Page 53 of The One I Left Behind

I try not to laugh, but I fail miserably.

“You’re not going to have sex.” Laurel’s voice is stern.

“Why not?” Gillian sounds upset, so I swing around.

“We’re leaving. Jude? Sadie?” They look up, and I point at Laurel to make sure they take care of her too.

Although they’re only a year older than the rest of us, we all treat Jude and Sadie like the older, wiser ones who have their shit together. Sadie nods. Thankfully, she’s a nurturer.

I walk around the house and out to the road, then press the key fob to Laurel’s truck. She’s got to be kidding me. I thought she had another vehicle and just made deliveries in this one. It’s a powder blue truck with a pink and white logo on the side.

Gillian’s head lands on the headrest, and she circles it to look at me while I put her seat belt on. “Why did Laurel say that? That was mean.”

“Laurel meant because you’re drunk. She doesn’t want me to take advantage of you.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me toward her. “I’m not that drunk. Take advantage of me.”

I’d like to record her so she can hear the slur in her words in the morning.

“Let’s get you home.” I kiss her forehead and unwind her arms from around my neck.

On the ride home, Gillian goes from having her eyes shut to sleeping. This is a first. I’ve never seen her this drunk, but she deserved to blow off steam after the bar exam.

I pull into her driveway and park the truck next to her car in front of her two car garage, then I get out and walk around to her side.

“Gill?” I nudge her awake and undo her seat belt. “I need the keys.”

Her eyes spring open, and she stares at me for a minute. “Ben?” She touches her lips. “Was it a dream?” Both hands touch my face, patting it all over. “You feel real.”

“Yeah, I’m real.”

“Okay.” She tries to climb out of the truck, and I grab her waist. She falls into my body. “You’re so cute.” Her hands slide down my chest and rest on my belt, her fingers dipping under.

“We gotta get you inside. I need your house keys.”

She looks around. “I have a keypad.”

Great. I hope she remembers the code.

We walk up to her front door, though by walk, I mean Gillian weaves. She trips up her porch step, and I yank her back into me before she face-plants.

She stares at the keypad for a second, then at me, giggling. “I don’t remember it.” She covers her mouth, and her fingers go to the keypad and back to her mouth. “Huh.”

“Do you have any other way to get in?”

She looks around.

“A key under the mat? One of those hidden rock things?”

She shakes her head. “It’ll come to me.” Her head rocks back, and a gurgling sound escapes her throat.

“I tell you what.” I turn her body around and lower her to the step. “You sit here. I’m going to figure this out.”

“My hero.” She laughs and slumps over so she’s resting on the porch post.

I walk around the property, trying every window of the ranch house. Nothing is unlocked—which I’m happy about, but still. The patio door is locked tight with a bar across the side. When I get back, she’s asleep, a light snore echoing through the darkness.

I go to the keypad, determined to figure this out.

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