely opens his eyes when Nova crouches in front of him. “We don’t chug entire bottles of whiskey the second we get our hands on them.”