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“How about we play for it?”
“What?”
He tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the board. “How about if you win, we go? If I win, we stay.”
I take in his face.
His eyes mostly.
They look all drunk and drugged up. Fuck knows what else he did — besides getting shitfaced drunk — while he was hunting for that restroom. Knowing him, he probably would’ve popped a pill or two.
Usually, I don’t mind.
I’m very pro-recreational drugs. Fuck, I was a small-time drug dealer back in school, prescription drugs and pot mostly, but yeah. I’m very pro-anything that gets you as fucked up as you wanna be so you don’t have to think about stuff too much.
In fact, I’d kill for a joint right now.
But ever since I became the babysitter, as Lucas calls it — two years, two months and twelve days ago — I’ve given all that up. I don’t get to forget about stuff. I don’t deserve to.
And maybe I deserve this too.
Jumping through all the fucking hoops and playing his games.
Because it’s not his fault that he’s this way.
It’smine.
“You sure you wanna make that bet?” I jerk a chin up at him. “Given that you’re probably seeing double right now and that’s not really the condition you wanna be in when you’re trying to make a shot.”
It makes him chuckle again.
And then without answering me, he turns to the board and sends the dart flying.
Which tears through the air and hits the bullseye a second later.
Then, “Again, I learned from the best.”
That’s true also.
I taught him how to shoot.
Way back when we’d just become friends and he’d come over to my house to hang out.
For a second, I see us. Like we used to be. Back when we were kids, both eight years old, both second sons and hence all fucked up already. But most importantly, both never had a friend before each other.
We both were rejects so we made our own club. We made our own rules. We made our own family.
Brothers.
We were that.
At least until I ruined everything and he started hating me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Taking a deep breath, I state, “I’m not playing you.”
