Page 58 of Even After Sunset

“You march your ass back over there and pick up that cable,” Steve growls in my ear. “Otherwise, I’ll be makin’ a call to the police to report you for underage drinkin’ and disorderly conduct.”

He says police like it’s two words: “Poh-Leece”. I’ve never heard anyone talk like that except in movies. Seriously: it’s like this guy walked straight off a B-grade movie set straight into my sorry life.

“Am. I. Clear?”

His voice sounds far away, now… His knee is digging into my already bashed-up lower back; against my bruised ribs. I’m definitely going to throw up, possibly from the pain more than from the liquor. I try to twist my body, but all it does is tug my T-shirt half-way up my back. I can feel the breeze on my bare skin and the flattened grass scratching against my stomach.

“Jesus…” I hear him mutter, and his grip slackens just a bit. “What the hell happened to your…”

His voice trails off. It sounds like he’s underwater. It feels likeI’munderwater: the stage lights blur together, in and out of focus, and the guys over by the beer tent smudge into a hazy blob.

“My fucking uncle happened to me,”I think.

Only I may have said it out loud.

Crap.I hopeI didn’t say it out loud.

I hope I don’t pass out. It feels like I might…

…pass out.

Chapter Fifteen

Silas

Iwake up to the sounds of Jackie rustling around the kitchen. When I open my eyes, I see her leaning against the counter, staring over at me as she spoons a mouthful of cheerios into her mouth. She doesn’t look embarrassed that I’ve caught her staring at me—watching me while I’m sleeping.

Actually, she looks worried. That crease is back, wrinkling the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning,” she says, in a tone that’s way too serious for Jackie.

Five hundred bucks says I’m the reason behind the lack of usual cheeriness in her voice. The events of last night are slowly coming back to me; hazy and pock-marked, but still—I get the gist of what went down: the fact that I got fired… that I’m broke again and dependent on Jackie. Which I hate. Also: that I made an ass of myself in front of Steve. I stormed off like a five-year-old. And passed out like a wuss.

I have no idea how I got back here. Definitely don’t remember walking back. I don’t remember anything after Steve tackled me down by the stage area.

“Why do you drink like that?” Jackie asks.

Her eyes still look worried, and I wince. I don’t like that I’m the cause of that look. And I hate that I’m the focus of attention; right off the bat, first thing in the morning. But I can’t deny that her annoyance is validated this time, given the state I must have arrived back in last night. It can’t have been pretty.

“Sorry,” I tell her, “about last night.”

Her expression doesn’t change, though. She’s still watching me with that concerned look on her face.

“Do you drink every night?”

I pull myself to a sitting position, sliding my legs over the edge of the pull-out bed.

“No,” I say. And I don’t feel bad about lying because my drinking habits are really none of her business.

“Well, it kind of seems like you do.”

She’s like a dog with a bone, this girl. Even first thing in the morning.

“I just apologized. Drop it, Jax.”

I scrub my hands across my face, stretching my neck against one shoulder, then the other.

“It’s not about that,” she says. “I’m just worried that—”

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