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“She’d better be available. Because I’m coming to pick her up. Can you tell her that, please?”
Another moment’s silence. Longer than the last. “Um, there’s a slight problem.”
His jaw tightened. This was one of the many reasons he hadn’t had kids. He’d been a punk when he was one. Josh had been pretty good. Mason? Well, he’d smoked pot all senior year before Cam had straightened him out and gotten him into college.
And now Sabrina. If she’d gone off with somebody, he was gonna kill them.
“What kind of problem?” he growled.
“The kind where she’s drunk too much,” the girl told him. “Like way too much.”
He pinched his nose, sighing. “Don’t let her leave. I’m on my way.”
* * *
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sabrina was sobbing. And unable to stand up without his assistance. If this wasn’t his little sister, it’d be a comedy sketch. Every time he put her upright, she listed to the side, threatening to hit the ground before he grabbed her.
He growled with frustration. This wasn’t working. Without warning, he hoisted her into his arms. At least this way she might escape tonight without any broken bones.
The music was still pumping out of the stereo system some of her friends had rigged up. He was pretty sure there were no parents here, but that wasn’t his problem. Still, he checked around for any half-comatose bodies because he wasn’t that much of an asshole.
Luckily, Sabrina was the worst of the group.
“What are you doing?” she mumbled. “I’m gonna throw up on you.”
“No you’re not,” he muttered. “Think happy thoughts.”
Her hands were sticky on his neck. Her body was like a rag doll’s. He carried her to his car, a mixture of exasperated and pissed, because she was almost certainly going to throw up in it.
Sabrina full-out sobbed, and Michael grimaced. Drunk, he could deal with. Emotional? Every cell in his body wanted to run away.
“This is a rental,” he warned her as he opened up the car. “If you’re sick in it, I’m gonna have to pay fees.”
“Just leave me here,” she slurred. “I’ll walk home when I’m ready.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he told her. She was vulnerable. Beautiful. Alone.
Yeah, she knew most of the kids here, but it only took one asshole to take advantage. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t been tasked to pick her up.
“You do this a lot?” he asked, wheezing as he lifted her into the passenger seat. He reached across to slide the seatbelt buckle into the slot, then stepped away from her.
She stank of alcohol.
“I’m just sad,” she muttered. “Mom’s sick.”
His fingers curled around her door. “I know,” he said softly.
“I hate seeing her like that.”
Michael swallowed. “She’s doing okay. Just tired.”
“I don’t want to lose her. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” She sobbed again, then burped, and he rummaged through the pocket in the door, finding a plastic bag that at least might save him from having to pay for a full detail of the car.
“Here,” he said. “Hold this.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him again.
He tried not to sound annoyed. “You already said that. And it's fine. Let’s get you home and to bed.”
