***
The next morning I wake up moderately hungover. My head aches and I can tell I didn't bother to brush my teeth last night before drunkenly putting myself to bed, a bad taste in my mouth from the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed. Gross.
I sit-up in bed with a exasperated sigh and run a hand through my wild hair. At least I made it to my room.
After the whole pool house fiasco, I proceeded to join in a few rounds of kitchen table beer pong. I've never been one for games requiring hand-eye coordination, so it came as no surprise to me that I had lost every single round.
Luckily for me, loosing was just what I was looking for—the perfect way to keep my mind distracted.
Now that it's the next morning, however... I have a lot to unpack. But first, I need a shower and something in my gnawing stomach.
I flip the covers off my body and swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting them firmly on the floor. My head pounds as I stand up and groggily shuffle my way into my bathroom.
The tile is freezing on my bare feet as I step inside the small space. I glance in the mirror above the sink and take in my appearance.
Heavy, dark bags hang under my eyes and the remnants of last night's mascara cling to my lower lash line. My skin is dull and pale, making me look like a walking corpse. My golden hair, not quite brown but not quite blonde, falls in limp waves around my shoulders, no doubt having lost its curl as I tossed and turned while sleeping.
Overall, I look just about as good as I feel.
I shuffle over to the shower, turning it on the hottest setting, before heading back to the sink and grabbing my toothbrush. While the shower heats up, I begin brushing my teeth, careful to avoid gazing at myself in the mirror.
The bathroom starts to fill with steam as I rinse my mouth out, finishing my brushing. I strip out of the long sleeve and shorts I threw on for bed last night and hurriedly hop in the shower.
The water is hot enough to make Satan uncomfortable, but I bask in it, letting it run down my face and body as I stand facing the spray.
Alpha. Pack. Murder. My brain reviews the conversation I heard in the pool house last night between my brother, his friends, and Nash.
My heart starts to pound as I remember his stare—how it pulled me in and tried to drown me in pools of molten gold.
I step out of the spray and begin to shampoo my hair, needing the distraction. There's no use in re-hashing what went down last night over and over again in my head. It'd do me more good to confront James and get answers instead of making up possible scenarios and filling myself with unnecessary anxiety.
Twenty minutes later, I finally have the motivation to leave the shower. I shut off the water and stick my arm out of the curtain, grabbing a towel off the rack and pulling it into the shower with me to dry off, careful not to let any of the cold air in. When I'm done, I wrap my hair in the towel and step out.
My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter and I walk over to read the message.
James - I'm making pancakes and breakfast sausage. Want any?
I check the time and see it's already almost noon. Looks like we both slept-in pretty late. I type a quick "absolutely" and then set my phone back on the counter to finish getting ready.
After I've dressed completely and pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks, I finally emerge from my room. The smell of pancakes and sausage is prevalent in the air, making my stomach growl loudly. I'm starving.
I quickly head down the stairs and into the kitchen where I find James transferring at least two dozen chicken sausages from a frying pan and onto a plate. Moose and Russell sit at the table, so absorbed in their phones that they don't even notice me walk in.
"Good morning, boys." I slip over to the plate of sausages and pick one up, too impatient to wait. It singes my fingers for half a second before I hock it into my mouth.
James looks up from the griddle and gives me a 'what's up' head nod.
"Those two are hungover," he motions towards the boys at the table. "I found Moose sleeping part-way under the coffee table with a pillow next to his head. He wasn't even using it, it was just there." He rolls his eyes.
"At least Russell found the couch, but he had taken the back cushions and put them over his body as if he doesn't know where we keep the fucking blankets," he continues, chuckling.
I snort in response. "And you? Where'd you wake up?"
"My own damn bed." He sticks his tongue out at me and flips a pancake on the griddle.
"Same. I'm kind of surprised I made it all the way there, though. I thought for sure I'd wake up on the couch since I can't remember even going upstairs last night."
James hikes an eyebrow at me. "That sloshed, huh? I'm proud of you, baby sister." He throws an overdramatic thumbs up my way.
"Thanks, but I think my New Year's resolution will be to never drink again. My head is pounding." I make my way over to the cabinet in the kitchen that my parents use to store OTC medications and rummage through until I find a bottle of Tylenol.
"Aw, come on. We never get to party together. Don't be a Debbie Downer."
I throw James the finger before I shake out two pills and rinse them down with a glass of water.
"I didn't realize that your idea of a party is to invite every single person you've ever met or made eye contact with for an extended period of time and jam them into a single family home—with enough booze to kill a small army." I continue.
"But you had a great time, didn't you? I heard something about some grinding action between you and a certain someone." He waggles his eyebrows at me and glances in the direction of his two friends at the table.
I scoff, but feel my cheeks heat up. Moose must have mentioned our moment in the backyard. I'm still unsure of what to make of it, but know I need to shut down whatever tangent is brewing in my brother's head before he starts planning our wedding.
"One—it wasn't grinding, more of a slow dance than anything. And two—it didn't mean anything, stop trying to read into something that isn't there."
"Sure, sure Em. Well, can you take these over to your lover and Russ take a seat? Pancakes are almost done." He hands me the plate of chicken sausage and shoos me towards the table.
I bite my cheek but take the plate, deciding not to retort. My head hurts way too much to continue the conversation anyway.
Walking over to the table, I place the plate down in the middle and slide into the nearest seat, across from Russell. Both boys look up from their phones at the sound of the plate being set down and Moose immediately grabs two sausages and plops them into his mouth. Russell eyes the food with a look of disgust and shifts back in his chair, attention back on his phone.
"Rough night, Russ?" I question playfully. He makes an unintelligible grunt back and I chuckle, catching Moose's eye as we exchange knowing looks.
Towards the end of the night—well, towards the end of my memory of the night—a girl in a tight purple dress bet Russell that he couldn't down the last three fingers of a bottle of whiskey without making a face. He agreed and I watched, amazed and also disgusted, as he drained the bottle like it was water and winked at the girl as he pulled it away from his lips. Moose groaned at the action, no doubt having resigned himself to the fact that he'd have to keep an eye on Russ the rest of the night.
Twenty minutes later, that whiskey caught up with him and he tried, twice, to climb onto the roof, claiming that if he jumped from there into the snow, it wouldn't even hurt.
"How's the headache, Em? I saw you pound back those Tylenol like candy." Moose teases, grabbing two more sausages off the plate.
"I'm not gonna lie, I feel like death. Or like I was run over, twice, then beaten with a tire iron within an inch of my life and yeeted into a dumpster. " I grimace, rubbing the base of my skull.
Both boys chuckle and Russell gives me a thumbs up, empathizing with my description.
"I didn't realize I was friends with a bunch of pussies." James interjects, placing a steaming pile of pancakes on the table in front of me and a stack of plates and silverware to the side. "I feel absolutely fine and I'm 96% sure I drank more than any of you."
"Being an alcoholic isn't something to boast about. You need help." I shoot back. I'm only slightly joking.
James raises his hands in surrender. "Harsh, sis. Damn."
"She's right, dude. I heard that they do weekly AA meetings at the library on Tuesdays." Moose joins in.
I snort, imagining James at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Knowing him, he'd probably befriend the entire group and convince them that sobriety wasn't the answer. "I'll even drive you there, dearest brother."
"Hey, hey. You guys can't gang up on me. Russell, help a brother out."
Russell glances up from his phone long enough to flip James the bird, causing all of us to burst into laughter.
"Alright, enough trash talk. Let's eat."
***
After breakfast, Moose and Russell head out, citing a good workout will clear their hangovers, though I'm not entirely convinced that's how it works.
My headache has receded to a dull throb in my temples and I'm feeling better with food in my stomach.
Now, to corner James and get some answers.
I walk into the kitchen where my brother is wiping down the counter and start clearing off the table.
After a few minutes of us working in silence, I clear my throat.
"So, who was that guy in the basement last night? I don't think I recognized him."
James pauses slightly before answering, "Ah, Nash? He's just a buddy from college. We were partnered up on a project for CompSci my Freshman year and ended up getting along."
I 'hmm' in response. His explanation seems plausible and I believe that's really how they met, but it still doesn't explain his weird behavior last night.
"Why? You got the hots for him?" James looks up from the counter and winks at me.
I roll my eyes and throw a bunched up paper towel his way. "No, idiot. Stop thinking that I'm into every guy you see me interacting with."
"Ah, so you interacted with him?" I don't miss the suggestion in his voice.
"If you could even call it that," I nod. "I was making myself a drink in the basement and he asked me to grab a bottle of liquor from the freezer. We exchanged a few words and that was it."
"Knowing Nash, I'm surprised that was it. He's a bit of a fuck boy, messed around with several girls from our class during the semester." James passes me to throw the paper towels away and moves to the sink to wash his hands.
"Good for him. I'm not interested, but I couldn't help but notice things seemed a little tense between the two of you. I didn't know you were friends." I keep my tone unassuming, hoping he'll tell me more. As it currently seems, James and Nash might actually be closer than I assumed, confusing me further.
"We had a bit of a disagreement," James grunts, drying his hands on a towel. "Nothing to worry about. You know how guys are—we just throw a punch or two and then it's like nothing happened."
I raise my eyebrows. "So you're saying you two got in an actual fight?"
"Like I said, nothing to worry about." James shrugs and glances around the kitchen, checking that everything from this morning's breakfast has been cleaned up.
"I'm not worried," I lie. "So are you two good, now?"
"Yep. Fine and dandy." Satisfied with the state of the kitchen, James leans against the counter and faces me, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Cool-cool." I scramble to find something else to say to keep the conversation going.
Do I just admit to spying on them last night? If I do, will James even give me a straight answer? I bite the inside of my cheek, perplexed.
"Well, I've got to go here in a sec. Van is dropping me off at the mechanic's so I can grab my car. I should be back by four or five."
I nod, choosing to drop the conversation for now. Van—Vanessa—my brother's on-again/off-again girlfriend of three years might be able to clue me in on more details about Nash and James' relationship. I make a mental note to text her later, when she's not with him, to ask.
"Alright. I'll be here." I sigh and push off the counter, heading back up towards my room.
Mission failed. For now.
***
