It was the last time I saw my sister smile.

It was the last time I saw my sister at all.

“Westie? Westie, wake up.”

I groaned, rolling from my back to my stomach in my bed, my eyes shut. I was shirtless, with only my boxers under my quilt. That wasn’t an issue. Aub had seen me shirtless plenty of times. But I knew Whit, who slept right beside me, was shirtless, too. And that was something Aubrey had never seen before. I wanted to open my eyes and see exactly what my little sister was seeing, if Whit was at least covered by the quilt, but couldn’t for the life of me crack my eyes open.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night.

Things got wild fast. The strip poker had turned into shots poker when all of my friends were butt naked, and after consuming at least seventeen shots—one for each year of my life—I passed out. Luckily, it was after Whit and I went for a quickie in my room. But I didn’t remember either of us bothering to put our clothes on.

“Westie? Puh-leaseeee,” I heard Aubrey’s little squeaky voice.

“Not now, Aub,” I managed to croak out.

“But you promithed!” she whined. I stirred in my bed, trying to pry my goddamn eyes open and look at her, but failed. My eyelids felt like they were fifty pounds each. My body ached like every motherfucker within town limits had walked all over it. Back and forth.

“Yeah, well, I’ll make you pancakes in an hour.”

“Waffles!” she shrieked at my blasphemy. “And it’s already ten o’clock! Mommy and Daddy should be here any minute, and you know they don’t let me eat waffles.”

I knew damn well they wouldn’t. Aub had cavities in her milk teeth from all that green apple candy, so they were taking extra precautions to make sure her new teeth weren’t going to rot. That was why waffles were a big deal for her. And I fully intended to make her those goddamn chocolate-chip waffles with fresh apple on the side. I just needed another hour or so to feel human again. Was that too much to ask?

“Give me thirty …” I mumbled, my eyes still closed.

“They’ll be here by then!”

“Then I’ll take you to the diner tomorrow. Promise. You’ll get a milkshake out of it, too. We’ll say we’re going ice skating.”

“I want waffles now. Not tomorrow. Besides, what’s a promith anyway, if you don’t keep it?”

“A lie?” I creaked sarcastically. I was nasty when hungover. I laughed at my own lousy joke. My mouth tasted bitter. In all of Aubrey’s six years, every time we did a pinky promise, I always delivered. I never broke my promises. But I couldn’t for the life of me fulfill this one. I was too hungover to move.

“You’re such a … a … butt sniffer!” Her voice broke midsentence. I knew what she sounded like when she was about to cry, and she was definitely heading there.

“C’mon. Aub …” I tried opening my eyes again. I couldn’t—again. I heard her little feet thudding quickly on the carpeted hallway. She probably went back to her room to hate me privately. I tried to reassure myself. It was fine. I’d take her tomorrow—no, fuck it, this afternoon—and make it up to her. We’d hit the ice rink, then go to the Pancake House, and I’d let her order enough waffles to clog every artery in her body.

“Babe?” Whit moaned from beside me, throwing an arm over my pecs. “Was that Aubrey? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

We both did.

The way I remembered it, about two hours had passed before I woke up, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes. The scent of something burning filled my nostrils. Food burning.

Or plastic burning?

Fabric burning.

Flesh burning, like at the butchers.

No. It was all of the above.

I blinked, trying to sit up. It felt like my head weighed a ton. I wanted to punch my own face for drinking so much. Whit was still asleep beside me.

I sniffed, looking around. Everything looked fine. Normal. Well, other than the smoke skulking from the hallway and into my room.

What the …?

That was all the adrenaline rush I needed to sober up. I jumped out of bed like my ass was on fire, charging down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Something clearly was on fire. It just wasn’t my ass.

“Aub? Aubrey? Aubrey!” I screamed so hard and loud, I didn’t even wait for an answer. The smoke was racing up the stairs as I descended them. By the time I reached the landing, I was standing in a thick cloud of black-gray smoke. I grabbed a shirt I’d thrown on the lamp yesterday night and pressed it against my nose. The air was scorching, and I couldn’t breathe without coughing.

The heart of the fire was in the kitchen, so that was where I went.

“Aubrey!” I kept calling, shouting, begging. There was no answer. When I got into the kitchen, I had to stumble back. The fire almost reached the living room, and since there were carpet and wallpaper, it spread fast.

“West? Oh my God! West!” I heard Whit behind me. She was running down the stairs.

“Get out. Now. Whit!”

“West, I’m naked!”

“Out!” I ran into the fire, not giving a shit if I burned to death if it meant saving Aubrey.

“Where’s Aubrey?” I heard Whit ask. I didn’t reply. I fanned the smoke with my arm, trying to recognize anything beyond the curling flames.

Once I did, I wished I were smart enough to never think I’d stood a chance to save her.

There was an exposed hook on one of the cabinets in our kitchen. It used to be a door handle, but I’d yanked it out accidentally weeks ago and never bothered to fix it. My mom gave me grief about it, saying it was a health hazard. That someone could get injured.

“My pants get stuck in this thing on a weekly basis, Westie. You have to do something about it. Aubrey can get a nick.”

I hadn’t listened.

I should have.

The toaster was placed right above that cabinet with the hook.

And this time, it wasn’t my mom’s pants that got stuck in it—it was Aubrey’s shirt.

I saw Aubrey’s body under the hook, the remainder of her little jacket still wrapped around the exposed hook.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I ran to her. If I could save her—good. If I couldn’t—I didn’t deserve to live either.