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Shaking my head, I grip his shoulders, and nudge him back, steadying him when he teeters.
An amber eyes cracks open, and he looks around, visibly confused. “Where am I?”
“Upstairs. You gonna be sick?”
He shakes his head. “Lay down.”
“Right.”
I guide him into the living room, and help him to the couch. He flops over on his side, legs hanging off the cushions. Grabbing a throw pillow, I shove it under his head, ignoring the way my fingers flex over his slackened cheek.
I’m about to take off his black and white Chucks, when a heaving sound filters down the hall from Waylon’s room.
Will.
They must’ve taken him to his en suite, rather than the main bathroom. Probably figured Jeremy might need it, and we were behind them.
I glance down at Jeremy with a frown. His eyes are open, and he’s blinking sluggishly.
“You good for a second?” I say.
He nods.
“I’ll get you a blanket. Be right back.”
Where the hallway begins, I pause and turn, sparing him one final look to ensure he’s on his side. Making a mental note to grab a garbage can or something just in case he does throw up. Guess Waylon was right…
Bypassing my room and Shawn’s right across, I head for the open door at the end of the hall leading to the primary. Inside, I find Waylon easing Will to the floor on his side.
Grabbing a pillow from his bed, I toss it over to Shawn. “You sure you don’t want to move him to the couch?” I don’t add that Jeremy can just sleep in my bed. It wouldn’t be a big deal at all if he did. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed dozens of times before.
But as far as Waylon knows, we haven’t shared a bed since we were kids. With the exception of that night a few years ago, the night I broke my hand…the one year anniversary of Izzy’s disappearance. The date they put on her death certificate…her headstone.
I shake away the thought.
I don’t look too closely as to why it feels wrong telling Waylon about all those nights I spent in Jeremy’s bed.
We’re just friends. It meant nothing. I was drunk or high and I just didn’t want to sleep alone.
A voice pipes up, And last year when he visited? What was that about?
“It’s fine,” Waylon says, drawing me back to the present. “Let Jeremy have the couch when he’s done throwing his guts up. Will can just crash here.” He stands, flushing the toilet. “He’ll probably regret it come morning, but that’s what he gets for giving in to Ivy.”
I don’t bother correcting him about Jeremy. Instead I find myself saying, “Nice change of pace for you, huh?”
He flips me off. “Funny.”
Shawn and I share a knowing look.
To say I was relieved to find out he’d been cutting back would be an understatement. I did notice he was around more in recent weeks. And by that, I mean sleeping here. Before, he’d usually stumble in late into the night—or early morning, depending on how you look at it. Or he’d say he was crashing at Ivy’s.
Since they’re fighting though…
“Look, I kind of owe him one,” he says. “It’s really no sweat.”
I eye him curiously, wondering what that’s about, remembering what he mumbled downstairs about payback. I figured he was saying he’d get payback on Will…but maybe Ivy’s not the only one who has something to do with this newfound sobriety of his.
Why do I feel like he’s hiding something?
