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As soon as we finished up our second encore, Waylon swept in for our shots traditions—mock-shots for Shawn and me—before disappearing, stumbling and slurring his way out of there with a bottle of whiskey taken from the bar in one hand, and a girl in the other.
On a good day, it doesn’t bother me.
On a bad day…well, I kind of hate him for it.
He lives with two recovering addicts for fuck’s sake. Not that I ever expect anyone to hold back or whatever—my problem is my problem—but sometimes, I swear it’s like he’s rubbing it in my face. Taunting me with it.
Or crying out for help…
At the thought, I frown.
“He’ll be fine,” Shawn says, assuring Phoebe when I say nothing.
“What if there’s a tornado?” she asks, not for the first time.
“Then we’ll go to the basement.”
She shakes her head. “I meant Waylon.”
“Then he’ll go to the basement.”
She hates storms—always has, ever since she was a kid. It’s another reason why I insisted we spend the night here. Playing cards and board games to pass the time is the one thing that seems to alleviate her anxiety. Well, that and obsessively watching the weather.
Seeing as that’s out though…
Her mouth thins and she nods.
“Has he said anything more about Seamus?” Mom asks from her spot across the room, worry tingeing her tone when bringing up Waylon’s piece of shit sperm donor.
“Not since what he told me a couple weeks ago. He’s up for parole soon. That’s all I know.” I shrug. “You know how Way gets when we try to talk to him about any of that.”
“Yeah…” Her voice trails off.
Shawn, Phoebe, and I go around a few more times, taking our turns as the storm rages on outside. When we finish Go Fish—Phoebe won, because of course—she pulls out Monopoly from under the table, and I groan.
Smirking, she sets it up.
I’d just taken my first roll and set a house up on Vermont Avenue, when my phone starts vibrating against my thigh.
Digging it out of my pocket, I glance at the screen and frown.
Jeremy.
He never calls me. Hell, just getting a text back these days is always a gamble. The only other time he’s called me out of the blue?—
“I’ve gotta take this,” I utter quickly, scrambling to a stand. Behind me I hear the dice rattle and roll across the board.
Hitting Answer, I bring the phone up to my ear just as the dark hallway swallows me up.
“Hello?” I say, keeping my voice low.
Nothing.
I pull the phone away just as I reach the kitchen, and look to see if he hung up. He hasn’t. And while service can be spotty out here sometimes, a glance at the corner shows I still have two bars.
Bringing it back to my ear, I say, “Jeremy?”
Lightning crackles, flickering over the walls, mingling with the glow coming from the three-wick candle on the kitchen table.
