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Before I can second-guess my decision, I down the remainder of my beer. “I think that’s a great plan.”
It isn’t.
I wake up I don’t know how long later, with the sun right on my face and a pounding headache that feels like someone is stabbing me right through the temple with a rusty knitting needle. The worst part is I can still taste all the beer I drank last night, every single drop of it. Right there on my tongue, like I fell asleep with it still in my mouth and then let it sit there until right before I opened my eyes.
Even the air around me smells sickly sweet, and all I want to do is gag, take back all the drinking, and go back to bed.
“Gross.” I groan at the pain of hearing my own voice. “Why?” Blindly reaching for a pillow, I put it over my head and try to go back to sleep. After about ten seconds, I know it isn’t going to happen. Every fiber of my body feels like it’s on fire or covered in flop sweat or my muscles are aching. Whatever it is I’m feeling, it sucks. The sheets are too much on my skin. The quiet hum of the air conditioner kicking on is too loud for my ears. Even the dim light that comes through from under the pillow is too bright for me to handle.
Honestly, I can’t even remember how I got back after drinking with Cole. Almost like a dream, I can see myself stumbling down the front steps of his condo after he passed out on the couch and started to snore.
Was he twirling my hair in his fingers while we were sitting there laughing?
No more alcohol for me.
Ever.
Only after I get out of bed and make a Bloody Mary, though. Nothing better for a hangover than a little bit of what knocked me on my ass. My brother Remy taught me that. Since I don’t have beer in the house, I need something that will help as a close substitute. Unfortunately, Cassie liked to have the tomato drink at night.
But first, a shower. I just can’t remember if it’s supposed to be hot or cold or if I should have the drinkinthe shower with me, and there is only one person I can ask. At least, only one person who won’t make things worse than they already are.
Good.
I shouldn’t be the only one miserable this early in the morning.
When the ringing in my ear is too loud, even on the lowest volume setting, I put my phone on speaker and put it on top of the pillow with my head still under it.
“Casper,” Remy answers, sounding a bit distracted. “What’s going on?”
Even the sound of his voice through the earpiece is exhausting. Tinny, that’s what it sounds like. “I have a hangover.” The words come out.
“What did you say? You sound muffled.” There’s a grunt and the sound of him hitting something in the background. “I’m trying to get my workout in. Which is really hard when I have to hold my phone with one hand and hit a bag with the other. What do you need? It’s like seven in the morning here, which means it’s like nine there. You’re never up this early without a reason.”
“So much talking,” I groan, pulling the pillow off my head so he can hear me better. “I’ve got a hangover.” Whining seems like a great plan, so I go with that.
“Hair of the dog.” He laughs breathlessly. “You’d think at twenty-two you’d know that already.”
“I know that.” Irritation is starting to seep in. “I can’t remember if it’s a hot shower or a cold shower, though.”
“Both actually.” Another grunt. “You start with hot, turn that bitch on the coldest cold to shock the system, then turn it back to hot. But I’m tellin’ you. Just start the day with a Bloody Mary and you’ll be fine.” He pauses, and I can feel the tension on the other end of the call. “You won’t be fine. None of us are going to be fine. Ever. You won’t have a hangover, though.”
The care and compassion in his voice catches me off guard. Remy has never been like that before. A lot changed in the last few weeks.
When I don’t say anything, he sighs deeply. “I’m sorry I had to go right after the funeral. You know we’re deploying again. This is the last time, and then I’m getting out. I’ll be home soon.”
I let him talk, too emotional to say anything and way too hungover to process what is happening.
“When you get home, make sure to check in with Parker. I don’t know how she’s doing with Nox. It can’t be easy with a four-year-old right now.” Remy doesn’t say anything else, but I know he is worried. Parker Hayes had been married to one of Remy’s best friends until he died overseas when I was eighteen.
The memory compounds the grief that is already weighing me down, but I don’t say anything to him about that.
“Of course.” Parker’s family. She always will be.
Neither one of us mentions the night of Cassie’s funeral, a time where we both had way too much to drink and he told me about being in love with her for as long as he could remember. There are some things you just don’t throw your brother under the bus for.
Coughing and then immediately regretting the way my head starts to throb in response, I do us both a favor and change the subject before it gets even more intense than it already is.
“How long will you be gone this time?”
