Page 133 of The Apple Tree

I found his keys and opened the door. Then I climbed into the back of the truck with Josh while Kyle drove to the ER.

“Shh … you’ll be okay,” I said, trying to soothe Josh on the way.

When we arrived, I helped Josh out of the truck and Kyle held him with his good arm and a grimace on his face. It was clearly hurting his injured arm.

“You can’t go inside. Just stay in the truck,” he said.

“But—”

“Eve! Just do as I say.”

After they disappeared into the entrance, I closed the truck door and wiped my tear-stained cheeks.

What had I done?

Two hours later,Josh had his arm wrapped, a sticker, and a pack of wafer cookies for being a good little patient, and Kyle was tucking him in bed. I stepped back into the hallway.

Kyle closed his door halfway and nodded toward the stairs. When we reached the kitchen, I turned and rested my hands on the counter’s edge behind me. Kyle picked up the bottle of Gatorade and held it between his legs to open it. My gaze dropped to the floor as he took a sip.

“Booze,” he mumbled. “You can’t be drunk around my son. What the hell is wrong with you? You dropped a fucking hot pizza onto him. He has second-degree burns that might leave scars all along his arm. What the hell were you thinking?”

I winced. The first tear landed between my feet, and then the next few hit my socks, disappearing into the white cotton. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m not asking for an apology. I know you’re sorry. It’s been on your face all night. I’m asking what you were thinking?”

“I was just taking the edge off.”

“Christ,” he grumbled. “The edge off what? You’re eighteen. You have a home and food on the table. You have a family who loves you. A job. Friends. You have me and Josh. Please,pleasetell me what fucking edge you’re taking off?”

I wiped my tears and sniffled. “It’s us. I’m tired of keeping us a secret.”

“I can’t do this tonight. You’re all over the goddamn place. One minute, you’re dying to tell everyone, the next you’re not. Just fucking tell them.” He rubbed his temples.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“Whatever. Then I’ll tell them. Just not tonight. I need you to just go.”

I shook my head. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

My head continued to shake. “It’s too much.”

“Too much what?”

I lifted my gaze, eyes narrowed. “You don’t understand. But it’s just more than they can deal with.”

He studied me for several seconds before sighing. “Fine. But you can’t come to my house intoxicated. Do you understand me?”

I nodded.

“In fact, just stop drinking. You’re eighteen, and?—”

“Gah!” I clenched my hands into tight fists. “I know! I’m eighteen. I know my age. Everyone knows my age. Would you stop starting every sentence with my age? If it’s such a big deal to you then break up with me. Go be with someone whose age you’re not embarrassed about.”

“I’m bringing up your age because it’s relevant to our conversation about your drinking.”

“Welp,” I said, holding my hands out to the side, “I’m done drinking. I’m not smoking. No drugs. I won’t even vote in the presidential election next year if it makes you happy and takesthe burden off bringing up my age in every single conversation. Happy?”

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