Page 14 of More than Need

More pounding at the door.

His stomach rolled uncomfortably as he stood, bracing himself with one hand on his nightstand.Fucking hell, he was dying. His last moments. Is this where his life would flash before his eyes, like a montage of all the important parts?

Images of cheese bombarded him. Great. His last thoughts were going to be of Brie, mozzarella, Camembert, and Jarlsberg. If they were the most important parts of his life, he had so much evaluating to do.

His stomach turned over again, and actually—he raced for the toilet, only just making it in time to empty his stomach—his last thoughts were going to be about vomit, and they were going to find him hunched over the porcelain bowl. Dignified.

He checked the time to make sure he hadn’t slept through his alarm. Not even seven yet. Okay, he had time to be dramatic before he had to get ready.

He took it nice and easy on the way to the front door, wincing as he opened it, the sun hitting him square in the face. God, what the fuck? That had to be illegal somewhere. How could it be so bright already?

His older brother, Marshall, grinned. “You look like death, little brother.”

“Fuck off.” He feltlike death too. That didn’t mean it needed to be pointed out.

He left the door swinging open and stumbled back into the house. Then flicked the kettle on and opened the fridge. The cool air soothed him, and he contemplated just sticking his head in it for the foreseeable future. Like a camel in the desert, except a person and a fridge.

Close enough.

“Got your mail,” Marshall said, dropping the letters on the counter. “Why are you still in bed? Don’tyouhave a job?”

“Still early, assface.”

“Can’t even insult me in full sentences?”

Dawson rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it. How did the back of his eyes hurt? How dideverythinghurt? Fucking hell, he needed a coffee.Hurry up, kettle, I need some nectar of the gods.

“What did you do last night?” Marshall asked with a laugh.

“Nothing good,” Dawson moaned.

“Yeah, I can see that. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll make coffee?”

“Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

“I might not even spit in your coffee now.”

“I appreciate that.”

By the time he got out, he felt somewhat normal-ish, though not nearly human enough. Marshall greeted him in the kitchen with a mug of coffee that smelled divine.

“So, uh, I need some brotherly advice,” he said cautiously, sipping at the coffee that tasted as good as it smelled.

Marshall grabbed some bread and stuck it in the toaster. “Shoot.”

“I… might have fucked up last night.”

“Wow, that doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Could you be more judgemental?”

“I could give it a try.”

Dawson let out a breath and gripped the steaming mug more tightly. “Sadie confronted her brother yesterday.”

Marshall almost dropped the butter he’d just gotten out of the fridge. “As in—?”

“Yeah.”

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