Page 62 of Broken Halo

Jen played with Griffin, fed him dinner, gave him a bath, and read him books. Now he’s asleep in Jen’s guest bedroom in the pack-n-play she keeps here for him as his mother continues to drink away her life.

I haven’t had a drink since before Robert died. It’s not that I haven’t wanted one—even needed one at times. Lord knows, I have. That day plays in my head like the bad background music at the dentist. When I don’t keep myself busy, it drills its way in and takes over. The blame and fault that blankets my heart for what almost happened to my sister that day is crushing, but I deserve every pound of it. I brought that monster into my family—I’ve earned every jagged edge my heart takes on a daily basis. I’m not worthy of any balm to my guilt.

I’ve refilled my glass twice—maybe three times—and have been deadening every emotional nerve in my body. It’s glorious and the vodka is doing its job like any top-shelf bottle should. The unprotected sex I had on a desk with the love of my life—no wait, the former love of my life—has started to fade away. Because, over the last two hours I’ve decided I’m never going to love anyone but Griffin for as long as I live and I’m never, ever, ever having sex again—protected, unprotected, semi-protected, on a desk or otherwise—none of it. I’m done with sex and I’m done with Easton hot-with-a-trigger-in-more-ways-than-one Barrett.

“How long do you think she’s going to sit there and not speak to us?”

“If you have to ask that, you don’t really know my sister.”

The sun has set over the Lone Star State and all its fucked-up residents. Now that it’s dark, I can see my reflection in the glass as clear as my vodka-hazed eyes will allow. I’m slumped in Jen’s big white chair with my glass of liquid Novocain and I don’t give a shit that I’m still not wearing panties.

I watch Jen walk up behind me in the reflection and I don’t flinch, not until I see her nab my bottle that’s sitting on the end table next to me. I lean up as fast as I can and my head spins, but I steady myself, or at least I try to. “Hey, I’m drinking that.”

“You’re not drinking anything else until you have something to eat and a gallon of water. I have a meeting in the morning and I don’t want to be up all night holding your hair.”

I turn back to the window but curl my glass into my chest so she doesn’t confiscate it, too. “I haven’t had a drink since before the bastard bled out on the floor of Studio A. I think I deserve one bottle—just one. Plus, I doubt I’ll get sick—it’s organic.”

Jen looks from me to the bottle she’s holding and shakes her head. “This isn’t organic.”

“Well, shit,” I mutter and take another sip. “Why would you buy vodka that isn’t organic?”

“Why would you buy vodka that is? It’s vodka, not a peach. And why are we having this conversation? Let me make you some dinner,” she offers, tucking her non-organic liquor to her chest, as if I’d stoop so low as to wrestle it away from her.

I mean, I might … maybe, if my head wasn’t spinning.

“I don’t like peaches. They’re fuzzy and feel funny on the roof of my mouth. I only like nectarines.”

Jen frowns. “I don’t have nectarines, but I do have fajitas. I’ll make you a plate—they’re organic.”

I look up and frown. “They are?”

She rolls her eyes and walks away. “Does it matter? They’re from Chuy’s.”

“Oh.” She’s right, it doesn’t matter. Chuy’s is the best. I hear her moving around her kitchen and the buzz of the microwave before she’s back in a flash, holding a plate and an enormous glass of clear liquid in front of me. “I’m guessing that’s not unorganic vodka.”

She sets the drink down and shoves the plate in my face. That’s when I realize I should’ve looked for a bigger glass when I started drinking earlier. I toss back the last swallow of my top-shelf Novocain and push the black beans around my plate with a fork.

“I’ve given you time,” she states as she parks it on the floor in front of my chair and leans against the window with her legs stretched in front of her. “Tell me what happened.”

I close my eyes and lean back, trying to catch my balance inside my head.

“Did he tell you about his dad?” she asks.

I open my eyes and shrug before forking pieces of grilled onion and pepper. I talk around my food after stuffing it in my mouth. “I know he’s back. Nothing else.”

Jen looks at me with the same expression she always does, the one I’ve grown to hate over the years. It’s the one that tells me she feels sorry for me. That look from my sister used to be comforting when I was younger but now it’s plain depressing.

I hate it more than fuzzy nectarines.

She crosses her long legs at the ankles and settles in. “Eli is working for Trig and put cameras up on the edge of the ranch to keep an eye on the Barrett’s land. Trig’s uncle still lives there and that’s where they think Ray will go. Once Eli gets a tail on him, they’ll put a tracker on his car—if he even has one. I don’t want you to worry.”

I shove a forkful of beans in my mouth and refuse to admit how good it feels to put food in my stomach. “Why would I worry? I mean, it was only my testimony that put him at the scene that got his ass thrown in jail for fifteen years. Wait—ten, since he got paroled early. Yay, him.”

She narrows her eyes at my sarcasm but anyone telling me not to worry is like telling me there’re no mosquitoes in the state of Texas. “You know what I mean.”

I fork a zucchini and mushroom, just now realizing she ordered the vegetarian fajitas just for me. Of course, she did. Jen is exceptional at everything. Then a thought comes to me and I point my fork at her as I swallow. “Did you know that he never listened to my voicemails? That he deleted every single one of my texts before he blocked me?”

Her eyes widen and she knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Really?”

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