“You too. See you in the morning.” I fetch my purse—minus a cell phone thanks to my meddling big brother—and make a tipsy trek out the main doors, trying not to do the splits in the newly fallen snow.
Tag tosses his keys in the air, catching them with his opposite hand as he stomps through several inches. “This blizzard is shit.”
“I think it’s pretty.” A smile crests as my tequila-glazed eyes take in the wintery wonderland around us. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without snow.”
I think about that vacation again and how nice it would be to park myself on a secluded beach while drinking in the turquoise water and sea-salt air, a canopy of palm trees billowing on all sides.
Someday.
We pile into the red sedan, and I immediately collapse into a sleeping position in the back seat.
“Seat belt,” Tag chides.
“Mm-hmm.” Sluggishly, I reach to click the belt into place, my body still draped across the interior. “Can you turn on some music? You know what I like.”
The engine hums to life. “Really? You’re going to subject me to doo-wop after I’ve already been coerced into picking you up in a blizzard?”
He says it with love, then promptly turns on an oldies station, confirming that love.
I grin, my hands tucked underneath my cheek. “Runaround Sue” by Dion infiltrates the vehicle as the scent of hour-old fast food wafts under my nose.
“You’re going to be famous one day, Tag,” I murmur, already half asleep as we veer onto the main road, tires struggling against the ice-packed pavement. “I feel it. I know it.”
Silence settles in for a few beats. “You sound so confident.”
“I am. You deserve to have your dreams come true.”
“Not sure how much longer I can keep doing this alone. I need a band. A group of other guys just as desperate and thirsty as I am.”
I curl my knees up as far as they’ll go. “It’ll happen. Keep pushing, keep playing. You just have to outlast all the other people who think they won’t make it either.”
Tag doesn’t answer right away. All I hear is the crackle of the song playing and the drone of rubber against the slick road. Just as I’m about to drift off completely, he says, “Thanks, sis. Means a lot, having you in my corner.”
My eyes flutter closed. “It’s the truth, dumbass. Don’t forget it.”
Some kind of wrapper is thrown over his shoulder, landing on my face. Smells like grease and chicken.
“Great. Now I’m hungry,” I mumble, tossing the paper bag to the floor.
Tag curves onto a new road, and I nearly slide off the seat. “I’ll make a stop at the gas station. Gotta take a piss anyway. What do you want?”
“Lobster bisque.”
“Try again. We’ve got stale chips and expired beef jerky.”
“Stale chips, please. Thanks, Tag.”
I doze in and out of sleep as we pull into the nearest gas station. One eye flicks open, and I unlatch my seat belt, moving into a sitting position to glance around. I catch sight of a man covered in snow as he winds through the gas pumps and beelines for the main door.
Tag leaves the car running with the heat blasting as he parks in front of the building. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“You’re the best,” I say groggily, watching as he hops out, closes the door, and jogs over to the entrance. The other man, wearing nothing but a hoodie, holds the door open for my brother, and they exchange a friendly nod.
I plop back down to the seat.
The alcohol fog steals me away.
Vivid dreams flicker through my mind. I’m a kid again, chasing Tag with a water balloon. Laughter bounces off wet pavement as fireworks paint the sky on the Fourth of July. A balloon bursts in my hand with a muted pop as the sky flashes red and blue.
