Page 100 of Trick or Treat Nurse at My Feet
"We'll prove the photos are fake," Drew says firmly. "Someone set you up, and we're going to find out who."
"I need a drink," the words come out as a mutter while brushing past Drew and heading inside.
Heading straight for the kitchen, I find a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the cabinet above the fridge. I don't bother with a glass, taking a long pull directly from the bottle. The liquor burns down my throat, a physical pain to match the emotional one tearing me apart.
Marcos enters the kitchen, stopping short when he sees me. "Whoa, maybe slow down there."
"Piss off. I'm not in the mood for advice," Another mouthful goes down.
"Fair enough." He hesitates, then grabs two glasses from the cabinet. "But at least use a glass. We're not animals."
Letting him pour me a smaller amount, I knock it back right away and hold out my glass for another. Marcos fills it up without saying anything, just leans against the counter across from me.
"Want to talk about it?" he asks after a minute of silence.
"No."
"Want me to leave you alone?"
The question hangs in the air as something in my chest tightens. My head shakes slowly. "Not really."
"Okay." He refills his own glass. "We don't have to talk. We can just stand here and get drunk."
That's precisely what we do for the next hour. Other brothers drift in and out of the kitchen, each one checking on me in their own way. Cameron brings a plate of nachos that I ignore. Ian tries to tell a joke. Gavin gives a briefupdate that he and James are "working on something" before disappearing back upstairs.
By the time Drew returns to the kitchen, the bottle is nearly empty, and I'm having trouble standing straight.
"I think you've had enough," he says gently, taking the glass from my hand.
"Not enough," my words are slurring slightly. "Still remember his face."
Drew sighs, exchanging a look with Marcos. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs."
They each take an arm, guiding me toward the stairs. I'm not exactly resisting, but I'm not helping much either, my feet dragging as the room spins around me.
"He didn't even let me explain," I mumble as they maneuver me up the steps. "Wouldn't listen."
"He was hurt," Drew says diplomatically. "People don't think clearly when they're hurt."
"I would've listened to him," The words come out insistent despite stumbling on the top step. "I always listen to him."
"I know, buddy."
They get me to my room and sit me on the edge of my bed. Marcos leaves to get water, while Drew helps me pull off my shoes.
"He said I was different," looking up at Drew with bleary eyes. "He said I made him believe I was different."
Drew's expression softens with sympathy. "You are different, Tyler. And we're going to make sure he knows that."
Marcos returns with a glass of water and some aspirin, which I dutifully swallow under their watchful eyes. The room is spinning more insistently now, and I let them ease me back onto the pillows.
"Get some rest," Drew says, pulling the blanket over me. "Things will be clearer in the morning."
My eyes are already closing, alcohol and emotional exhaustion dragging me toward unconsciousness. "Ethan," I murmur, already half-asleep. "Need to tell Ethan..."
The last thing I'm aware of is Drew's hand on my shoulder and his quiet voice, "We'll fix this, Tyler. I promise."
Waking up,my head is pounding and there's a foggy memory of yesterday's mess. I just lie here, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about everything that happened with Ethan. I saw the pain in his eyes. I heard how disgusted he sounded. The way he said goodbye was like he meant it forever.
