by Susan Ward
OH.
Then, as painful as it is, I force my gaze to dart around my surroundings. Shit, this isn’t my house in the Hollywood Hills. It’s my old bedroom at the folks’. “I’m in the ’Sades.”
“Where’d you think you were?”
I try to sit up then think better of it. “Never mind. Why am I here?”
She sighs in heavy annoyance. “Didn’t Dad tell you anything about Eric?”
Grim snippets of being in the storage room with Dad reenter the functioning zone of my brain. “Some of it. Last thing I remember I was leaving for the tour wrap party with Dillon. Why did he bring me here?”
She makes a face, dramatic. “Dad being paranoid, like always. That shit Eric pulled has got both the folks wigging and worrying. Oh, and here’s your free bonus gift: you’re here because we’re going to be living bunker-style. At least until Mom and Dad chill enough not to imagine there’s danger everywhere.”
My jaw drops. “Bunker-style?”
“Yep.” She says that exaggerated, making a pop with her lips on the p.
My head flails on the pillow. “If this is a joke, you better tell me quickly. Not funny, Khloe. Don’t mess with your brother this way.”
She purses her lips. “Fine. It’s a joke. Only if you get your butt in gear to go talk to Mom, you’re going to find that the rest of the herd is here. Minus Eric, of course.”
Herd: what my dad calls us kids.
Her mouth freezes with her lips slightly parted for a second as if she senses I’m having trouble keeping up. I stare up at her and she nods.
She jerks a hand through her waist-length black curls, annoyed. “Exactly. My thoughts, too. Eric’s gone international to destinations unknown and we’re stuck in the ’Sades until Mom’s no longer afraid to let us leave. Why is it Eric creates all these disasters and ends up the lucky motherfucker among us kids? He’s probably lying on a beach in Brazil. Or is it Paraguay that doesn’t have extradition? No matter how you slice it, he’s gone guy and we’re fucked-over siblings.”
International?
Oh yeah, I failed to remember—fleetingly—that part about Eric running from criminals. I cover my eyes with my forearm and groan.
“Do you have any idea how long we’re going to be trapped here?”
Khloe shakes her head. “Not a clue. I strongly suggest you shower before talking to Mom. You look like crap, she really can’t take any more worry, and some feline rubbing up against you last night branded you with her scent.”
She springs from the bed, making the mattress shimmy enough that I’m queasy again. I start to drag my ass out of bed then realize I’m naked beneath the comforter. That gives me a good excuse not to move and rest my sorry, hungover body on the pillow for a few minutes more.
At the door, my sister turns back to smile at me. “Do you want me to bring you some caffeine to guzzle while you shower?”
“That’d be good, Khloe. Thanks.”
“And by the way, Ethan, you’re going to want to wear something to cover the she-bites on your neck.”
She flounces into the hallway and I drop like a sack of meal back on the bed. Jesus Christ, who marked me? Did I fuck someone last night? I lift the cover and glance down at my junk.
Stupid, Ethan, like you’re going to be able to tell by checking him. But, Jesus, I have no clue what I did last night. The trail of bread crumbs in my memory ends with climbing into the car with Gabby and Margo. After that—nothing. Blank. And since I was with the Wall Bangers, it’s probably better that I don’t remember.
Disgusted, not the least of which with myself, I stare at the ceiling trying to will the unknown to stay away. My fingers claw in my hair, and it actually fucking hurts to touch my own hair. Crud, is this what waking up is like for Eric? No clue what went down in your life and wishing someone would put you out of your misery.
I’m still on the bed a few minutes later when Khloe brings me a gigantic travel mug of coffee and sets it on the bedside table with a chilled bottle of water and what I think is two tablets. “I’ve brought you my cure for rough mornings. This oughta make it a little better. Maximum-strength painkillers, sixteen ounces of aqua to hydrate, and forty ounces of coffee. Do ten minutes in a steaming hot shower to sweat out the booze, and you’ll be something close to semi-human when you see Mom. Dad will know you’re hungover, the rest of the family, too, but Mom won’t notice a thing.”
I down the pills and swallow them dry then unscrew the cap on the bottle of water. “You better not let Dad hear you say shit like that. It might blow your image that you’re his always-good princess. You’ll be living bunker-style until you’re forty.”
Her face shifts into her really, Ethan expression. “Worry about yourself. I’m not the one trashed the day after Eric had to flee the country to escape drug dealers or some such bullshit. I don’t even bother trying to remember what kind of trouble he’s in anymore when Dad tells us.”
That was harsh.
Then she makes a sweet face like she knows what I’m thinking and leaves me alone in my bedroom again.
I grab my jug of java and head to the bathroom. After my a.m. whiz, I switch on the shower then head to the vanity while the water heats. By the way my legs drag, maybe I’m still drunk.
Leaning into the mirror, I rapidly examine the side of my neck and across my shoulders. Oh great. Bite and claw marks by the looks of it. Someone rode me hard before I was put away wet. Hopefully I enjoyed it—scratch that, all sex is good—and I’d have woken up with a boner if I hadn’t.
My constant companion, Avery morning wood, didn’t visit me today. Maybe because I’m still drunk and it feels like I’ve got slush in my veins instead of blood. Or maybe because she didn’t show last night at the concert, but instead took off somewhere with my brother.
My emotions start to churn with the thoughts in my head, and somehow I manage to shut off thinking of her in record time because I’m really not up to feeling shittier.
Dealing with that one needs to wait until I deal with the leftover alcohol in my body kicking me hard everywhere. Thinking about it isn’t going to change a thing. It’s already happened. I got blown off by a girl for Eric again. Jumping into that mud pit while I can barely stand won’t change a thing.
After getting the stink-breath from my mouth, me and my new best friend, coffee, climb into the shower. Laying my head against the tile, I just let the water hit me. After a good five minutes of that, I open my mug and down half the container, taking long swallows in between letting the water hit my face and eyes.
Once I’ve downed my coffee, I grab the soap, and first scrub whatever crud has been left on my junk before tackling the rest of me.
It takes a while because the only clean clothes I left in my room are fucking ancient, but I manage to get dressed. Jeans and a black Ozzy t-shirt. Shoes not happening, not even flip-flops. I realize too late I left the bathroom without shaving, so instead of combing my hair I settle for getting it off my face with my fingers to match my scruffy face.
When I check myself in the mirror, my mind rebels. Bed is a much better idea than facing my mom looking like this. But if I don’t go to her, she’ll come to me, so whatever she wants to talk about is unavoidable. I’m really not in the mood to hear one more detail about Eric’s fucked-up predicament since his parting gift to me was fucking up my life as well.
In the hallway, I follow the noise because Khloe didn’t bother to tell me where Mom was waiting. Each step it gets louder. Each step my head hurts more.
It sounds like everyone’s in the kitchen. I’d smile if I could do it without hurting because I like the sound of my family. Though today the usual banter and humor strikes me as odd. A normal, boisterous, happy sort of gathering when they should be anything but happy today. This is the last thing I expected in the midst of an Eric crisis.
Rallying my energy and trying to harness in advance the necessary calm to talk with my mother, I turn into the wide doorway to the kitchen and my legs stop wo
rking.
My mind spins.
There.
Sitting at the center island.
With my entire family.
Avery.
What the fuck is happening here?
Chapter Twenty-One
“Ethan”
Just because you’re part of a family doesn’t mean you understand them. With my family, that’s especially true. I’ve always found it better to roll however things are, not to question it, avoid disturbing it, insulate myself from being affected by it, and wait for the moment of inevitable—and often not—comprehension of what this or that was about.
I’ve always credited much of my inability to understand what happens in this house with who my parents are, and that most of my siblings are female. Very complex, strong-willed, diversely different, opinionated females. Which brings me to the source of my latest indecipherable moment: what the hell is this?
I wait, trying to play it cool until someone notices me watching them, which isn’t helped by the fact that I can’t shift my gaze from Avery. Her wild cloud of auburn curls looks like she’s just climbed from bed, and if I didn’t know better I’d think what she’s wearing are the kind of loose cotton shorts and shirts she puts on to sleep in.
While on the road, I admit from time to time I’ve popped into her room late at night and early morning just to have the image in my head of how Avery would look climbing in or out of the sheets. A guy likes to add to his fantasies over time when he’s aware they’re never going to be realities, and late-night Avery alone in a hotel room is one of my favorites. Usually a pleasant image in my head, but today anything but.
My heart is now pumping in time with the wrecking ball hitting my temples. My breath sputters. That floor doesn’t feel like it’s beneath me any longer.
Hangover. Waking up unexpectedly in my parents’ house with a huge chunk of time missing from my memory. And the girl who stomped on my heart by hooking up with Eric sitting beside my sister, Krystal, and chattering away with my dad like they’re the oldest of friends and she belongs here.
I’ve lived this moment before.
Tara.
No, not going there.
What the fuck is this? What am I seeing? Letting things roll without hitting me; no, not happening today.
“At last, our late sleeper,” a gentle voice whispers, accompanied by a hand on my arm, and I drag my eyes from Avery to find my mom standing close to me. I’m also aware Chrissie’s movement across the room has pulled all the stares to me.
I drag a hand along the top of my head, determined to get a handle on me. “Khloe said you wanted to speak to me,” I say, and Chrissie’s eyes widen with a flash because that came out all kinds of wrong—angry and cold—and, fuck, even I could hear it.
My mom cocks her head, studying me. “Sounds like someone climbed out of the wrong side of the bed.” My face slowly warms even before she finishes.
“What the heck did you do to yourself last night, Ethan?” Krystal mutters, those lively blue eyes of hers laughing at me.
Great.
Try to speak.
Something to get the focus off me fast.
“Nothing you haven’t done a time or two. Is there breakfast? Coffee? Anything?”
Chrissie laughs. “You want breakfast, get out here before noon. You know the house rules. No special meals, not ever. We’ve got before-dinner appetizers and margaritas.”
My stomach turns at the mention of alcohol, and isn’t any more receptive to the giant nacho platter they’re hovering around. Yeah, would have passed on that even if I didn’t have to get close to Avery to grab some.
Fuck, why is she here? “You wanted to talk to me?” I keep my eyes purposely locked on my mother.
Her golden brows pucker. “You OK?” This time her voice isn’t gentle, it’s probing.
No, I’m not OK. I shrug. “Yeah, great, Mom. Still groggy from sleep, I think.”
“Then say hello to your sisters and brothers-in-law properly, like a kid that was raised with manners.”
Wonderful. Now I have to go over to the cluster around the island. Thus far, I’d avoided it. Mom giving an order means no can do now.
As I amble into the room, wanting nothing more than to get out of here as quickly as humanly possible, I avoid those impish brown eyes following my every move.
I drop a kiss on each one of my sisters’ heads and nod with my chin at Bobby and Jacob, the husbands.
Once done, I bypass Avery and go to the fridge, pretending to search for something though I don’t really want anything. “There, Mom. Happy? If this is the reason you sent Khloe to shout me out of bed too soon, can I go back to sleep now?”
“If that’s what you consider manners these days, no, not happy,” Chrissie murmurs, annoyed enough that I glance over my shoulder and run straight into Avery’s eyes.
If I’d been confused by the cause of my mom’s criticism—and I hadn’t been—the look on Avery’s face would have clarified things. Worse, I’m confident no one in the room is missing what I’m seeing.
She’s staring at me like she’s girl-hurt I haven’t said anything to her yet. Which is out of line, in my opinion, because why would she think I’d say anything to her after choosing Eric over me? My family or not in the room, she can’t expect things to be normal between us. Not after that.
I reach into the fridge for a vitamin water to have something else than her to look at. “Sorry, Avery, if I was rude. Not intended.”
“Intended or not, you did it well,” Khloe jeers.
Great, now all my sisters are glaring at me like I’m an asshole, but I’m not the asshole here. The asshole is on a beach in Brazil or Paraguay or wherever Dad sent Eric.
It’s Avery who laughs and saves me. “Stop picking on your brother. Be nice. This must be challenging for Ethan. He’s always a bear hibernating in his cave the day after being on stage. Pull the bear from the cave early, you get what you get. I’m surprised you girls don’t know that. Don’t worry about me. I’m used to it.”
Krystal laughs. “Are you sure you don’t have my brothers confused? Ethan is never the bear. He’s always the rabbit.”
Oh fuck. Someone tell me my sister didn’t say that.
Avery smiles. “No, I don’t get the brothers confused. Ethan’s a bear after show night. Sad, but true.”
That Avery’s taking up for me, I don’t like at all. “Very cute. But not accurate. I don’t like to be disturbed the next day because it’s the one day I’m never in my cave alone. Well, usually.”
My sisters’ eyes flare wide over mouths shaped in an O, since I’m confident that’s the closest thing to a lewd comment I’ve ever said in front of my mother. Well, other than that time when I was eight that got me grounded for a week because Krystal dared me to say “cunt” where Mom could hear. It was stupid to do that, because even benign guy talk crosses the line in Mom’s book. Which is another thing on the I don’t understand my family list because look at who she’s married to.
Fuck.
I tense, aware that one’s going to play badly even before my mom swats me on my arm. “I don’t need to know things like that, Ethan. Save it for your father, please.”
My embarrassment in front of Avery is complete. I’ve been reprimanded by my mother for being a guy. By this time next week, my ex-wet dream and Chrissie should be best friends.
Cringing inside, I chance a glimpse at Avery as I twist off the top from my drink. She’s red-cheeked, staring at the counter, lower teeth cutting into upper lip like she does when she’s upset by something.
That reaction I didn’t expect, and I study her for a moment before my dad points at the vacant chair.
“This is a family discussion, not happy hour,” he states. “Ethan, sit down.”
Consistent with how things are unfolding, the only vacant chair around the massive marble breakfast bar happens to be next to Avery.
The hits just keep rolling.
Being treated like a kid in front of
her.
Being ordered to sit.
The girl being Avery this time and not Tara.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Ringing a bell, Ethan?
Fuck, I hope Avery and Eric are not what we’re going to talk about over drinks and Mexican food. No, that’s dumb. How would they know about Avery hooking up with Eric last night instead of me, ruining my life again?
It’s probably just the usual post-Eric-shitstorm family meeting. Abridged details of him taking off, preceding one of my favorite types of family discussion: the problems he’s undoubtedly left behind. Whatever Avery’s purpose here—I’m sure she’s involved somehow because why else would she be here?—she’s been included in the family circle because of Eric and not me.
Yep, I’m about to go through another exciting chapter of let’s all pull together to fix the mess left by your fucked-up brother. I wouldn’t be surprised if Kaley had a list prepared to delegate. Crud, I don’t want to do this. Not now. Not ever again.
Sitting beside Avery through that—hell no. “I’m dead on my feet today, Dad. And my back and arms hurt like hell. Have a heart. Sitting with the nachos—not happening.” I go to the nearest couch and stretch out, fluffing a pillow behind my head. “I can listen from here.”
Kaley glares at me. “You’re just determined to be obnoxious and difficult today. Stop giving the folks a hard time.”
There. I’ve run the table. Oldest sister lecturing from the cheap seats, and in under five minutes I’ve annoyed every member of my family. Eric couldn’t have done it faster. But then, Kaley’s easy to piss off because she takes her role as third-in-command too seriously. She’s always been so much like Pop.
I grab my phone from my pocket and say without looking at her, “No, I’m determined to be comfortable. This isn’t going to take long, is it?”
The words no sooner finish than I grow impatient with myself. My foul behavior feels weird, and I’m sure seems strange to my family. Kaley’s right. I’m acting like a jerk, and no rationale in my head—i.e. Avery—makes that all right.
