Fall Guy (13 page)

He trips across the beach to where I'm sitting, falls next to me in a mini-explosion of sand, and kisses the side of my face, his gnarly beard making me cringe.

"Winchester, brother, what are you
doing
staring at this...ocean? This is..." He trails off and
burps,
his breath beery and sharp with a mix of all the other alcohols he peppered the beer with. "This is depressing, my man. There are ladies galore up there. It's a wild rumpus. C'mon." He pulls at my arm.
"C'mon, brother.
What's with you lately?"

"Just not in the mood."
I shrug his arm off.

I don't need to be on tonight. I don't even need to be here. There's nothing for me to do,
officially,
but I'm here anyway because it w
as claustrophobic at home with
my mother asking what my problem is and where
Lala's
been, and at least if I'm right next to Remington, I can take a stab at keeping his crazy ass out of the trouble that always seems to find him.

"
Lala
is here. Grinding with that professor from Southern, hoping you'll see her." His laugh is soft and completely amused, easy.
"Used to be, seein
g her doing that shit would get
you
r
fists up
fast
, man.
Not so much, eh?"

"Not so much."

I don't feel like discussing how
Lala
could dry hump or full-on screw every professor in every department at Georgia Southern, and it wouldn't make me feel a damn thing. The few days I had with Evan blew the months I had with
Lala
out of the water.

"Ma is upset over you two breaking up. She thought she was finally going to get to plan a wedding." Remington swings his arms in front of his chest, the conductor of his own stupid bullshit. "Dum,
dum
,
dum
,
dum
," he tones and laughs wildly, pulling a flask from
his pocket and taking a long pull
that half-dribbles down his chin.

I rub a hand over my face and stifle a growl. "Ma can marry you off if she's so damn ready for a wedding."

As soon as the words are out, I want to punch myself in the face. Remin
gton can be a dick, but he always had the softest
heart of anyone I know, and I just squeezed fucking lemon juice all over the one wound that even my happy-go-lucky brother can't scab over.

"I'm sorry, man." He's already standing. "Remington! I'm sorry!"

He's staggering back to the house, and I have a feeling my stupid comment is about to unloose a whole wild chain of craziness.

I j
ump up and kick at the sand, but
it's not remotely a good enough release for all the pissed-off shit I have bottled up.

"Fuck!" I scream into the night, loud and long as a wolf's howl.

I stalk back to the house
and search all his usual sulking haunts, but my brother isn't anywhere I expect him to be. In the main room, people are
sardined
shoulder to shoulder, gyrating on the dance floor, guzzling liquor, collapsing in humping pairs on couches, poolside chairs, and every other flat surface, but
I can't find Remington
.

Finally I see
Lala's
long blonde hair and tanned skin, exposed by a total lack of any but the
most necessary clothing. She executes her best dirty dancing moves, but she's not dancing with any professor.

My brother droops at her side like he's about to pass out on top of her. She presses a palm to his chest to keep him upright, then turns her back to him so her ass is crammed against his
junk,
and a sick disgust rips through me.

She catches my eye
,
and her smile is all triumph.

She thinks I'm jealous. If she wasn't grinding against my brother, if she didn't know full well what he's been through recently, I might actually feel sad for how pathetic she is. But using Remington to punish me is going to get her hot little ass nothing but
trouble,
and I need to send a clear message tonight, before she does damage I can't undo.

I stalk over and give her a look that sets her mouth into a pout.

"Get lost before I lose my shit,
Lala
," I growl, pushing her off the dance floor and toward the gate out.

I pull Remington back and force him into the house, ignoring his slurs and weak-fisted attempts at punches.

"Fuck off, Winch. Seriously, man, I'm sick of you always playing big daddy. Go act your goddamn age, alright? Go chase some tail. Go drink
til
you puke. Go get the fuck off my back."

"What are yo
u thinking, asshole?" I shove
him against the wall and bang his head back into it a little.
"
Lala
?
You know she's trouble, so what are you doing?"

"You don't want her," he snarls, bucking against me.

A year ago, I wouldn't have had a chance in hell of holding my brother back. He could have thrown me across the room with one arm. But a lot's happened in a few months, and it rips me the fuck up that I can pin him so easily like this.

"You don't fucking want her either, so stay away. That girl's got schemes, and we don't need to get tangled in them right now."

I shove him back one more time, hard. His head droops forward and his shoulders shake up and down unevenly. He's crying, and panic crushes me like an elevator car with a snapped cable.

"Stop.
It's
okay, Rem. It's okay. You just need to sleep it off. You need to sober up."

I lead him to the hall of family bedrooms, the ones I keep locked when Remington throws these big, stupid house parties. I yank the key out of my pocket and get his door open. The cleaning ladies get a bonus every month to make up for having to take care of my brother's disgusting room, so it looks alright tonight. But no amount of bleach and scrubbing can take away the dejected, wasted feel that seems to fill every space he's in.

I walk him to the bed, his arm around my shoulders, and let him drop. He moans and his head rolls back and forth. I pull him to the edge of the mattress, tip him on his side, and set up the little garbage can next to the bed.

"Puke now if you need to," I tell him, my voice low. "No shame in it, man, and that way you don't choke."

My brother shakes his head, then heaves once, twice, and finally pukes into the c
an I hold for him. When it’s
full of his bitter, sour vomit, I take it to the bathroom and flush it down the toilet, get him a glass of water and a washcloth. I try to hand them over so he can clean up, but he's p
ast that, so I wipe him down,
get him to drink a little before I put the rinsed can back
by the bed
in case he needs it for round two
,
and start to leave.

"Winchester?" he croaks as I flip the light off.

In the dark, huddled on the bed, scruffy as hell and slack with sadness, he's unrecognizable from the hero of my childhood. I don't know this guy.

"You need something?" I ask.

"Do you think they'll take her away?" Sobs make his words cracked and wet sounding. "Tell me the truth."

"They will if you keep fucking up."

I tighten my grip on the doorknob, so ready to leave my brother's embarrassing sadness and all the problems that just keep multiplying faster than I can handle them lately.

"Pop
said it would be okay."

His voice shakes, and he sounds like a much older man and a really little boy at the same time.

"Yeah, well you asked me for the truth.
Night."

I pull the door shut and trip the lock so no one winds up stumbling in on him.

Lala's
waiting down the hall, arms crossed,
a
scowl on her cute little face.
"He okay?"

The fury I felt for her is already half-extinguished. I just don't have the capacity to give a shit
where she’s concerned
anymore.

"Blitzed, but he'll sleep it off," I lie.

If he slept for two weeks he couldn't sleep off all the liquor he has stored up in his body. His liver has to be pickled by now.

"I'm sorry about that, out there. We were just having fun."

She tosses a strand of blond hair over her slim shoulder.
I lean on the wall across from her.

"You know he's in no place for your games. Between the two of you, I feel like a fucking nanny."

She takes a step toward
me.

"I'm sorry, Winch.
Really.
I know you've been stressed. And I know I need a lot of
attention. But wasn't I good for you, too? Didn't I make the crappy stuff worth it?"

She threads the questions with the hint of sex so hot and fierce, it's tempting. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't tempted.

"No." I sidestep her. "I've got too much on my plate now. And you and I are a wreck waiting to happen."

"So, there's a chance though?" She rushes me, and before I really know what's happening, her arms slide around my waist and I can smell the sweet musk of her perfume in my nostrils. "I know I screwed up, baby. But it's always
gonna
be you and me. We have history. Our families practically arranged our marriage when we were babies. Don't let a few crappy weeks ruin all that."

I wish I'd stayed on the sand, looking at the moon like a sad old fuck.

"
Lala
, listen to me." Her big hazel eyes go wide and her mouth curls up with happy expectation. I shake my head before I shoot her down. "It's over. We're over. I don't want to hurt you, but you've got to let this go."

The sweet look cracks and falls right off her features. If I hadn't seen her do this manic emotion flip a thousand times during the course of our relationship, the complete twist would have shocked me. Since I know her inside-out, I'm just tired in advance from the tantrum I know is coming.

"This isn't over by a fucking
longshot
, Winchester Youngblood! You think you can just use me and toss me aside when you're done? You are so damn wrong, and you're going to regret this!" 

She's starting to border on hysterical, so I walk away, leaving her to scream a long, nasty stream of curses and threats at my back.

The party is still in full swing, and, much as I want to split it all up and go the fuck to bed,
I decide not to make a big deal or draw any attention to the fact that anything might be wrong. My family doesn't need any more gossip than it usually has going around.

I crack a beer and manage to keep myself separate from the crowd without standing out. Blending is one of my specialties.

It's the usual group of old friends and cousins, young co-eds, and the odd green business shark here and there.
No one interesting enough to spend any time with.

I do see a girl who looks just like Evan. Long and slim, dark hair all coiled up, dress that hugs every sweet curve,
boots
that make her legs
look
long as a smooth, slow high dive. But I know Evan would never be here, and, much as it kills me, that fact also gives me a deep relief.

Wherever she is, it's not mixed up with this crap. She shadows my every thought, but I know that distance is what I need to keep her from getting tangled in everything I'm already netted into.

It's not until her laugh rings out that I choke on the sip of beer that was running down my throat.

That's Evan's laugh.

I'd know that sound anywhere.

I'm not entirely sure how I get across the room or what I plan to say or do, but suddenly I'm inches away from her, smelling the soft wildflower scent that can't mask the harsher, sexy
,
burnt sugar smell of her, and my jaw clenches tight while I wrestle
with two warring desires; a huge part of me wants to
drag her somewhere private and touch he
r everywhere without stopping, but the saner part knows
the right thing to do would be
order her to leave right now, wh
ile I still have the sense to follow through
.

Some dumbass
college boy has his hands all over her. She's crooked against him, his arm
snaked around her waist, pulling her close, and my vision goes red.

The guy notices me before Evan does, and he stands straight, letting go of her. I have to rip and kick at the urge to snatch her to my side.

"You must be Remington? Sal told me we should talk. I'm
Jace
Aldo." He holds a hand out for me to shake, but I ignore it.