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“And I’m still mad at you,” Ivy snaps, before stomping off.
Waylon blows out a harsh breath, and mutters something before turning away to throw something out.
Across the room, Jeremy’s got his head thrown back in laughter. I can hear it from all the way over here and despite the worry still niggling at me, I feel a squeeze in my chest at the sight of it—the sound.
I can’t remember the last time, if ever, that I’ve witnessed him laugh so freely.
Probably not since we were kids, and even then…
There’s always been something so restrained about him. Like he was afraid to so much as breathe too loud.
Is this what he’s like at college, away from this place? Away from us…away from me… I can’t help but wonder, a sinking feeling forming in my gut.
Will slumps against him, barely able keep his eyes open, blue lips stretched into a lazy grin.
“Looks like they hit it off,” Waylon says, an odd sort of edge to his tone.
I cut him a glance. I didn’t hear him return. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
His jaw ticks, and I wonder what that’s about.
It strikes me that maybe what I’m feeling isn’t so abnormal—perhaps Waylon’s feeling protective of Jeremy too.
Yeah, that must be it.
Not to mention his distrust of Will.
“Any bets on who hurls first?”
Huffing a short laugh, I glance over at Waylon. “Really? My money’s on J.”
Waylon tsks, shaking his head. “Nah, he’s in college now. He knows how to party.”
“And Will doesn’t? Didn’t he go to Temple?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, like a year ago. But he played football. He had to behave.” His eyes glint with a sort of knowing amusement. “Trust me, his tolerance is shit.”
I narrow my eyes. “Really?”
“Yup,” he says easily, before turning away.
Well, glad to see they’re starting to get along.
“Hey,” I call out, just as Shawn returns from the basement, black garbage bags and a broom in hand.
Waylon pauses to look over his shoulder. I glance around for Ivy, ensuring she’s not in listening range. I don’t see her. Regardless I take a step closer, and drop my voice so it’s just for him.
“She’s still mad?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but she’ll get it over it.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but I don’t miss the glint of remorse in his eyes, or the shame rippling across his features. It comes and goes so quick though, I instantly wonder if I saw it at all.
Searching his shockingly clear eyes, I can’t help but recall what I overheard earlier, and risk asking, “Does her being mad at you have anything to do with whatever made you quit drinking?”
His face hardens. “It was a bunch of things. And I’m just cutting back for a bit.”
I nod, and am about to say, Good for you, when he throws out sharply, “Did Jeremy ask you about the benefit?”
I still.
