Chapter Twenty
“Ethan”
I swat at whatever is shaking me so hard that everything above my shoulders feels like a bobblehead. Why does that painful, droning voice sound like Khloe’s? How’d she get into my house and why the fuck does it feel like there’s a wrecking ball crashing into my temples?
I try to open my eyes, but it’s not happening. Can’t take even a sliver of light, and I groan, trying to turn away from the noise, the brightness, and whatever that is snapping my body side to side enough that upchucking isn’t outside of the spectrum of possibilities.
“Ethan. Stop screwing around. I know you’re awake. Mom wants you. Now.”
There’s so much that’s confusing about this it would have failed to compute even if I didn’t feel only barely conscious. Christ, are they both here? My sister and my mom? And exactly where the fuck is here?
I get shoved in the shoulder, hard. My arm that feels like rubber swats, only hitting air.
Deep, husky laughter. “God, you’re a mess. You didn’t used to miss when we were kids. What the heck did you do to yourself last night?”
Last night?
Shit, shit, shit.
I’m not sure what I did last night.
What’s the last thing I remember?
The Bowl.
Dillon waiting with the car.
The Wall Bangers.
Oh fuck.
I cover my mouth as my upper body spasms.
“If you’re going to throw up, don’t you dare do it on me.”
Her voice blasts from too close beside me and this time it rattles around in my head. But the pain confirms I’m not imaging things. Yep, it’s Khloe and what I can tell will only be a ghastly reality if I can fight through the agony to open my eyes. Fuck, my head feels like a twenty-pound bowling ball attached to my neck. The rest of my body only a shade better.
“What are you—” My capacity to speak is momentarily lost on my desperate need to take in air, and once my insides settle a bit I force myself to lift my eyelids. “Did something happen last night? What are you and Mom doing here?”
My sister’s enormous blue eyes flare so wide she looks almost like a caricature A mocking, irritating, soon-to-be anything but funny caricature.
Her head tilts as one black brow goes up. “I’m not here. You’re there.”
Yep, I shouldn’t have expected anything that even winked at understandable. Not from Khloe. Not ever. “I’m there?”
She nods. “Exactly.” Then her lips pucker as she holds back a laugh. “Well, this is unexpected. If I didn’t know better with the sorry sight you make I’d think you were Eric. No wonder Dillon had to carry you into the house last night, undress you, and put you to bed. If after fourteen hours’ sleep you look this awful it’s a good thing Mom didn’t see you last night.”
OH.
Then, as painful as it is, I force my gaze to dart around my surroundings. Shit, this isn’t my house in the Hollywood Hills. It’s my old bedroom at the folks’. “I’m in the ’Sades.”
“Where’d you think you were?”
I try to sit up then think better of it. “Never mind. Why am I here?”
She sighs in heavy annoyance. “Didn’t Dad tell you anything about Eric?”
Grim snippets of being in the storage room with Dad reenter the functioning zone of my brain. “Some of it. Last thing I remember I was leaving for the tour wrap party with Dillon. Why did he bring me here?”
She makes a face, dramatic. “Dad being paranoid, like always. That shit Eric pulled has got both the folks wigging and worrying. Oh, and here’s your free bonus gift: you’re here because we’re going to be living bunker-style. At least until Mom and Dad chill enough not to imagine there’s danger everywhere.”
My jaw drops. “Bunker-style?”
“Yep.” She says that exaggerated, making a pop with her lips on the p.
My head flails on the pillow. “If this is a joke, you better tell me quickly. Not funny, Khloe. Don’t mess with your brother this way.”
She purses her lips. “Fine. It’s a joke. Only if you get your butt in gear to go talk to Mom, you’re going to find that the rest of the herd is here. Minus Eric, of course.”
Herd: what my dad calls us kids.
Her mouth freezes with her lips slightly parted for a second as if she senses I’m having trouble keeping up. I stare up at her and she nods.
She jerks a hand through her waist-length black curls, annoyed. “Exactly. My thoughts, too. Eric’s gone international to destinations unknown and we’re stuck in the ’Sades until Mom’s no longer afraid to let us leave. Why is it Eric creates all these disasters and ends up the lucky motherfucker among us kids? He’s probably lying on a beach in Brazil. Or is it Paraguay that doesn’t have extradition? No matter how you slice it, he’s gone guy and we’re fucked-over siblings.”
International?
Oh yeah, I failed to remember—fleetingly—that part about Eric running from criminals. I cover my eyes with my forearm and groan.
“Do you have any idea how long we’re going to be trapped here?”
Khloe shakes her head. “Not a clue. I strongly suggest you shower before talking to Mom. You look like crap, she really can’t take any more worry, and some feline rubbing up against you last night branded you with her scent.”
She springs from the bed, making the mattress shimmy enough that I’m queasy again. I start to drag my ass out of bed then realize I’m naked beneath the comforter. That gives me a good excuse not to move and rest my sorry, hungover body on the pillow for a few minutes more.
At the door, my sister turns back to smile at me. “Do you want me to bring you some caffeine to guzzle while you shower?”
“That’d be good, Khloe. Thanks.”
“And by the way, Ethan, you’re going to want to wear something to cover the she-bites on your neck.”
She flounces into the hallway and I drop like a sack of meal back on the bed. Jesus Christ, who marked me? Did I fuck someone last night? I lift the cover and glance down at my junk.
Stupid, Ethan, like you’re going to be able to tell by checking him. But, Jesus, I have no clue what I did last night. The trail of bread crumbs in my memory ends with climbing into the car with Gabby and Margo. After that—nothing. Blank. And since I was with the Wall Bangers, it’s probably better that I don’t remember.
Disgusted, not the least of which with myself, I stare at the ceiling trying to will the unknown to stay away. My fingers claw in my hair, and it actually fucking hurts to touch my own hair. Crud, is this what waking up is like for Eric? No clue what went down in your life and wishing someone would put you out of your misery.
I’m still on the bed a few minutes later when Khloe brings me a gigantic travel mug of coffee and sets it on the bedside table with a chilled bottle of water and what I think is two tablets. “I’ve brought you my cure for rough mornings. This oughta make it a little better. Maximum-strength painkillers, sixteen ounces of aqua to hydrate, and forty ounces of coffee. Do ten minutes in a steaming hot shower to sweat out the booze, and you’ll be something close to semi-human when you see Mom. Dad will know you’re hungover, the rest of the family, too, but Mom won’t notice a thing.”
I down the pills and swallow them dry then unscrew the cap on the bottle of water. “You better not let Dad hear you say shit like that. It might blow your image that you’re his always-good princess. You’ll be living bunker-style until you’re forty.”
Her face shifts into her really, Ethan expression. “Worry about yourself. I’m not the one trashed the day after Eric had to flee the country to escape drug dealers or some such bullshit. I don’t even bother trying to remember what kind of trouble he’s in anymore when Dad tells us.”
That was harsh.
Then she makes a sweet face like she knows what I’m thinking and leaves me alone in my bedroom again.
I grab my jug of java and head to the bathroom. After my a.m. whiz, I switch on the shower then head to the vanity while the water heats. By the way my legs drag, maybe I’m still drunk.
Leaning into the mirror, I rapidly examine the side of my neck and across my shoulders. Oh great. Bite and claw marks by the looks of it. Someone rode me hard before I was put away wet. Hopefully I enjoyed it—scratch that, all sex is good—and I’d have woken up with a boner if I hadn’t.
My constant companion, Avery morning wood, didn’t visit me today. Maybe because I’m still drunk and it feels like I’ve got slush in my veins instead of blood. Or maybe because she didn’t show last night at the concert, but instead took off somewhere with my brother.
My emotions start to churn with the thoughts in my head, and somehow I manage to shut off thinking of her in record time because I’m really not up to feeling shittier.
Dealing with that one needs to wait until I deal with the leftover alcohol in my body kicking me hard everywhere. Thinking about it isn’t going to change a thing. It’s already happened. I got blown off by a girl for Eric again. Jumping into that mud pit while I can barely stand won’t change a thing.
After getting the stink-breath from my mouth, me and my new best friend, coffee, climb into the shower. Laying my head against the tile, I just let the water hit me. After a good five minutes of that, I open my mug and down half the container, taking long swallows in between letting the water hit my face and eyes.
Once I’ve downed my coffee, I grab the soap, and first scrub whatever crud has been left on my junk before tackling the rest of me.
It takes a while because the only clean clothes I left in my room are fucking ancient, but I manage to get dressed. Jeans and a black Ozzy t-shirt. Shoes not happening, not even flip-flops. I realize too late I left the bathroom without shaving, so instead of combing my hair I settle for getting it off my face with my fingers to match my scruffy face.
When I check myself in the mirror, my mind rebels. Bed is a much better idea than facing my mom looking like this. But if I don’t go to her, she’ll come to me, so whatever she wants to talk about is unavoidable. I’m really not in the mood to hear one more detail about Eric’s fucked-up predicament since his parting gift to me was fucking up my life as well.
In the hallway, I follow the noise because Khloe didn’t bother to tell me where Mom was waiting. Each step it gets louder. Each step my head hurts more.
It sounds like everyone’s in the kitchen. I’d smile if I could do it without hurting because I like the sound of my family. Though today the usual banter and humor strikes me as odd. A normal, boisterous, happy sort of gathering when they should be anything but happy today. This is the last thing I expected in the midst of an Eric crisis.
Rallying my energy and trying to harness in advance the necessary calm to talk with my mother, I turn into the wide doorway to the kitchen and my legs stop working.
My mind spins.
There.
Sitting at the center island.
With my entire family.
Avery.
What the fuck is happening here?