Page 12 of Back to You
Chapter 5
“Are you guys coming with me or not?” Violet stood at the front door, an overnight bag flung over one arm and her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. Wearing what she’d dubbed her “skanky-jeans” which left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a gauzy, off-the-shoulder top, she looked more ready for a party than a night out with friends, but who was I to judge?
“Where all are you guys going? Because no offense, sis, but I don’t wanna spend the evening with your girlfriends,” Dane said.
She huffed in annoyance. “Uh, duh? All-you-can-eat buffet ringing any bells? I told you all about it earlier, when you were gaming.” Dane and I exchanged a glance, and Violet threw her hands up. “You’re hopeless. Okay. From the top. We’re gonna meet with Tiff and Sarah and their guys at the Chinese place, gorge ourselves on General Tso’s chicken, and go see the new superhero movie. Ringing any bells.”
Dane smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“Well? What’ll it be, bro? You in? Hollister, you wanna come? Because I’m leaving in less than two minutes. Tick-tock.”
To be honest, I wasn’t really in the mood for Chinese or a movie. Plus, I knew how Violet’s friends were. A couple of chatty Cathys, and when the boyfriends were involved? “Nah, I’m good. You two go ahead,” I told her. “I wanna catch up with that new show on Netflix, anyway. Go on, have fun. I’ll be fine.”
“Looks like it’s a girl’s night,” Dane said. “I think I’m gonna pass too.”
“You sure?” I asked him. “I really don’t mind if you go.”
“Nah, man, we’ll have our own fun at home. See ya later, Vi.”
“I’m taking our car.” The way she said it told me that she was ready to fight him on it, but Dane let it roll right off his shoulders.
“That’s fine. We’re gonna stay in.” I raised a brow, but he just chuckled.
Rolling her eyes at us, Violet shuffled into the kitchen, where Mrs. Fisher was sitting at the kitchen table doing a Sudoku puzzle with a bright purple pen. “Mom, I’m taking off. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Mrs. Fisher stood for a hug goodbye. “Drive safe, honey.” She pressed a kiss to Violet’s forehead with a smile—typical Fisher family behavior—but for some reason, it made my chest knot. My eyes pricked with tears. On a surge of emotion, I ducked away and escaped to our bedroom, wiping tears away with the sleeve of my hoodie.Get a grip, Hollister.
Dane followed me. It was like he’d attuned himself to my sorrow these past few months. He closed the door behind him, then joined me on my bed. The mattress squeaked in protest. “You okay?”
I sniffed. “Yeah. Fine. I’m okay.”
“Liar.” He smiled.
“It’s... Sometimes, when your mom gets all mom-like, it reminds me of my mom and it hurts, like she’d died just yesterday, you know?” I bunched my shoulders up around my ears and let a sigh hiss between my lips. “It sucks. It feels like I’m never gonna stop missing her.”
“I know. It’s hard. After Dad died, Mom fell into this deep depression and pretty much stopped being a mom. It was really rough for a good year, because we didn’t just lose our dad, we lost our mom, too. You remember how she used to get,” he murmured.
I did remember. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It all turned out okay. Anyway, Mom started drinking and one night, Violet lost it. They had this huge screaming match and it was awful, but she got her point across. We lost one parent, but we still needed our mother. After that, Mom started going to therapy and saw a doctor, and with the right medication, she became our mom again. Not saying you need drugs, but it’s always an option.”
“I don’t need meds,” I told him firmly. All the chemo that Mom went through, feeling weak all the time and puking her guts out because the drugs were poisoning her as well as the cancer? No. All doctors did was prescribe pills, and when they had bad side-effects, they prescribedmorepills.
“No, no, I didn’t mean—I’m just saying… No, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Maybe you’re right.” His face flushing red, he let out a small laugh and knocked his knee against mine. “You got this. You’re doing good and I’m proud of you. Now, what do you say about having a little party of our own?”
I knew that look. That trademark Dane Fisher look. He was up to something. “Like what?” I ventured.
“Mmm?” He hopped up off the bed and pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser. When he turned back around, he had an unopened bottle of blackberry wine in one hand. “Found this in the cabinet the other day, just begging me to take it. Mom has like, six, so she’s not gonna miss one. It’ll be fun. We can drink and play games, and hang out and be adults. Underaged adults, yes, but adults nonetheless. What do you say, my friend?”
His blue eyes twinkled with amusement and my heart flip-flopped.
“You’re on.”
* * *
Alcohol was always inherently bad in my family. As far back as I could remember, Dad would come stomping home from work and take his bad day out on us—and he had a lot of bad days.
The minute he got home, he kicked his shoes off and poured himself a glass of Jack on the rocks. It all went downhill from there. He was an angry drunk. Didn’t matter what kind of alcohol he consumed, it made him meaner than a wounded badger.
