The Heartbroker (17 page)

“I know. He stinks. I get it,” I say in irritation as we stagger down the side street, Dylan’s head lolling about like a bobble head toy. “My car’s just down there.”

We reach my car after having nearly dropped Dylan a couple of times, and I open the passenger door. Stefan helps me deposit Dylan gingerly in the seat as I buckle him in.

“No vomiting, mister.” It’s more of a hope than an instruction.

“Sure, no problem, sis,” he slurs. “No vomiting. Got it.” He raises his hand in a salute, poking himself in the eye. “Ow!”

Shaking my head, I close the passenger door and turn to thank Stefan, who is brushing himself down in disgust.

“Does he do this a lot?” he asks.

“What? No. He’s just a kid. I’ve actually never seen him drunk before.”

“Well, sweetie. I’m going to leave you with
this
.” He points through the window at my brother before giving me a quick hug.

“Have a fun night.” I get into my car and flash Dylan a nervous look.

“I’d say ‘you too’, but I have a feeling my night will be considerably better than yours.” He nods at Dylan who is now sound asleep, his head on the side with drool dripping out of the side of his mouth.

Nice.

I turn the ignition and drive bleakly through the streets. It’s not a good idea to take Dylan to Dad and Jennifer’s place—not with what they’re dealing with right now—so I head to mine, grateful it’s just a short drive.

As I pull up in front of my townhouse, I begin to wonder how I’m going to singlehandedly get Dylan out of the car and into my house.

The best—the only—approach is to wake Dylan up and get him to walk as best he can with my support.

“Dylan,” I say once I’ve opened his door. “Dylan, I need you to wake up.”

He responds by snorting loudly, rolling his head to the other side.

“Dylan!” Louder this time.

He stirs. “What?” he asks in irritation.

“I need you to wake up. We have to walk to my place, and I can’t lift you on my own.”

“No, don’t want to. Go away.”

I decide brute force will have to be deployed, so I unbuckle his belt and give him a decent prod.

“Ow-ah!” he yells, looking in my general direction, unable to focus.

I pull on his arm. “Let’s go. Now.” I use my best ‘don’t-mess-with-your-big-sister’ tone.

He surprises me by swinging one leg and then another out of the car and I pull him up by his arms. He appears to be steady, so I support his weight on one side as we stagger to my front door.

Just as I’m trying to reach into my handbag to get my keys to open the door, he appears to forget how to walk, and drops to the ground, bringing me tumbling down with him. I land in a bush as he bursts into uncontrollable giggles, and then promptly passes out.

Great. It was hard enough getting him to stand from a sitting position, let alone a fully horizontal one.

I clamber out of the bush, pulling twigs and leaves from my hair. I pull out my phone and dial Grace’s number. She answers within two rings and I heave a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Brooke. What’s up?” She sounds like she’s at a party or a bar somewhere. Whatever she’s doing, she’s having a significantly better evening than me.

“I need your help.”

I explain the situation and she answers my prayers. “I’ll be right there.”

I sit patiently next to Dylan, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Only a few moments later, Grace arrives with another girl.

“Oh, thank god.” I straighten up. “You got here quickly.”

“We were at a party a few streets across,” she replies, regarding at Dylan. “Look at the state of him.” She squats down next to him. “Dylan, it’s Grace. Are you okay?”

He looks at his sister and smiles. “Grace!” he says, sitting up, looking more sober than he has all evening. “Hi, Sammy Jo,” he adds, looking at Grace’s friend.

I blink at Sammy Jo, shocked by her appearance. She used to be a good-looking girl, like a younger version of her gorgeous older sister, but now she looks like she might have actually
swallowed
her gorgeous older sister. She must have put on half her body weight.

“Oh, Sammy Jo. Hi there. I err, didn’t recognize you,” I say.

“Hello.” She looks at her feet.

I watch her, wondering what’s happened to her self-assurance. She and Grace have been close friends for years, and she’s always been so confident and out-going. The woman standing in front of me now seems almost her polar opposite.

“With three of us, this should be a breeze,” Grace says.  I have to admire her optimism.

“You take one arm, I’ll take the other. Sammy Jo, you go behind him and catch him if he falls,” I instruct.

With teamwork and a touch of brawn, we manage to get him inside. I lead him to the sofa and quickly put a bucket from the laundry on the floor beside him: if he’s this drunk some of it is bound to come back up at some point. I really don’t fancy having it pebble-dashed all over my soft furnishings.

Afterwards, the three of us stand in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones.

“Where did you find him?” Grace asks.

“Courtenay Place. He was propped up against the wall outside a bar, looking pretty much the same as he does right now.”

“Has he done this before?” Sammy Jo asks.

“No,” I reply at the precise time Grace replies, “Yes.”

“What? Really?” I ask in surprise, turning to Grace.

She sighs. “He’s been doing this sort of thing a bit lately. I think he’s got in with a bad crowd at school. I’ve been worried about him for a while, but he won’t talk to me about it. He just says all the guys are doing it and I need to just chill out.”

“Well, he
is
a teenager. Most of us get a bit wild.”

“I didn’t,” Grace replies.

“No, you were the ideal child, Grace,” I tease. “I did it. Got up to all sorts of bad things.”

Unlike me, Grace never rebelled, never did things she now regrets, both of which I did in spades. I guess she just didn’t have anything to rebel against.

She could be the poster-child for the well-adjusted, balanced offspring of a complicated family. If there is ever a magazine dedicated to how to successfully produce a child out of the rubble of failed relationships and untimely deaths, Grace would be the cover model.

And centre-fold.

I shudder, thinking how I want to protect Dylan from doing the sorts of things I did as a teenager. I know I was as wild as I was because I was dealing with my Dad focussing on his new family, but Dylan
is
the new family. I don’t see what he’s rebelling against.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I’ll text Dad to say Dylan’s decided to stay with me tonight. Do you girls want to hang out or are you going to head back to your party?”

The women look at one another. “Shall we head back?” Grace asks Sammy Jo.

She shrugs. “If you want to. I guess.”

“Sam, you’re virtually blinding me with your enthusiasm,” Grace replies good-humouredly. “How about we just head back to your place and hang?”

Sammy Jo’s face instantly lights up. “Sure.”

“Want to borrow a movie?” I offer. “I’ve got loads.”

I direct them to my DVD library by the TV. “Take whatever you like.”

“Oh, my god, Brooke. You have every rom com known to man—and woman,” Grace comments, returning with a large selection.

“I’m working my way through a list of the top one hundred,” I reply, embarrassed.

I put a glass of water on the table next to the now snoring Dylan.

“Why? Not enough romance in your life? Oh, but you have that new boyfriend, don’t you? The American, right?” She elbows me playfully and warmth spreads through my belly at the thought of him.

“Yeah, I do.” The perpetual grin I get whenever I think of him is plastered across my face. “His name is Logan. He left last weekend. I’m going over to see him soon.”

I feel a surge of excitement. I’ve booked my flights and have already begun to plan my wardrobe for the trip, including a new slinky number I purchased at a high-end lingerie shop during the week for our, umm, nocturnal activities.

“That’s awesome, Brooke. I’m so happy for you.”

I glance over at Sammy Jo, still perusing the DVD shelves. “What’s going on with Sammy Jo?” I ask Grace quietly. “She’s, err, not herself.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she replies, looking over at her friend. “I guess she’s just missing her boyfriend. He left Wellington and they’ve been doing the long distance thing for a while now. I’m not sure it’s working out that well.”

“Oh.” My mind inevitably darts to Logan.

She takes in my expression. “Not that I don’t think long distance relationships
can
work, of course. Just she’s not coping too well with it.”

“Wow, Sam, you’ve certainly got a lot of movies there,” Grace says, eyeing the pile Sammy Jo has in her hands.

“Is it okay with you?” Sammy Jo asks.

“Sure,” I reply, smiling. “Take as many as you want.”

I haven’t felt the need to watch them as often as I had been. I guess these days I’m living my own romantic comedy.

And just like in the movies, I know exactly who I’m going to end up with.

“MORNING, SUNSHINE.” I OPEN the blinds in the living room, allowing the watery early morning light to shine through.

In response, Dylan emits a guttural, almost animalistic grunt as he rolls away from the light, burying his head in one of my scatter cushions.

I had left him to sleep last night’s overindulgence off on the sofa, covering him up with a couple of spare blankets to keep him warm before I headed to bed.

I spot the bucket on the floor. It’s empty—impressive.

“Here.” I put some ibuprofen and a fresh glass of water on the coffee table in front of him.

He rolls over with reluctance, shielding his eyes with his hand.

“Do you have to have those open?” he croaks, squinting in the morning light.

“Yes. I’m off on a run. You need to wake up and face the day.”

“Sure, sis. Any moment.” He sounds unconvincing as he rolls over again and buries his face in his pillow.

I smile as I close the front door behind myself. Today isn’t going to be much fun for him. He’s going to feel much like a rat died on his tongue while someone whacks his head with a baseball bat.

Just your standard hangover, then.

Hopefully he’ll remember this the next time he decides to drink with his so-called ‘friends’: the ones who abandoned him, passed out, on the side of the road.

I arrive back at my house forty-five minutes later to find Dylan has vacated the sofa, steam from the shower creeping under the bathroom door.

“Put the fan on,” I yell through the door before heading to the kitchen to make my daily green smoothie of kale, avocado, banana, and blueberries, with a handful of mint thrown in for taste.

About ten minutes later as I’m sipping my smoothie and I reading the Saturday morning paper, Dylan slinks into the kitchen. He’s wrapped in a towel, wet hair dripping down the sides of his face.

“Hey.” He looks abashed.

“Hi. You look a lot better than you did last night.”

He takes a seat opposite me. “Yeah, sorry about that. Did I do anything embarrassing?”

“That depends on your definition of ‘embarrassing’. If you’re like me and you call being found by your sister slumped up against a wall, plastered, rambling almost incoherently ‘embarrassing’, then, yeah, I guess you did.”

“Oh.” He pales. “Where was I?”

“In Courtenay Place. Don’t you remember me finding you?”

“Ah, no.”

“Nothing? What’s the last thing you remember, then?”

“Umm. I guess it was when we were up Mount Vic. Jono had bought some beers with his fake I.D. and we’d met these hot chicks.” He grins. “I remember getting it on with the one with the big—” He pauses, embarrassed, belatedly realising who his audience is.

I raise my eyebrows at him. After not wanting to think about your parents ever, ever having sex, hearing about your sibling’s sexual shenanigans ranks a close second.

“Err, anyway, I know they all came into town with me, but that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Some friends,” I comment darkly.

“Nah. They’re all right.”

“You think? They left you lying on the ground in the city last night, drunk out of your skull. If I hadn’t found you, who knows what would have happened to you? You’d have ended up in a cell for the night. I don’t imagine that would be very much fun.”

He swallows, nervous. “They wouldn’t do that to a teenager, would they?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh,” he replies. “I’m glad you found me, then, sis.”

I offer him some of my smoothie as I pour some more into my glass, and he almost gags at the sight of it.

“I told Jennifer and Dad you decided to stay with me last night. I didn’t mention why.”

“Thanks. They would kill me if they knew.” He shakes his head. “Ow. That hurts.” He raises his hand to his head.

“Right. Here’s the deal. I won’t breathe a word of this to them if you tell me what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, looking as innocent as an angel, wings fluttering in the celestial breeze. “I just had one or two too many.”

I shoot him the look every older sibling the world over uses on their younger family members. He cowers in response.

Ah, the power.

He looks down at his hands. “I dunno,” he shrugs. “Stuff.”

“Care to elaborate on ‘stuff’?”

“No.” He crosses his arms.

“Look, I know your mum—” I correct myself, “—our mum is going through a difficult thing right now. But you heard the doctor; the surgery was a success. Now she just needs the hormone therapy and some radiotherapy. I know it’ll be rough for her, but things are looking better than we thought they might. And she seems to be doing well.”

“Yeah, I know.” He hangs his head.

“Dylan, it’s going to be okay,” I say softly, putting my hand on his arm.

He takes a heavy sighs, looking across at me. “Yeah.” He bites his lip.

I search his face. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Is it school? Friends? A girl?” I raise my eyebrows at him. Maybe he’s in love? Lord knows people can act pretty strangely when they’re in love.

“Nah. They’re all sweet.” He narrows his eyes at me. He looks like he’s making up his mind about something. “It’s you. You and Grace.”

“Me and Grace?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Nah. It’s me.”

I frown and wait for more.

He sighs. “In comparison with you two, I’m a total screw up.”

“No, you’re not!” I protest.

“Let me finish, okay?”

I nod.

“Grace is Mum and Dad’s perfect daughter.”

I nod. “Sure.” She is pretty perfect, even to my older sister eyes.

“And you’ve got your big company and all. Dad thinks the sun goes out when
you
sit down.”

My heart goes out to him. The poor kid feels so inadequate compared with his older sisters, he’s drowning himself in alcohol and drugs. Never the best choice, no matter what your age—or reason.

Dylan absentmindedly takes a sip of the smoothie. He spits it out in disgust. “Yuck! What’s in this thing? It’s rank.”

“It’s good for you.” I chuck him a cloth to wipe up the drink. “And a whole lot better than the cheap wine you stunk of last night, that’s for sure.”

He has the decency to look abashed. I pour him a fresh glass of water.

“Thanks.” He takes a gulp.

“Dylan, you have to remember both Grace and I are a lot older than you. We’ve had time to work things out.”

“I know. You’re ancient.” He shoots me a half grin.

“Thanks a lot.” I hit him on the arm.

Jeez Louise. I’m only twenty-nine.

“But you always did well at school, you went to university, blah de blah. You did all the ‘right things’. I’ve got no idea what I want to do with my life. You? You always knew. And now you’ve got all this.” He gestures with his hands and we both automatically look around my house.

Wow, that’s the longest sentence I’ve heard come out of my little brother’s mouth in months.

I clear my throat. “Dylan, I was the biggest mess when I was at school. I got in with the most self-absorbed, nasty group of bitches to ever attend high school, I drank, did drugs, got up to things that would make your hair curl.”

“Too late,” he replies, smirking as he points at his curly mop.

I smile at him, shaking my head.

“You should get your facts straight before you take the time to rebel against something, you know.” I give him another punch on the arm. “Seriously, though. Don’t sweat it. You’re going to turn out just fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to spend your life living up to you.”

* * *

I drop Dylan off at home later in the morning, checking in on Jennifer in the process. I reiterated my promise not to mention a word about his recent nocturnal activities to either her or Dad on the proviso he clean up his act. I’ll be keeping my big sister eye on him from now on, that’s for sure.

On my drive back home I marvel at the irony of it all: I acted out as a teenager because I believed my parents’ attention was being solely directed towards Dylan to my detriment. Now he feels like he can’t live up to this image of me he’s built in his head.

It just goes to show; we all get our panties in a twist about one thing or another.

As I walk through my front door, throwing my keys on the side table, my phone rings. It’s a Face Time call from Logan.

“Hey, handsome,” I answer as I get myself comfortable in my favourite chair.

“Hey, yourself.” He’s looking particularly delectable today in his work suit, much the way he did the day we met. It reminds me how much I wanted him from the moment I laid eyes on him.

It’s Friday afternoon in San Francisco, hence the suit, and he looks like he’s still in the office.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

I relay the details of my team drinks and bumping into the prostrate Dylan—literally—the night before.

“And you know what’s weird? He’s getting himself all tied up in knots because he thinks he could never live up to me. Like I’m this perfect, over-achieving sister our parents adore.”

Logan shrugs. “Well, you are.”

I smile. “I’m just as screwed up as the next person. And anyway, my point is I used to get myself upset as a teenager over
him
.”

“There is a certain circularity to the equation, yes.”

I laugh. “You sound like Doctor Spock, or Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.”

“I think you should be rather glad I’m neither of those two,” he replies, raising his eyebrows.

Just as I’m about to reply he turns away from me to speak to someone else. I wait patiently for him to divert his attention back to me, my mind wandering to what it will be like to see him again when I visit San Francisco next month.

“Sorry about that.” He turns back to the screen as he runs his hand through his hair. “It’s kicking off here.”

“Well if you have to go, then go,” I comment, hoping he doesn’t take me up on my offer. “You look stressed.”

“There’s a lot going on, that’s all. Do you mind?”

What does he mean, do I mind? Of course I mind! I want to sit and talk and talk and talk, the way we do, basking in my love for him.

Instead, I shrug. I understand how important work is for him, just as it is for me. “Sure. Talk later?”

“Sounds good,” he replies briskly, distracted.

“I love you,” I coo, as I blow him a kiss. But he’s already gone. I feel like a prize idiot, blowing kisses at my phone.

I sit and think for a while. Although things with Logan would be so much easier if he lived in the same city as me, it feels like we’ve got this whole long distance thing nailed. I’m just as close to him now—even more so—as I did when he was physically here with me, and now we have the excitement of seeing one another to look forward to.

My phone buzzes again and I notice it’s my ex, Scott. I’ve removed the photo of him and me together on the beach from his contact information, replacing it with a much more appropriate shot of Elmer Fudd. I giggle before I answer.

“Hi, Scott. How are you?”

“I’m great, Brooke. How about you?” he replies in his American drawl.

I think about Logan and a smile spreads across my face. “I’m great too.”

“Cool. I get to Wellington on Thursday. How about we meet for a drink Friday night?”

“You know what? That would be nice”.

“Awesome. Meet you at eight? How about Ancestral? For old time’s sake.”

I pause before I respond. Scott and I spent many evenings together at Ancestral Bar and Restaurant, either just us or with friends. It became kind of ‘our place’. It certainly has a long list of Scott-soaked memories for me.

I take a breath. I remind myself I’m a new woman now, a woman Scott has no power over. “Sure. For old time’s sake. That sounds good.”

If I can handle seeing him, I can handle meeting him at our old hang out. That’s how much confidence Logan has given me.