Page 102 of Crystal Iris
“You don’t want to know,” Hoyt says, looking at the fire.
“Broc?” I look away from Hoyt, trying to catch Broc’s eye.
“Okay, I’ve got one. It was Hoyt’s fifteenth birthday, and we decided to steal a bottle of liquor from his dad. We were stupid enough to think we could drink and ride horses at the same time. We rode all the way to the east mountain, over there.” He points. “We tied the horses up by the trees and sat by the river. It was still daylight when we got there. All four of us were used to riding there all the time. No big deal.” He pauses the story to take a sip of his beer. I realize Luke must’ve been the fourth. “We almost drank the whole bottle. Had no idea how strong it was. Up until then, we’d only had beer. A few hours later, we realized we were stuck there. No way we could ride back.”
“When my father found us, we were still puking our guts out,” Hoyt says, crushing his can and tossing it to the ground near his truck.
“Next time we stole a bottle, we stayed local,” Broc says, winking.
There’s music playing from the truck, but it’s the crackling of the fire that takes my worries away.
“I’ve got one,” Sawyer says, sitting a little taller. “It was Fourth of July. Broc bought a ton of fireworks—too many. We were lighting them off until we realized something had caught fire. We looked back to see Broc’s sweatshirt burning on the ground. He freaked out and dumped his cup on it. But Broc never drank water in his life. The alcohol just made the fire worse. We all had to rush into put it out while fireworks were popping overhead. Those fireworks almost went off right there. We got lucky that night.”
“I almost lost my truck that night. Not my favorite story, Sawyer,” Broc says, throwing his can.
“You almost lost a toe,” Hoyt retorts. “You guys are making us sound pretty dumb.”
I laugh.
Hoyt takes the bottle from my hand, and our fingers barely make it without touching.
“This is very nice,” I tell him. “Being outdoors.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and I have to take a few breaths to slow my racing heartbeat.
I watch them all sing along and joke around as the fire crackles. I realizeI’mfeeling happy. Or drunk. Probably both.
“Do you have any stories for me?” I ask Hoyt, taking another sip.
“One night I was outside, in the back of the house. I’d had another fight with my dad. I was trying to figure out if I should apply for college—I was the only one not doing it. He kept telling me I didn’t need to go. That I was needed here. That we were rich enough I could just hire people with degrees. He said I didn’t need one myself. I was pissed. I wanted to go, like all my friends, even if it was only for the experience. And then I heard a sound coming from the barn. It sounded like a scream. I ran there. I was almost there when I heard it again. I ran faster, realizing it was my sister screaming. When I got closer, I saw Broc sewing Johanna’s hand. She had cut herself on a barbed wire. She’d been out late by the river with them. Broc was already good at patching us up. I’m sure she could’ve waited to go to the hospital, but I’m still grateful for all the times you guys saved me and my siblings’ asses.” He lifts his can to them.
I watch Sawyer’s gaze lock on the fire. Hoyt had mentioned the history between his friend and Johanna.
“What he’s forgetting to tell you,” Broc says, “is that there was no scream.”
I look at him, confused.
“Jo never screamed. She was in pain, but she didn’t want her dad finding out she was out late. I remember that night well—she never made a sound. It was Hoyt’s sensory thing that alerted him… that she was hurt.”
I turn to Hoyt. “Sensory thing? You mean…?”
“He knew when I got in a car crash, he knew when that guy in the bar had a gun... he even knew when his father died,” says Sawyer.
“You never told me that your… sixth sense does this,” I say, looking at Hoyt, trying to figure out why he never mentioned it.
“Because it’s not something I even understand,” he replies. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s a freaking curse, that’s it.” He grabs the bottle from the floor next to me and takes a long sip. “That’s enough stories for tonight,” he says, standing up. “You guys can put it out.” He looks at me, silently asking if I’m coming too.
“See you in the morning,” I tell Broc on my way out.
“What’s in the morning?” Hoyt asks, shutting the car door.
“Nothing.”
He looks at me.
“You should’ve told me about you knowing those things—sensing them,” I say.
“Why?” We’re both a little tipsy.
