Page 17 of Noah

But Julian didn't know me very well.

Hell, right now, I didn't know me very well.

I was getting a headache. I'd accomplished so little in the past couple of weeks that doing laundry, showering, and exchanging a few words with my nephew exhausted me.

"You want a drink?" I asked as the idea struck me. Because, fucking hell, I needed one. "You find a site—actually, Danny's got a deal with Pottery Barn. They'll deliver first thing in the morning if we go through him."

"Um, all right."

He took the laptop, and I stalked to the kitchen. Once there, I was hit with regret. Booze had been my go-to for too long now, and encouraging Julian to chug whiskey the way I'd been doing probably wasn't wise.

I hung my head. I wasn't ready to be around people, despite the fact that I usually thrived in social settings.

I had to, though. Nobody was gonna make me climb out of this hellhole. I had to force myself, and now was the time.

My fridge lacked a lot of things, but Nicky had done well when buying alcohol, and I had ingredients to make drinks that didn't scream of grief and depression.

Keeping it simple, I poured ice into two Solo cups and mixed us some 7 and 7. I topped them off with lime and then returned to Julian. I could do this. I could shoulder responsibility and be there.

"What's this?" He sniffed his drink before taking a sip. "Okay, this will work." He kinda smiled a bit there.

Thank fuck. I did something right.

"All right, so go nuts," I told him and grabbed my wallet. "I don't care what you pick. You're actually doing me a favor."

"How so?" He scrolled down a page with mattresses.

I went with honesty. That way, he wouldn’t be too surprised when I fucked up.

"I don't have my life together." I placed a credit card next to him. "I'm glad you're here, and I'll do my best to make sure you feel at home, but most of the time, I'm the living dead. I channel surf, get wasted, go through photos, and pass out. Rinse and repeat. Decorating my home isn't exactly a priority."

Felt good getting that off my chest.

"I'm not looking for a parent," he responded quietly. "The reason I came here is because I think…I think you might understand." He kept staring at the screen, though I doubted he was perusing right now. "Grandma cries whenever she sees me, and Grandpa's got enough on his plate with her and dealing with Dad's work stuff."

Damn. I remembered wondering if James's parents could really be there for Julian now, and I guessed they couldn’t.

"I figured, with me being here…" He cleared his throat and clicked on a bed. "I won't have to pretend everything's okay."

Fuck no, he didn't.

"No pretending," I agreed. "And no pity looks, since we're going through the same shit."

"Exactly." He released a breath, meeting my gaze briefly, and I detected relief there. "So I can stay?"

"Long as you like," I promised.

*

"Just press the damn button, Julian."

"It's an awful lot of money…"

"Jesus Christ." I finished my drink and then leaned over to complete the purchase myself. "Money's the only thing I don't have to worry about. There. The loft will soon look like a real home again."

We'd set my credit card on fire, and in between whiskey drinks and adding things to the cart, I'd learned a bit about Julian. He was methodical and picked items after great consideration, and rushed decisions seemed to make him fret. It was sweet.

Our pseudo family roles to each other made him the kid, but there was no denying he was a smart young man. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was smarter than me.

"What about tonight?" He glanced apprehensively at the bed we sat on. "Do…do we share?"

I smirked wryly.

"Have you never fallen asleep on a couch with a buddy?" I stood up to refill our drinks. "I don't bite and it's a big bed. One night won't kill us."

I was tired as fuck—Christ, nowadays I woke up exhausted—but the alcohol and the company had improved my day. And it was nice that we didn't have to pretend. It kinda made Julian the optimal roommate for me. Because even though I didn't have to hide my grief from my buddies, nobody liked the one who was always down in the dumps.

Or the one aiming straight for alcoholism.

Despite the two-week bender Julian had evidently been on after the crash, I had a hunch he didn't really drink. He seemed inexperienced around it, so I decided it was time to introduce him to a favorite of mine. Jameson, ginger ale, and a lime wedge. I licked some juice off my thumb and carried the cups over to the bed, handing him his.

"Mia was the bartender in the family, but I think you'll like this."

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