Page 13 of Lost Boy

Now, my teammates just think I’m that dude on the team who drinks a bit too much, parties a little too hard on the weekends, and smokes some weed from time to time. They have no idea that I’m under the influence of something most of the time.

It’s not like I’m stealing shit from my loved ones just to get money to feed my addiction. And I maintain a social life too. Somehow, I’m a good enough liar that my friends, family, and teammates overlook when I’m fucked up.

If I take too much and I’m drooling on myself, I’ll claim I’m tired. And when I don’t have it in time and my body begins to claim war on itself, making every cell inside of me ache, agitating me to no end, I tell them I’m having a bad day. For every question or suspicion, I have a lie to match. One that’ll convince anyone that there is nothing—absolutelynothing—wrong with me. I’m fine. I’ve got it under control. It’s them who should feel bad for second-guessing me in the first place. Don’t they know that addicts hate being questioned?

So, I say I’m fine. I convince myself they are crazy for even asking. And sometimes, I even tell myself that’s true. And a lot of the time, I believe it. But the days until I’m called into LaConte’s office for a drug test are limited. And I know that.

Heading back down the stairs, I see Watson and Hunter sitting in the living room.

“You made it home,” I say lazily, passing them by.

“Yeah, well … someone was too cool to join,” Watson murmurs.

“I came back and hung out with Haley,” I call back. “And before anyone asks, yes, my dick stayed inside my pants.”

“Jesus,” Hunter mutters.

Haley sits at the bar with a bowl filled to the brim with purple cereal and little marshmallows. She looks like a little kid about to dive in with the spoon in her hand.

Taking the seat next to her, I jerk my chin toward her snack, which is big enough to be an entire meal.

“Went with Boo Berries first, huh?” I frown, looking it all over. “I feel like when I was a kid, there were way more marshmallows than that. Cheap fuckers.”

“I was thinking that same thing.” Finishing her mouthful, she shrugs. “Still good though.”

“Mom would shit if she saw all the cereal you bought,” Hunter calls from the couch, clearly entertained. “I should send her a picture.”

“Don’t you dare. Or I’ll tell the guys about that one time you p—”

“Finish that sentence, and you’ll be homeless before you can take another bite of your nasty-ass cereal,” Hunter warns. “Try me. I’ll give your room to someone else.”

“That’s okay. Then, she can be my bed buddy.” I wink before moving closer to her. “You’re going to have to tell me the story at some point. You do realize that?”

Before she can respond, Hunter adds, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“Your mother doesn’t like you guys to have sugar? Or what?” Watson asks, clearly confused. “My mom bakes cookies every damn day and thinks no meal is complete without dessert.”

“Watson, your mother probably still has a breast pump machine, where she pumps you out some milk to go with those cookies,” I say, looking into the living room at him. “No offense though.”

“Fuck off,” he utters, giving me the finger.

“Our parents hate any kind of dyes and overprocessed foods,” she mutters. “Or fast food. Artificial sweeteners. Candy. You name it, and we probably couldn’t have it, growing up.”

“Don’t worry, fellas. My sister made up for lost time. You should see how many times her ass went to McDonald’s once she got her license.” Hunter chuckles. “And if you get in her car, I promise you’ll find some of those Nerds Clusters that are nothing but sugar. Or Sour Patch Kids. Any shit with any kind of dye? Sign her up.”

Haley is completely and utterly unbothered by her brother as she continues eating. She simply shrugs and puts her lips in a flat line as she glances at me. “YOLO.”

Stealing her spoon, I take a bite. “YO-fucking-LO, Haley baby.”

“Gross,” Hunter mutters. “I can see you sharing a spoon, you know. That’s nasty. And your nickname for her is annoying. Haley baby? Are you, what, a seventy-five-year-old dude, sitting around a poker table, surrounded by strippers?”

My grin only spreads wider. “I fucking wish, Thompson! Now, that would be the dream. I have a whole new goal in life to strive for. And don’t be jealous, big guy. I’d share a spoon with you too. You think I give a fuck?” I look at Haley. “So, I’m not going to lie, but Lucky Charms beats the hell out of this shit.”

“I’ll forgive you for saying that. But … no. Just no. The only good thing about Lucky Charms cereal is the charms. The actual cereal tastes like toilet paper.”

I stare at her. “You eat toilet paper? That’s kind of disgusting. But because you’re cute, I guess I’ll let it slide.”

“You’re irritating.” She laughs before she slowly stands and heads to the sink. Once she’s rinsed her spoon and bowl, she walks toward the love seat and plops down. “What are we watching, fellas?”

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