AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you think Waylon’s okay?” Phoebe asks after stealing a Jack from me.
I nod, eyeing my cards. “Yeah, he’s probably just…” Drinking.
At the thought, I pause and spare a glance at Shawn, lips together in a hard line. His dark gaze darts my way, before he drops it to his cards.
“Well, I don’t really know what he gets up to when we’re not around,” I finish.
Phoebe makes a face at that, one that pretty much says, Bullshit.
She’s only fourteen, but she’s perceptive as shit. Getting things past her is next to impossible.
I just shrug, making a point to focus on my cards, hoping she drops it. I don’t want her to worry. I know I can’t protect her forever.
“He was watching TV when we left.”
At Shawn’s much appreciated input, I nod. “Yeah, he’s probably just bumming it on the couch.”
I’d invited him to come with us. They’re calling for brutal storms all evening—there’s even a tornado watch. I didn’t want to leave Mom and Phoebe out here all alone, especially in the event of a power outage. And this house always loses power when it storms.
Case in point.
But surprising no one, Waylon declined, and I didn’t push it. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“You actually think he still has power?” Phoebe says skeptically.
“The bar has a back-up generator.” In theory. Who the hell knows if it will actually work? That thing’s older than Phoebe, and as far as I know, has never been used. “Plus,” I go on, “just because we lost power out here, doesn’t mean anyone in town did. We always lose it out here.”
“Truuueee,” she says. “But you still should’ve dragged him here with you guys.”
I snag a nine of spades from Shawn, and flick my sister a flat look. “Have you met Way? You try getting that guy to do something he doesn’t want to.”
Shawn grunts at that. “Aces?”
“Go fish,” Phoebe chirps, before continuing as if never interrupted. “I just hate that he’s alone.” Her brow wrinkles, and she asks me, “Any queens?”
“No, go fish.”
Shawn and I share a long look as Phoebe draws a card from the pile.
Our concern is nothing new at this point, but we’re struggling to figure out what to do about it.
We live with the guy—work with him too—so it’s impossible not to notice how…off Waylon’s been lately.
He’s moodier than usual. Getting shitfaced almost every night.
I can’t even remember the last time I saw him sober without a hangover. He turned twenty-one back in May, a month after me, and it’s only gone from bad to worse now that he can drink freely.
And then there’s the coke too.
He doesn’t do it often—I don’t even know when it started—but it’s obvious as fuck when he’s flying.
And it’s becoming more and more frequent, especially these last few weeks, ever since he found out his dad’s up for parole and Will Foster, our friend from when we were kids, moved back and started working at the bar.
Hell, I thought we’d have to cut our set last week short, because he was all over the place, and radiating so much hostility, the entire bar seemed to be coated with it, making for a very tense night.
Fortunately, between Tank—a buddy from Gavin’s Marine days—and Will, any would-be fights were quickly squashed.
