“What was it about?”
Junior scowled.
Whatever semblance of a bond they’d been forming was quickly evaporating.
Noah’s mind drifted back to the lovesick way Junior had fawned over Odie, and it clicked. “You guys fought over Odie, didn’t you?”
“Shuts your fuckin’ mouth, Crisco,” Junior warned.
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Do yous just forget I have a gun? Is that why yous say such stupid shit?”
“You liked Odie and Carbone still tapped it, huh?”
“It wasn’t like that!” Junior protested angrily. “If he… If he’d…”
“You never told him,” Noah realized. “You didn’t tell Carbone how you felt about Odie?”
“Have you fuckin’seenOdie?” Junior growled. “Come the fuck on, man. Odie ain’t studyin’ up on me, I’m not stupid. It wasn’t worth sayin’ nothin’ over, okay?”
“But you still got in a fight over it,” Noah pointed out.
“Fuck off.” Junior raised the bottle. “Some shit is more important than gettin’ your dick slick. Yeah, yous might still get drunk and have a lil’ fuckin’ spat over where yous wanted to put your dick, but it still ain’t shit.” He looked over the label again. “Friendship is worth more than that.”
“Yeah?”
“Worth s’much that I wish he was still here even if it was just to fuckin’ fight again.”
Noah wanted to apologize, but he didn’t think Junior would want to hear it from him—especially with what was probably going on downstairs. He ignored the pit in his stomach and tried to offer a smile. “Well, that’s something to drink to.”
“Ya think so, Crisco?”
“Yeah, I do.” Noah’s smile was more genuine now. “Because I know I’d give anything to see my parents again, even if it was to fight with them one more time. So, yeah, there’s that.”
“Well, fuck.” Junior’s expression softened. “I’ll fuckin’ drink to that.” He raised the bottle in a salute and took a few swigs. He began coughing at once, and his face turned bright red.
“Jesus. Easy, tough guy.” Noah took the bottle back, laughing at Junior’s sputtering.
Junior’s face morphed into a darker red, and he shook his head, coughing and wheezing violently.
“No more for you.” Noah wiped off the bottle and tipped it up to take another swig. “All that crunchy sock talk got you too worked up, huh?”
Gurgling, Junior reached over and smacked the bottle out of his hand. It fell to the floor, rum spilling everywhere.
“What the fuck!” Noah growled, throwing his hands up. “What is your problem? Now look what you did!”
“Don’t… fuckin’… drink it… dumbass!” Junior wheezed.
“Why the fuck not?” Noah dropped to one knee to retrieve the bottle. He could probably save some of it.
“Fucker!” Still struggling to breathe, Junior kicked the bottle across the room. He drew his gun and pointed it at Noah, saying between gasps, “I will… shoot… yous…”
Noah backed away quickly, barking, “Come on! What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
Gun still aimed at Noah, Junior reached into his jacket and brought out an inhaler. He took a few quick puffs, holding his breath before exhaling haggardly. He repeated the process, panting hard and glaring at Noah.
“You have asthma?” Noah blinked.
