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“Sorry!” I automatically say even though he can’t hear me. He’ll definitely feel that later.
I manage to lead us to the front steps, his body leaning against me and his feet dragging on the ground. By the time we’re leaned against the railing, I’m sweating and huffing from the effort. The boy is heavy. One step at a time, I pull him up the porch steps, his legs banging into each step as we go. I’m so lucky my mom isn’t home right now or I’d be in a heaping pile of trouble.
I set him down rather roughly when we reach the top step, leaning his upper body against the wall. “Sorry,” I mutter again, my arms practically shaking from exertion.
Of course my key’s at the bottom of my purse, and after getting the door open, I can’t even manage to pick Chase up. Grabbing him under his arms, I drag him into my house. I make sure to set his head down gently once we’re inside, and close the door.
Kicking off my shoes and throwing my purse down, I catch my breath and study Chase, contemplating my options. He’s inside, which was a mission in and of itself, but what now? Should I leave him here? Should I try to get him onto the couch? A phone beeps and I realize that it’s Chase’s. I dig in his pockets and see that it’s the sixth message from his mom.
Well, that’s not good.
I use his thumbprint to unlock his phone and quickly scan her messages. They’re all along the lines of Are you boys having fun? Are you sleeping over or coming home? Your phone better be dead cause you better not be ignoring me!
I glance at Chase, who rolls onto his side, trying to get comfortable on my cold floor.
Sorry, Mom, my phone was charging, I text back to her. Sleeping over tnght. Talk tmrw.
I send the message and slip Chase’s phone in my pocket. I feel a bit bad lying to Chase’s mom, but I don’t want to get him in trouble.
I glance at his face and know that I can’t leave him on the floor, even though my whole body is tired from carrying him in here. Sitting him up, I half carry, half drag him into the living room and prop his upper body on the couch, then his lower body, and eventually, I get him onto the couch and into recovery position. I leave a lamp on for him and place his phone on the side table by his head, as well as a bucket on the floor in front of his head, just in case.
“Urggghhhhh.”
The sunlight is streaming through the kitchen window when I hear Chase wake up. I walk into the living room and hand him a glass of water and some aspirin. He takes it and sits up from where he slept on my couch last night.
“I feel like crap,” he complains while swallowing the aspirin.
“It’s called a hangover.” I sit down on the other side of the couch, facing him and crossing my legs.
“How did I get here?” He looks around. “And why am I all sore?”
“You passed out in my car before telling me where you live. None of the guys answered their phones, and Aiden sent me to voice mail, so I brought you here. And you’re sore because I may or may not have dropped you a couple of times trying to get you inside.”
He gives me an accusing look.
“What? You’re twice my size!” I defend myself.
“But I wasn’t with you last night?” He rubs his face.
“You don’t remember showing up at Charlotte’s just after midnight and proclaiming your love to her?”
He straightens up at that, suddenly very alert. “I did what? I’m such an idiot. What did she say? Did I ruin everything? I wasn’t supposed to tell her. Damn, I’m such a fuc—”
“Relax,” I cut him off. “I stopped you before you spilled your guts. You were close though.”
“Oh thank God.” The tenseness in his shoulders reduces slightly.
His eyes are blank as I recount everything that happened last night from the moment he banged on Charlotte’s front door.
“How did you know I was going to tell her how I felt?” he asks.
“I know how you feel about Char. I’m good at noticing things like that.”
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “No one’s ever noticed before—well, except Aiden.”
That didn’t surprise me one bit.
“Thanks for stopping me before I did anything stupid—well, more stupid than what I normally do when drunk.”
