Page 24 of Could Have Been Us
“Once you get him into the car, I doubt you’ll get him out,” Mickey notes.
“Want to make five hundred bucks?” I ask, knowing this is my only option. I need help getting him home, into his house, showered, and into his bed before Kinsley shows up.
“What?” he asks.
I tell him my plan, and he looks at me like I’m insane. I might just be, but I’m desperate and Samuel and Misty were—are—important to me. If she were alive, this would not be happening, but she’s gone, and I owe her.
The least I can do is get him sobered up.
“You can’t be serious.”
“One thousand,” I say, upping my initial assessment of how bad this could be. I need his help, and I’m willing to pay for it.
“Sweetheart, you got yourself a deal.” He calls back to the other bartender, explaining he has to help me, and the other guy agrees to cover for him.
With that taken care of, Mickey and I work quickly to get him into the car. Then comes trying to figure out how to get into his house since there’s no house keys on his set.
I did not think this through.
Mickey is at the car door, looking at me as I search around for a key. “You can’t get in his house?”
I sigh. “Clearly not.”
“You’re a very bad mistress.”
“Well, that’s because I’m not a mistress,” I reply as I swipe my fingers along the top of the door.
Misty was a practical person, she’d have a spare key somewhere.
“Do you know the garage code or the front door one?”
I turn, glaring at him. “If I did, I would’ve opened it.” Of course he has one of those fancy keyless entries.
However, most codes are birthdays, and there’s one birthday that’s important to them that I know. It’s worth a shot. I walk over and lift the lid to the keys. “Please let this work,” I whisper.
Sure enough, the hum of the motor revs and the door lifts.
Mickey walks over, his voice in my ear. “Impressive.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m paying you for help, not comments.”
Thank God the door to the house is unlocked. After a lot of effort, we get Samuel inside the house, but his legs give out when we enter.
“Stella, she’s gone,” he says from the floor. “I need you . . . I need . . .”
Mickey and I look down at him, and the smug bartender is grinning as he turns back to me.
“Think what you want.” I shrug. “He needs to shower and to eat before he passes out and sleeps it off.”
In a move I’ve seen my brother and Jack practice a million times, Mickey hoists Samuel up over his shoulder. “Where’s the shower?”
“I have no idea.”
That’s the moment it hits me. I’m in their home. The place where Misty and Samuel have raised Kinsley. In all the years I’ve imagined her life, I never once thought I would step into it.
Their living room is quaint and cute. The couch is old, well loved, and clearly, a place where they watched movies or snuggled as they opened Christmas presents.
The kitchen is right off that room. It’s dated but still gives an air of comfort. The oak cabinets need to be replaced, and the countertops are not in fashion, but it’s clear that cookies were baked here and Thanksgiving dinners were cooked in the oven.
