Page 28 of With a Broken Wing
Swallowing the last bite, I turned and looked at her. “We need to be leaving for the airport tomorrow morning by 7:30. The plane will stop in Chicago, and you’ll have a connecting flight into Grand Rapids. I’ve got a car scheduled to meet you there and take you home. You’ll return on Sunday.”
“That’s five days…” The surprise on her face was mixed with concern.
“Yes. It’ll be paid. You’ve worked hard, and we all deserve a few days off.” It’d give me a chance to try to clear my mind of the fiery-haired woman.
She gnawed on the inside of her lip. “Um, well, thank you. For planning that and stuff.”
Something about the way her forehead creased and her lips pursed made it seem like she wasn’t so excited to be going home. What or who made her so hesitant? She was my employee, and I had to remind myself it didn’t make her my responsibility.
I stood up to leave her room, satisfied she was safe and had eaten something. I walked to the door. There was a bottle of tequila sitting on the counter. She didn’t act drunk, but how much of it had she had? What happened while we were at the meeting?
The familiarityof my couch hadn’t been the most comforting for the last couple of days. I’d gotten home from Atlanta on Wednesday and spent most of that time hovering near the window that looked out to the street below. Anxiety held me captive, sure Fisher would show up at my door at any moment. Somehow, he’d known where I was when he texted me. How long had he been watching me?
I sat on the couch now, wrapped in a blanket and listening to Auston ramble on about some video game he was excited about finally having “gotten his hands on.” It was a lot of excitement on his end, and a lot of smiling and nodding on mine.
“Oh mygod, Auston. I haven’t seen you in weeks, and all you want to talk about is this damn game! Are you serious?”
He rolled his eyes in the same way he had since we were kids, rolling his entire head. “Well, you haven’t exactly been Ms. Talkative over there.”
I looked at the empty glass in my hands and winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be quiet. I guess I’m tired.”
His briefly narrowed eyes and pursed lips made it clear he saw through my explanation. Instead of pushing me, he dropped his shoulders, releasing the tension he held. “Okay… tell me about your new job. Do you like it?”
“It’s kind of intense. Definitely more than I thought it’d be, but it’s pretty good. I get to explore new places a lot, and it’s kind of cool to coordinate travel for a private plane. The people are okay too. Shelby is kind of a bitch, and it doesn’t seem like she likes me much, but Scott likes me almost too much, so it balances out.” I reached for the wine bottle on the table to fill my empty glass. I was starting to feel more comfortable with the team, even Shelby, whose favorite pastime was getting under my skin.
“Are you happy?” The skeptical look he’d had earlier was back. It was just like my brother to worry about me, not that I could really blame him. In our lifetime, he’d had to worry about me a lot of times for a lot of reasons.
“Yes. It’s good for me.” I couldn’t look him in the eye when I said it, though. He would know I wasn’t being completely honest with him. I really liked my new job, but happy was a stretch. How could I be happy when Fisher was metaphorically breathing down my neck and Demetri had moved rent free into my mind.
“Okay, as long as you’re sure.” His usual surrender. I breathed a sigh of relief, taking a long pull from my dollar store glass. I’ve had the same glasses since college, but they’d lasted, so there was no reason to replace them. “Damn, I should’ve brought over my PlayStation. I could’ve taught you to play—”
I grabbed the throw pillow from behind me on the couch and launched it in his direction, causing him to shout and cover his face with his arm out of instinct. “You and your stupid game!”
He grabbed the pillow next to him and swung it at me. Our laughter was loud enough that I was sure my neighbors were regretting that I was back for the weekend. When he threw the pillow at me, it knocked the glass in my hand, sending it crashing to the ground. Shards of cheap glass scattered across the floor.
“Son of abitch. That’s my bad!” Auston jumped up from the couch and half jogged to the kitchen for a dish towel. “Stay where you are. I don’t want you to cut yourself. At least you have these fake wood floors, so it isn’t going to stain, right?” he joked, coming back with a towel in his hand and a smirk on his face that said he was biting back full-on laughter.
The towel was what caught my attention. My white towel. I looked at the red wine on the ground and back at my brother. “No, Auston! Please, notthattowel!”
“Oh, it’s fine. We can bleach it.” He dropped the towel onto the spilled wine, wiping it up and carefully gathering the pieces of broken glass that he could easily grab.
With a sigh, I climbed over the back of the couch and grabbed the broom from the closet. “You owe me a new towel,” I grumbled as I swept the last of the glass into a pile and scooped it up.
I sniffled, and Auston looked at me when unexpected tears started to roll down my cheeks. “Andy, it’s just a towel! Jesus, I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll get you a new one. There’s no reason to cry!”
He hurried towards me, always being the one who hated seeing me cry the most. When we were really little, I would cry to get him to share his snacks with me, but he’d eventually caught on to that. Any time I cried in school, Auston would beat up the kid who made it happen and then hold my hand until I stopped.
“It’s okay. I’m just going to go clean up a little.” I gestured at my wine-splattered legs and snuck into the bathroom that connected to my room.
I went straight for the small bottle in my makeup bag, and I relaxed into the acrid taste. As the pill dissolved on my tongue, I used a damp cloth to wipe dried drops of wine from my legs. They’d left small, purple stains on my skin that looked like tiny bruises.
When I was cleaned up and changed, I walked back into the living room. Auston looked at me from the couch, sheepishly pointing to a fresh glass of wine on the table. “Sorry, again,” he said with a tilt of his head.
I sat down with a chuckle, grabbing the wine and taking a gulp. “Sorry I cried.”
The fuzzy filter started to cover my mind, and the room settled with a calmness around me. Part of me wanted to take a second pill, but Auston would recognize that something was different. He wouldn’t notice with one. He’d chalk it up to my being drunk. I’d done it enough.
“Can I ask you something and then I promise not to ask again?” When he asked, my breath hitched. Did he know what I’d done in the other room? Did he know it had been going on for a few months?
