Page 85 of The Ones We Fight For

“Why do you always do that?” Talia snapped. Walker looked over at her, surprised by the edge to her tone. “You always shit on yourself. Do you even realize how great you are?”

“I can prove that I’m a fuck-up, Tal. I did something so unbelievably stupid today.”

“What?”

“Look in my nightstand.”

Talia slowly rose from the floor and made her way over to the drawer, pulling it open. The contents rolled forward with a thunk, and Walker waited for her to realize that he was broken beyond repair. He’d finally be able to prove why he would never be good enough for her. She’d finally understand.

“Condoms?” Talia faltered.

“What? No!” Walker panicked, ripping his head toward her in explanation. “Not the unopened condoms. I don’t even know why I have those. I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

“Then I assume you’re talking about this?” Talia held up the brown bag with a glass bottle of tequila inside. The paper crinkled against her fingertips. He gave a miserable nod of his head. “It’s not open either, Walker.”

“No, but I bought it.” He deflated. “I wanted to numb the pain for a little while.”

“But you didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter. I wanted to.” Walker argued and closed his eyes. “I still want to. Can you dump it out?”

“No.”

He snapped his eyes open to look up at her with a furrowed brow. “No?”

“You’re going to dump it,” Talia said.

“I can’t—”

“Walker, don’t give me that bullshit. I’m not going to do this for you. You’re going to dump it yourself. You are capable. Since Cole and Paisley died, I’ve watched you upend your entire life to help those kids downstairs. You learned how to cook. Well, kind of.” Walker let out a shaky chuckle, thankful for the lighter note as Talia edged on. “You know how to make a grocery list and how to use the espresso machine. You signed everyone up for therapy. You’ve handled every outbreak of teenage rebellion like a champ, so I don’t want to hear that you can’t do anything. Get up off your ass and dump this out.”

“Jesus, you’re really bossy today.” He grinned, and she smirked back at him, holding her hand out to help him up. “I don’t mind it."

Talia shrugged. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”

“Ponytail, you’ve done nothing but yell at me since the moment I met you. What makes you think I’m not already used to it?” The punch he received to his shoulder as a warning made him smile wider. “Okay, give me that.” He held out his hand to receive the bottle, and Talia passed it over.

Forging ahead, Walker made his way into the bathroom, followed closely by Talia. He stood in front of the toilet for a moment before removing the brown sack and letting it fall to the floor. Talia bent over to compulsively pick it up, and he let out a laugh.

“Saving that for the next time I take a trip to the liquor store?”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes.

Walker sucked in air through his teeth as he grasped the lid of the bottle and twisted hard, the tabs holding the aluminum cap breaking to release it. The tequila smelled like the cleaner he had made the older kids, due to their most recent misstep, clean the toilets with.

“It smells like rubbing alcohol mixed with bad breath,” Walker noted and turned to Talia, who had also scrunched her nose in disgust. “At least I didn’t buy the expensive stuff. Here goes nothing.”

As the liquor dumped out into the toilet bowl, air bubbled up the bottle with a hollow glugging sound. They both stared intently as the liquid sucked into the drain when Walker flushed it, until all that remained was water.

“See? You did it!” Talia threw her arms around his neck, and Walker dropped the bottle in surprise. He fumbled to catch it, but it was too late—his high school football coach would have reamed him over the coals. The bottle clattered to the floor with a loud crash, shards of glass spraying across the tile.

“Shit!” Walker hissed, holding Talia tight to his body. “Don’t move.”

“We have to get out of the bathroom at some point.” She clutched his middle with stiff arms. His breathing was starting to quicken for an entirely different reason than a panic attack as her body molded to his. He would much rather have Talia’s weight sitting on his chest than the weight of all his failures.

“I don’t want you to get cut. I’ll pick you up, okay?” He squeezed her harder, readying himself.

“All right.” Her voice sounded a little breathless and far away. He wondered, with her head pressed up against his chest, if she could tell his heart rate was faster than normal.

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