Page 192 of There's No Us Without You
The front of my shoe slams against the rotted timber step when I lift my foot to climb the stairs, and I end up face first on the wooden boards of the deck. Sharp splinters dig into my hands, and I groan, rolling onto my back to stare up at the sky.
Not one star is visible, dark clouds keeping them hidden.
I should stare at the sky more often.
It’s peaceful.
Sunlight blindsme when I blink my eyes open, so I throw my arm over my face.
Jesus, my head is throbbing.
But better yet, where the fuck am I?
I peel back my arm, squinting to stare out at the front yard of what looks like my brother’s house.
That’s right.
Dry, dead leaves scatter around my car in the dirt driveway, and an old, torn-up couch lies on its side to the left.
I didn’t notice that last night. Although, the last thing I remember is falling on my face.
Then nothing.
The smell of bacon cooking sends my stomach churning and my mouth watering. Groaning, I push myself into a sitting position on the old futon I ended up on and rub my hands over the two-day-old stubble on my face.
The front door opens a couple seconds later, and Tyler steps out, a mug in his hand.
He looks how I feel—like he’s been through a meat grinder, his face sporting two black eyes, and a cut to the bridge of his nose and his top lip.
He holds out the mug to me. “Coffee?”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it from him and wrapping my hands around its warmth.
With a small nod, Tyler steps back, leaning against the balustrade and shoving his hands into his pockets.
I lift the mug to my dry lips and take a sip. The aroma of the liquid black gold wafting out into my nostrils is a welcome distraction. It’s just the right temperature—enough milk it’s not scalding, but also hot enough I don’t feel like I’m drinking warm piss.
“You remembered,” I say, sniffing, the heat from the coffee making my nose run.
“Like I could forget,” Tyler says, lifting a shoulder. “I still have PTSD from all your nagging when we were kids.”
I huff a laugh. “It worked, didn’t it?”
One side of Tyler’s mouth lifts in a small smirk. “Yeah, I suppose it did.”
Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised my own brother would remember how I have my coffee. It was drummed into his head for years before we went our separate ways.
“Let me guess,” I say, nodding to his face. “Brady?”
All I get is a slight dip of his chin.
“How does he look?”
Tyler shrugs. “About the same.”
“That because of Emerson?”
“Yeah, sorry about that.” Wincing, he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m also sorry I haven’t been around much the last couple of days. I’m sure Emerson is—well, I’m just sorry.”
