Page 31 of Trailer Trash

I study Frida whenever she touches Killian’s arm or hangs on his side. I watch, waiting for her to slip him drugs. I notice Christine is watching too, her expression pleased.

But then, Christine lines up glasses and opens a wine bottle.

I gasp softly.

What in the world is she doing?

She pours the red wine into each glass. She slides one across the island to Killian.

I gape, horrified.

My feet are already moving. I am completely out of place. This is a private moment. A freaking family celebration.

But I can’t just stand there.

I find myself at Killian’s side. The wineglass is pressed to his lips. I cringe as my hand shoots out, clutching his wrist before he can tip it back.

Instantly, the energy in the room shifts and silence lands like a slap to the face. Every pair of eyes fixes on me — the hired help.

Killian’s gaze darts down. He hasn’t lowered the glass.

I don’t let go.

“Um, he shouldn’t drink alcohol,” I announce to everyone, even though my eyes are locked on him.

I pull down harder, and he finally lowers the wineglass from his lips.

Christine’s voice fills the awkward silence.

“Killian can have a drink or two. He isn’t an alcoholic.”

What the—?

As if addiction politely stays in its own lane. She doesn’t get it, but I’m still busy trying to pry the glass from Killian’s fingers. He watches me with a subtle smirk, enjoying my struggle.

“Give it to me,” I say, then whisper, “You’re just doing this because you’re mad I threatened to quit.”

He replies slyly, “That’s not why.”

“Killian’s home after months of being who-knows-where,” Christine says. “Just one drink to mark his homecoming won’t hurt.”

“Yeah,” says River. “He’ll have to drink in the real world. At dinners and stuff.”

Jagger shakes his head. “Uh, I agree with Harlow. It is a little early.”

Yes! Someone sane.

But for reasons I don’t understand, Jagger takes a big swig and nods. “This is pretty good, though. What’s the vintage?”

Christine answers, her smile returning.

“But Killian shouldn’t have any,” I explain.

Based on his mom’s eye-roll, I’m overstepping again.

Killian leans in and whispers, “Chill, lowly CNA. It’s one drink.”

His defiance makes my blood boil, and I stamp my foot. Today was a win, but not because he’s home.