“How much do you know?” I ask.
“Austin called me to say that Logan’s been at the club drinking since noon. Bartender’s been watering his drinks for the last two hours but he’s three fucking sheets to the wind. He’s not talking to anyone, so no one knows what’s wrong. But this isn’t like him.”
No, it’s not.
“Can someone there get him a cab to my place?” I ask.
“Sure. Do you need any of us? Cappa’s with him now and I can be free in an hour. Austin had a shoot at one, but he should be finished by eight.”
Austin’s the EMT, as I remember. Logan and I used to drink off injuries when we were in the service, but none of us are twenty anymore.
“If Austin could swing by when he’s done, that would be great. I don’t know much about head injuries and alcohol, but I don’t think they’re a great combination.”
Brenna snorts. “No, they’re not. If he starts puking, get him to urgent care.”
“Will do. And Brenna? Thank you.”
She’s silent for a second.
“It’s what we do,” she says, before hanging up.
I appreciate she didn’t say goodbye or expect me to say it.
My phone pings again.
Logan: On my way.
I blow out a relieved breath, then scrub my hand through my hair before I make the harder call. Unlike Logan, Emily answers on the first ring.
“Hi, Max. Is everything okay?”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah, girlie-girl. Logan’s hanging out with me. Mac just left. Sorry you didn’t get to see him. Maybe tomorrow? I think he’s in town for a couple of days.”
“Um ... Daddy and I are taking some time off from everything. He said he told you. I had an appointment to look at a nursing home for my mother already set up for today, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone out.” I hear her fast, light steps. I think she’s pacing. I mirror her, rising and pacing from my office into my living room and back. “Is everything really okay?”
I can’t lie. Not to her. “No, Emmy. Logan’s been drinking. I’m bringing him to mine so I can take care of him.”
I hear her breath break. “Is he okay? Max, did he get the letter? He thought it might come today.”
“Yes, sweetie.”
Her soft sobs carry over the phone. “Oh, Daddy.”
“Emmy, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if you should come here or if he needs to work this out for himself or what?—”
I hear the cat’s purr. Emmy’s probably picked him up and is holding him close to her face for comfort.
“Emmy—”
“It’s okay,” she says, hiccupping. “Daddy probably needs some time away from everything. It’s all been too much. If he can stay with you, at least I know he’s safe. Will you call me if he needs me?”
“Of course. I’ll try to sober him up.”
“He doesn’t usually drink very much.”
“I know.”
“And his poor head.”
