Page 11 of All Our Nevers

“Looks like I have my mission partner,” Amelia says.

My answering expression is the slow, meandering eyeroll of a defunct baby doll. “What fresh hell is this?”

“Just a shot,” Amelia says with a smile.

“Another shot? Guys, I drove here.”

“And you’ll be Ubering home,” Andy replies, setting down five more beer cans on the table.

“Engineer Walsh,” Nolan says with a salute—his sign of thanks.

“The shots too, Andy,” Amelia says, gesturing between herself and me.

“Coming right up.”

“Don’t forget it’s two for Owen!” she calls towards his back, and I can’t help but throw my hands in the air. I can barely keep track of what’s happening in this whirlwind, but I heard that much.

“Okay, now I know you guys are fucking with me.”

But Nolan grabs me by the shoulders, rotating me to meet his eyes with complete earnestness as he says, “Payload is an important job, Owen. We couldn’t complete this mission without you.”

This whole charade is so far beyond ludicrous that it’s done a full circle and I’m almost… having fun?

I rub a hand over my beard, trying to hide the smile that the alcohol is pulling forward. “I mean, fuck it. I’m already in this deep. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

“Attaboy!” Nolan says as he shakes my shoulders.

The room briefly tilts, the drinks hitting me faster than I expected. This must be why they’re all taking such tiny sips.

“Careful with our Payload, Nolan,” Andy says, fresh shot glasses clinking against the sticky wooden table. “He’s got a job to do.”

“Owen and Lia,” Sophie says, “take your positions.”

I stand from my chair and move into the aisle next to our table, following Amelia’s lead as she elbows frat boys out of her way, carving a space for us. Sophie’s guiding hand is on my elbow, urging me forward to face the brown-eyed siren.

“Pilot Mercado,” Sophie says in her role as Commander, “you administer first because I don’t trust you and he deserves a chance to retaliate.”

“Retaliate?” My head twists to face Sophie. “What do you mean ‘retaliate’?”

“What’s the matter, Owen?” Amelia teases. “You scared?”

“Yes!” I say shamelessly. “I’ve been sentenced to about five standard drinks in fifteen minutes. So yes, I’m scared.”

“Nolan,” Sophie says, ignoring my desperation, “will you please teach Payload Walsh the sacred words?”

Nolan clears his throat, then proclaims, “Repeat after me.”

Meanwhile, Amelia steps directly in front of me, full shot glass raised between us.

It’s overstimulation on all senses—the smell of the cinnamon whiskey, the warm bodies pushing against ours, the tinny jukebox dancepop layered over animated shotgun sounds as the BIG BUCK HUNTER makes kill after kill. My smile is wide and disbelieving, pried loose by PBR and this inscrutable group of friends.

“In honor of Edwin Eugene Aldrin…” Nolan says, serious as the State of the Union.

“In honor of Edwin Eugene Aldrin…?” I echo, much more unsure.

“I want you to give me a Buzz.”

I don’t know how I didn’t see it coming, but I didn’t. The snort that comes out of my nose is totally undignified, and it sends the rest of them cascading into laughter with me. I’ve never been truly drunk in front of them before. Not even in front of my brother. I wonder if this will make things better between us tonight. Easier. Maybe. Hopefully.