Page 24 of What If It Was Us
Wren met my eyes in the rearview mirror, giving me a sad smile. “He was cuter than I expected,” she admitted.
I groaned and leaned my head against the window, letting the cold pane cool down my overheated body.
“He was nice. I love cannoli,” Mia added.
I ran a hand through her hair, untangling one of her curls, which was knotted by her ear.
“It’s tough when they’re cuteandnice,” Wren said as she grabbed George’s hand to kiss it before setting it down in her lap.
“I’m really gonna miss you guys when you leave,” I said sarcastically, but they knew I meant it. It wasn’t enough time. I hardly ever spent multiple days away from them. Their good-natured humor and teasing were my favorite things about them.
When we got to Peter’s house, we all hugged goodbye, Wren promising to call me as soon as they landed. I watched as they backed out the driveway, then I slipped into the house and fell asleep on the couch.
Chapter 12
BEFORE
August, Thirteen Years Ago
The August before sophomore year, Jackson turned sixteen. Julie’s truck became Jackson’s since it was a family car, and Julie bought a new car for herself. Jackson said he could start picking me up for school in the mornings even though it was out of his way, and instead of walking to the restaurant on Fridays, we’d drive.
He usually drove Julie and I home after work now, with Julie sitting in the middle so we no longer had a chance to touch in the car. Even when he picked me up for a shift, we acted completely normal—singing along to our favorite music like always, or talking about something that happened at the restaurant.
The weekend before school started, Marie and Phil went to New York to visit Sam, and Julie was also away, visiting Lake Michigan with one of her friends. The Saturday they were gone was surprisingly slow, and at nine thirty I was sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a slice of pizza and playing a game on my phone.
Jackson came flying through the kitchen doors, grabbing a rag from one of the bins. “There’s some belligerent asshole sitting at the bar. He came in drunk, and is getting pissed that nobody will serve him.”
I shoved the last bite of pizza into my mouth before jumping off the counter. Jackson held out the rag so I could wipe my fingers on it before we both walked out the swinging doors.
“Which guy?” I asked as we looked over at the bar.
“The tool in the green shirt.”
I moved to the right so I could see where Jackson was pointing. I almost passed out when I saw who it was. Peter was at the bar, his chestnut-brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He was talking animatedly, and swaying where he was sitting on one of the barstools, clearly both drunk and high.
Peter had gotten worse this year; he was still drinking like it was his day job, but now he was also experimenting with harder drugs. After visiting Mom at Christmas, something darkened in him. I don’t know what happened while he was there—he never told me about it—but there was a dramatic change in him. We had just been ignoring each other for the most part, but now here he was, causing trouble at my job.
“I want to whip him with this rag.” Jackson started to walk toward him, and I grabbed his arm.
“Jackson, that’s my fucking brother,” I said horrified.
Jackson’s head snapped toward me, his mouth dropping wide open. “That’sPeter.”
I nodded, embarrassed that this was the first time Jackson was seeing my brother. I’d never told him or his family about Peter’s drinking problem, but now I didn’t have to. It was apparent.
“I’ll go talk to him, get him to leave,” I said as I let go of the death grip I had on Jackson’s arm.
Jackson watched me as I approached my brother. I tapped him on the shoulder and waited for him to turn around.
When Peter’s eyes met mine, it took him a second to realize who I even was before a sloppy smile spread across his face. “Ah, there’s my little sister. Can you help me out? Get them to give me a drink?”
“Peter,” I said slowly, “why are you here?”
He threw his arms out wide, looking back and forth across the restaurant like it was obvious. “I came to see my sister at her job.”
I shook my head at him. “You have to leave, Peter. You’re making a scene.”
He reared his head back. “Me? You’re the one making it a big deal.”
