After the End: Book 3

62. Hero

Louis POV

The girls and I never actually made it out of the car when we got to the beach. I drove us to Brighton, and on the way there we all talked quite cheerily about walking on the pebble beaches, with the exception of a very quiet Phoebe in the back seat. Halfway through the ride, I watched Oliver reach over and grab one of her fingers. She spent the rest of the car ride holding his hand.

When we pulled into Brighton, we realized just how busy it was. The roads were overcrowded. The sidewalkes were overrun with people and the beach was absolutely packed. We all took one look and it and unanimously decided it wasn't happening despite the hours of driving.

Instead, I parked on a hill with a nice view of the water and we sat in the car listening to music as promised. I didn't want to make them talk to me unless they wanted. I didn't want to force expectations. I was tired of having bad days where we did nothing but fight or argue. If the best we could do was a long drive and snacks and music with a view, then I would accept it.

I kept my eyes trained on Phoebe in the backseat frequently looking for signs that she wasn't wallowing in some sort of depression. She looked at ease back there, and sitting next to the toddler seemed to be helping. I realized while watching her quietly nod her head to the music, that I missed her deeply. She'd changed so much that year. I'd known that, but in holding my grudge against her and Daisy, I'd let a key detail slip my mind. I wasn't mad because they'd lied, at least not exclusively. I was mad because my mum had died and suddenly every corner of my life changed. I was mad at them for changing with it, becoming people I couldn't recognize or predict. I was mad at them for reacting to the world just like I had.

It was time for me to stop holding grudges, but that didn't mean simply forgiving either. I was just committing to being the bridge that eventually got us there again.

We drove home, and even though we'd done very little, I felt like we'd accomplished something. Neither of the girls fought with me for the duration of the day. Oliver didn't cry. We all agreed on music. That was something.

Naomi came up to help put Oliver to bed when we got back and I was about ready to call it a success of a day when she told me otherwise. Reality came back and I remembered that a day off wasn't a day off. It was just a day of avoidance.

"Something isn't right," Naomi stated ominously.

She had told me that morning Harry was sleeping in. That wasn't unusual although he'd gone to bed early as well. She had suspicions that he might have been up part of the night before going back to sleep. That wasn't unusual for him. Even sober, Harry didn't sleep like  a normal person.

Then Naomi told me he was in the same place he'd been in since more than 24 hours prior. To her knowledge, he'd not actually moved that day. He didn't eat, or drink anything other than from a overly watered-down tequila bottle that he'd been sipping on the entire time. She said it was almost empty. He didn't look at his phone or talk to her. He just laid there with hazy eyes like a living corpse.

She was scared.

She hadn't been lying. I left Oliver asleep in his room alone with the girls in the house for the first time since everything had gone wrong and I descended in the elevator with Naomi to go inspect the situation. I'd found him exactly where she said he'd be, with his face smooshed into the cushion of the sofa away from us.

Naomi and I stood behind him quietly for a minute. I tried to listen for any evidence that he was awake, but none came. He barely looked alive. His breathing was quiet and so soft that he wasn't even snoring.

"And you're sure he's not moved?" I clarified in a whisper.

Naomi looked at him like he was already dead and then nodded slowly. "He looked up to talk to me a few hours ago. He sits up sometimes," she stated quietly. "To reach for the bottle. Or the pills. He's been taking pills all day. I heard them rattle in his backpack when he thought I wasn't home."