But fuck, it sometimes felt impossible to get through it all.
He needed to refill his water bottle, and the trek down three flights of stairs was worth it to get the filtered water they kept in a jug in the fridge rather than tap water.
The kitchen was cluttered when he wandered in, but he moved on autopilot to the fridge. He grabbed the pitcher–fucking empty,again. It seemed so logical: if you took the last of the water, you were responsible for refilling it.
He’d only brought it up with his housemates about twenty million times.
He filled up the jug and set it on the counter, resigned to wait the seven minutes it would take for the water to trickle through the filter.
His eyes were heavy. At his hip, the baby monitor emitted a soft crackle–the sound machine he always ran in an effort to drown out the noise from their housemates.
Finally, he filled up his water bottle. He’d just turned toward the staircase when he heard a muffled voice in the front yard. He stopped to listen. Their place was in the thick of student housing, so it wasn’t unusual to have drunk pedestrians walk by on the weekends.
But this voice sounded angry.
The voice rose in volume. “He can’t captain the Muskies for shit!”
What the fuck?
Tyler went to the wide front window, pulling the faded curtain aside and looking out into the front yard. It was dark enough that it was hard to see much, but he could make out an unmistakably large figure in a long coat shuffling in circles around the crooked snowman in the middle of the yard.
Long arms waved in the air, and the deep voice continued, loud enough to be audible through the glass. “He broke his hand throwing a stupid punch like a…” The arms flapped like a bird. “Like a dingus!”
Before he could try to comprehend what the hell they were talking about, the person started to kick and punch the snowman.Seriously? What kind of asshole hits a snowman?
Tyler pushed back from the window. He was over it–over this day, over people and their bullshit. He grabbed a broom from the hall closet, flicked on the front light, unlocked the deadbolt on the front door, and stepped out onto the stoop. He closed the door behind himself, careful not to slam it. “What the fuck are you doing?” He shouted, waving the broom above his head.
The figure froze, took a step back, and Tyler watched as their foot connected with the icy sidewalk and they slipped as if in slow motion, arms windmilling wildly before they fell backwards with a dull, muffledthud.
“Shit.” Tyler picked his way carefully down the wet, sandy stairs and down the front walk toward the crumpled stranger. “Hey.” He poked them in the side with the end of the broom. “Hey. Are you dead?”
Nothing.
Tyler got closer, the street lamp illuminating the thick, expensive-looking navy wool coat wrapped around the man’s body. Because it was a man–a huge man, with his thighs splayed out in the snow and a thick blonde mustache tracing his upper lip.
He was out cold by the look of his soft, parted mouth and closed eyes. Tyler crouched down, and saw the puff of fog hovering in the air above the man’s mouth.He’s not dead. That’s good.
Standing up, Tyler ran a hand through his hair.Should he call the cops?
He ran back inside, up the stairs to the first door off the landing and knocked on his roommate’s door.
Davey opened the door in nothing but a robe. It wasn’t even tied around his waist.
“There’s a guy in the front yard,” Tyler said, waving his hand toward the stairs. “I think he needs to go to the hospital.”
Rubbing his eyes, Davey let out a groan. “Fucking bummer, man. Good luck with that.”
Tyler opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Can you take him?”
Davey winced. “No can do. I’ve got another episode to edit tonight.” Davey, in addition to working at a thrift store, was an independent podcast producer.
Frustrated, Tyler ran a hand over his mouth. “Fine. Can you keep an eye on the baby monitor, then? Rowan shouldn’t wake up, but if he does, go get Annabeth.”
“Got it.” Davey took the monitor and closed the door.
Tyler ran down the stairs, grabbed his coat and keys, and muttered a loud, frustrated “fuckthis guy” as he rushed out into the night.
It was a short drive to the closest hospital, and Tyler drove as quickly as he could while being safe on the slick roads.
