The Boys of Blueberries

24

Before Tristan goes home to Malta, he and the boys go for a night out. He deserves one.

Jayden winks at Sabina just as they're crowding the front door of her apartment. "We'll take good care of him, Sab."

"Call me if someone hits on him," she says, crossing her arms. "And you better take care of him or it's your necks I'm breaking."

"We will," Everett snorts.

Tristan kisses her one last time. "If I'm drunk by the end of the night, I'm sorry and I love you."

Sabina smiles and pushes him away. "Go before your boys break my door."

Tristan doesn't come home drunk. He comes home drunk and alarmed. "Sabina!" he yells, slapping her counter from where his head is laid down.

Lined up on the wall by the hallway, Isaac bites his lip. "So he started crying—"

"Shut up, no talking," Sabina snaps, eyes murderous. She crosses her arms over her chest, rubs the sleep out of her eyes—it's four in the fucking morning, for God's sake—and glares at each of the boys standing next to each other, backs pressed to the wall. They're rigid and stiff, but Asher's falling asleep, wasted, and Everett's stumbling, and Isaac's just finding the whole thing funny, and Jayden—Jayden's just matching Sabina's death stare, trying hard to focus on her. "He gets drunk, he's crying, you drag him to dance, someone hits on him while he was dancing, he demands you all to take him home, and you bring him to a football field. Where he hallucinates and has delusions about me breaking up with him."

"He lost the game," Asher slurs.

"No talking," Sabina hisses. "Why the fuck didn't you take him home?"

"Sabina!" Tristan yells again, slapping the counter more forcefully this time. "Kyle!"

"God." Sabina grits her teeth and points at his friends. "I should've never trusted you males."

"He's always a parent, Sabina, give him a break," Isaac says, eyes drooping. "He should have his fun sometimes."

"And that would be fine if he weren't having delusions about our hypothetical breakup."

"Well." Jayden blinks rapidly. "He kept saying you're going to leave him."

Sabina sighs. Oh, Tristan. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. Drink water, all of you. I'm going to call a cab and you're going to go home and sleep this off before I kill you, understand?"

Everett makes a salute, standing straight. "Yes, ma'am."

"Sabina," Tristan moans.

Sabina stalks to her boyfriend and sighs, cupping his face. "Okay, I'm here, honey. I'm not breaking up with you, okay?"

"But you are," Tristan slurs, lips pursed together from Sabina's hold on his cheeks. His eyes are closed. "You will."

The model takes a deep breath. "Isaac, you're the most sober out of everyone here, so carry him to my room. And if you drop him, I swear to God, you will not live another day."

Isaac gets to live another day. When the boys finally drag themselves inside the cab and Sabina pays extra to take them home safely, she goes back to her room, takes off Tristan's shoes and pants, puts on some boxers for him, and pulls the covers over his body. She lies down next to him and traces his face, frowning. "Tristan?"

"Mm." He rolls over, hugging her, head buried to her chest. His breath fans her skin. "Hi."

"Hi," Sabina whispers, stroking his hair. "I'm here, I'm not leaving you."