Page 33 of Unspoken Rules

His hands clench and unclench a few times before he says, “It’s just Chris. He’s—”

“Drunk?” I ask, raising a brow.

Bryson’s eyes widen, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah.”

I nod my head, taking in a breath.

“He’s been drinking a lot lately,” I tell Bryson.

He walks to me, leaning against the wall a few feet away.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about it. Says he’s just having fun.”

“I’d believe that if I didn’t just see what I saw.”

I narrow my eyes. “Should I be concerned?”

He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks in disbelief as he recalls what happened. It’s concerning knowing Chris did something to rile Bryson.

“The drinking is the worst thing. What I saw has nothing to do with him getting into trouble or anything like that. Just him being a dick.” He winces, looking up at me. “Sorry, I know he’s your son, but…”

“Wanna talk about it?” I ask, choosing to ignore him calling Chris a dick and then apologizing for it. This has always been a safe space, and people are allowed to say how they feel as long as they aren’t being disrespectful. Part of me hopes Bryson will tell me what the hell happened because I want to be the judge on whether it’s bad or not. But I don’t want to ruin their friendship either. I’ve done enough by the way of that already.

Bryson huffs out a humorless laugh. “Thanks, but the less I have to recall what I saw, the better. I’m gonna take a nap.”

He heads upstairs, and his door closes a moment later.

I shake my head and go back to the kitchen to clean up.

Fucking Chris…

Chapter Fourteen

Bryson

Earlier that afternoon…

Getting rideshares around town is going to drain my wallet. Not that I have much left, but whatever’s there will be used to pay for rides from point A to point B. I’m going to have to stop going out, or if I do, I’ll have to make sure I go when Chris does. Or suck it up and walk.

The moment I set foot out of the car, I’m hit with heavy rock music.

Mark’s band plays loud as hell, and I bet the entire block can hear them.

I smile as I make my way to the recording-studio-slash-hang-out around the back of the house. Back in high school, Mark and his band mates turned the garage into a place they could jam so they wouldn’t piss off the neighbors. Much good that did, considering no matter what they did to soundproof, it didn’t work.

There’s a crowd in front of the garage, blocking most of my view, but I can certainly hear them. The group of people take up the driveway and the small yard. The area looks smaller than I remember, but not much has changed.

The old basketball hoop is still up by the house, and I remember coming here after school and playing two on two with the guys while Mila studied. That girl was always studying. She’s the reason Mark and Chris passed high school. Not that they’re stupid, because they’re not. They just had other things on their minds. Like girls.

Mila spots me and bounces over, giving me a tight hug. “I’m so glad you came.”

“They sound good,” I say, gesturing to Mark’s band. “They still going by Accidental Atrocity?”

Mila rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately.” She turns to face them, watching them for a moment. Her smile is slow forming, but bright and proud. No matter how much her brother annoys her, she’s proud of his talent. The two of them barely have anything in common, but they are always there for each other—no matter what. “They have gotten better though, haven’t they?”

I nod, turning my attention back to the band. When they finish the song, something I don’t recognize, they go right into another. The crowd is full of people bobbing their heads, head banging, and singing. I realize no one looks familiar, though I’m sure I know some from school.

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