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When I peeled my eyelids open the following morning, it was to the hangover from hell and a hand probing my face.
Blinking awake from the sticky intrusion, I quickly studied my surroundings to find myself twisted up in the sheets of a familiar bed, while an equally familiar toddler poked at me with his slobbery little fingers.
My body tensed for the briefest of moments as my bleary-eyed gaze took stock of the wide-eyed child staring back at me and the lap in which he was perched.
Shirtless, and propped up against the wall his bed was aligned against, Joey had his head tilted sideways as he slept.
He had one hand balled into a fist at his side, while the other hand hung limply around his brother’s waist.
Protecting him even in sleep.
“Hi, Sean,” I whisper-croaked, trying to conjure up a smile for him, not an easy feat considering even my lips ached.
“E-fa,” he whispered back, and then shyly clambered back to the safety of his big brother’s arms. “O-ee.” Wrapping his small arm around Joey’s neck, he snuggled closer and buried his face in the curve of his brother’s neck. “O-ee.”
“You’re grand, I promise,” Joey mumbled, eyes still closed as he tightened his arm around the little guy, and my heart squeezed tight at the sight. “Just close your eyes, Seany-boo.”
“O-ee, poos.”
Those two words had Joey practically vaulting off the bed, with his baby brother tucked under his arm.
“Fuck my life,” he muttered, stalking over to his door and one-handedly dragging the chest of drawers out of his way before unlocking and yanking the bedroom door open. “You can wipe your own ass this time,” he warned the little guy in his arms as he disappeared into the landing. “But good job for telling me, kid.”
I was frozen in place; the throbbing in my head assured me that I couldn’t move if I wanted to.
A few minutes later, Joey strolled back into his room, this time clutching a can of Coke instead of a sibling.
“Morning.” His eyes danced with amusement as he closed his bedroom door behind him. “How’s the head?”
“Morning,” I croaked out hoarsely, as I made a feeble attempt to drag myself into a sitting position. “And terrible.” I blew out a pained breath and clutched my temple. “I think I’m on the way out.”
Closing the space between us, he sank down on the edge of the bed. “Nah, you’ll live.” He chuckled, thrusting the ice-cold can into my hands. “Drink.”
“I can’t,” I groaned, and then physically gagged at the concept of putting another drop of liquid inside my poor stomach. “Seriously, I think I’m dying here.”
“You’re not dying, but you are in trouble.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Why? What did I do?”
“Smoking.” He gave me a hard look. “Not cool, Molloy.”
“Yeah, okay,” I snorted. “Like you can talk.”
“I’m serious.” His green eyes were full of sincerity and concern. “I know why you did it, and it worked, but don’t ever do it again, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” I moaned. “I have no plans to.”
“Good.” Shaking his head, he reached over and cracked the can open and gently pushed it toward my face. “Now, drink up or you’ll feel worse.”
Reluctantly, I took a small sip from the can, and when it didn’t kill me, I took a bigger one.
Suddenly realizing just how parched I was, I quickly gulped down half the can, my eyes never leaving his as I drank.
Nodding his approval, Joey reached into one pocket of his gray sweatpants and withdrew a small packet of paracetamol, and from the other pocket, he produced a packet of salt-and-vinegar crisps.
“Trust me,” he was quick to coax when I eyed him warily. “It’ll work.”
“Fine.” With a resigned sigh, I popped two painkillers and quickly drained the rest of the can before reaching for the crisps. “I thought we were going back to my place,” I mused, unable to piece the events of last night together through the hazy fog in my mind as I munched on the crisps.
