Page 87 of Fly Boy
“I need you to stay up here,” I tell her, walking to my door and cracking it open. The house is quiet, nothing but the periodicthump, thump, thumpcoming from the front door.
“I knew watching that scary movie the other day was a bad idea,” she grumbles.
Smirking, I glance over my shoulder. “You were the one who wanted to have a virtual movie night and choseScream.”
“I didn’t think it would have been that bad,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest.
Switching on the hall light, I head downstairs, the pounding now significantly lighter, almost lazy, like the person on the other side can’t be bothered anymore.
I open the door, confused at first, until, “What the fu— Bowie?” I’m slack-jawed, looking down at my brother, sprawled out on my doorstep. He tilts his head back, the movement sending him reeling backward until he’s against my legs.
“Hello, big brother,” he slurs, a stupid, drunken grin on his face. He looks happy; Bowie is always a happy drunk, except for his eyes… They look…sad.
“Jesus, what happened?” Threading my arms under his, I lift him up. I inhale, the scent of stale vodka and sweat filling my lungs. Seriously? When the fuck did he last shower? “Urgh, you stink.”
He blows his breath in my face, the smell making me wince. He tries to smile—at least I think that’s what he’s doing, only it looks slightly more deranged than I’m used to seeing. I sling his arm across my shoulders, supporting his weight as I carry him into my house. He sways, his feet not cooperating as I lead him into my living room.
“How much have you had to drink?” I ask, my stomach churning. “You smell like a skanky old nightclub.”
“You can’t smell vodka,” he replies, attempting to raise his hand and bop me on the nose. He fails, nearly taking my eye out instead. I bat it away, dodging it as he tries again.
“I can smell the cheap shit you’ve been drinking, Bowie,” I scold. Even breathing through my mouth, the fumes emitting from him are enough to start a fire.
He holds his hand in front of his face, scowling when he says, “Liar. Just like everyone else. I’m surrounded by nothing but liars.”
I drop him onto the couch, watching him bounce on the cushions, then freeze as his face turns a sickly gray, and he leans over the edge of my sofa. I swear to god, if he throws up on my floor…
“Bowie, what are you doing here?” I ask, but he ignores me as he focuses on breathing. Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dude, how did you end up on my doorstep?”
“I walked,” he burps, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm over his eye. “Or I got an Uber. Or maybe a train? Who knows?”
That churning sensation worsens as I stare down at my inebriated brother, who cannot even remember how he arrived at my house. I watch his chest rise and fall, wondering if he’s fallen asleep when he groans. “If you’re going to stand watching me like a creeper, can I get more booze?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, stopping myself from saying something snarky. He clearly isn’t as incapacitated as I’d thought.
“Wyatt?” I tense at the sound of Pippa’s voice coming from the hallway. Bowie jerks his arm away from his face, his eyes open wide as he struggles to push himself up.
I shove his arm, knocking him back down, my finger pointing in his face as I growl, “Don’t fucking move.”
He gnashes his teeth together, pretending to bite my finger. I’m shaking my head, exasperated, as I walk toward Pippa, peering around the doorjamb, unsure if she should come inside the room or not. I don’t know either. Only one other person knows about us—two I guess now including Sadie—but it’s the first time anyone in my family has seen me with a girl, let alonefoundthem in my house. Although I doubt Bowie’s drunken head could figure out who she is.
I grab her waist, pulling her toward me, lowering my voice as I say, “It’s my brother.”
Her lips part, and she silently mouths, “Oh.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty drunk and—”
“Speak louder. I can’t hear you,” Bowie yells, laughing as my head whips around to glare at him. He’s leaning over the back of the sofa, his hand propping up his cheek as he watches us with avid interest.
“Lie back down, you dumbass,” I shout back. “If you spew over the back of my—”
“I won’t, grumpy,” he interrupts again, then rolls his eyes with so much exaggeration his entire head moves too.
I run a hand down my face. “I’m sorry, baby, I need to deal with whatever…”
We both glance at my brother, heavy-lidded but far too nosy to close his eyes.
“Is he going to be okay?” Pippa asks, concern lining her brow. My heart pumps hard in my chest. She’s never met him, yet she’s worried about him.
