One Last Thing

f o u r

0 4

—

    I CAN'T TAKE him home, not alone at least. Miller and a few other guys help Lahey and Tucker carry Everett as I lead the way to my car. Sadie comes too, to make sure her brother's not too drunk he'll collapse and bring down everyone with him.

    While the guys are busy getting Everett into the backseat and buckling him in, I turn to her and smile apologetically. "Sorry about all of this."

    But she just shakes her head, tells me it's no worries, and then offers me a hug too fast for me to reciprocate and says, "Get home safe, yeah?"

    I nod. Lahey thanks me with one last hug as the guys and Sadie go back up to the house. Tucker gets in the passenger side as I pop open my door and slide into the driver's seat, gravel crunching under the tires as I peel away from the curb.

    The entire drive back, I keep stealing glances at the rearview mirror to where Everett's slumped over. I don't know why—he's drunk, not dying, but I can't help it. At one point he stirs, and his eyes blink open slowly, staring at nothing. I know then that he's awake, but he doesn't say anything, and neither do we.

    Not until I pull into Everett's driveway. Tucker's opening the backseat door and unbuckling Everett's seatbelt when he digs his hand into Tucker's arm and slurs, "No."

    "What?"

    He lulls his head from side to side, again and again, so his dark hair tumbles over his forehead. "No," he whispers again, "She can't know. You can't let her know."

    "Everett," I say softly, bending down to his level, "who can't know?"

    He just shakes his head again. "I can't—go inside. She can't know."

    Tucker and I share a look.

    "Okay," my shoulders drop. "Okay, you don't have to go inside."

    Tucker shoots me a puzzled look. "What? Where are we supposed to take him then?"

    "To ours."

    He frowns. "But Mom—"

    "She'll understand," I cut him off. I have no idea if it's true. She loves Everett, but this is another level of fuck-up that I'm not sure she'll be willing to accept so easily. For all I know she could ground me, take away my car keys and tell me to hike to school for the rest of the year. But I don't know what else to do. This is the best I've got.

    If Tucker catches my lie, he doesn't say anything about it, just gets back in the car with me and stares out the window as I turn around and park in our driveway instead.

    I don't know how, but we manage to get Everett into the house. Miraculously, Everett seems to sober up a little more with each step, like he knows he has to force enough awareness into his legs if he doesn't want to sleep on the concrete.

    When we step through the door, all the lights are still off. Mom must still be at her night shift. I reach over with my one free hand and flick on the main light as we move down the hallway, bracing our hands against the wall as we walk down. I sigh a breath of relief when we finally reach my room.

    My half-working fairy lights are still on from this morning, and on the other side, my curtains sway from the light breeze coming from my open window, sending through the scent of earth and rain.

    We help Everett onto the bed, and he ungracefully falls onto it with a bounce and a creak. He lies not quite straight, his legs half off the mattress.