Oh, wait.Not everything.I heave again.
What did you do to my sister?”
I blink my eyes open.The world is still sideways.I close them again.
“Nice, Humphreys.You got her drunk.”The door opens.“Jesus.She’s soaked.You’re a fricken idiot.It’s barely above freezing.”
“It’s a story.”
“Can’t wait for you to tell it to me.”Gavin groans.“C’mon, luggage.Let’s get you in before Mom and Dad get back.”
Words are too hard.I make some sort of noise.That’s all I got.
My brother lifts me, wrapped like a burrito in the blanket.The jostling makes me afraid I’ll throw up again.I groan and press my face into his sweater.“Don’t you dare puke on me.”
Warmth envelops me as soon as we enter the house.“Get a glass of water.And there’s aspirin in the cabinet to the right of the microwave.”
Stairs are miserable for me.Not so much for my brother—thanks to his vanity.“Sorry.”My words are a mumble.
“You’re going to be in the morning,” Gavin replies.“Is this your first time getting drunk?”
I moan a, “Yes.”
He lets out a heavy sigh.“If this is over Reeves, I’m going to kill him.”
I try to shake my head.But it makes my brain hurt.
Gavin sets me on the edge of the bed and forces me to sit up.I don’t want to sit.
“You can go to sleep after you take these.”
I blink my eyes open.Gavin is seated next to me, holding me upright.Collin hands me a glass of water and two white pills.I fumble for them and put them in my mouth, followed by several gulps of water.
“Finish it,” Gavin orders.
I do.Way too fast and set a hand on my swirling stomach.
“Puke in the basket by your bed if you have to.”The burrito blanket disappears.“What the hell is she wearing?Where’s her clothes?”Gavin lays me on my side and pulls the comforter over me.
“In the car.”
I snuggle into my bed beneath the warmth.My head fuzzy and sleep calling.
“This better be one hell of a story, or I may kill you too.”
Chapter Thirty
You’re not allowed to play with us!”
“Why would I want to?You’re just a bunch of kids,” Gavin protests, but doesn’t leave.
Collin and Jonathan start laughing like we’re putting on a show.I glare at them.“Stop!”
When they laugh again, I get so angry, I leave.
“Stupid boys,” I grumble, entering the kitchen and flopping down at the kitchen table.
“What’s this all about?”Magda asks, setting a tray of cookies on a rack to cool.
