Page 179 of Camp Bliss
But the man can’t do it himself. I set the beer on the nightstand between our two beds and help him to sit up. When I touch his back to prop him, his T-shirt—my T-shirt—is soaked through.
I hold the beer for him because his grip is crap, and he drinks wildly, beer leaking from the sides of his mouth.
It is, by far, the most pitiful sight I’ve ever seen.
“We need to get you some help, man.” I grunt when I take the bottle from his lips.
He coughs and splutters before dragging a shaking hand across his mouth.
“I-I wanted to wait for a bed…w-with the state… but—” Josh shakes his head, and tears fill his eyes. “Don’t think I can.”
No, he can’t. If his options are constant inebriation or this? It’s no wonder he almost died on the beach. Greta said he’d have to wait another couple of weeks before a bed in state rehab came open.
Even then, I can’t imagine wanting an extended stay in a state-run facility.
After he finishes off a second beer, Josh still seems wrecked, but at least he doesn’t have the shakes anymore.
This is about the time my stomach issues a window-rattling growl.
“You should get something to eat,” Josh rasps, nodding to my middle.
If I’m being honest, I can’t stop thinking about the Waffle House down the street. “Yeah, breakfast is calling my name. And coffee. Whaddya think?”
Josh wrinkles his nose. “Not hungry. Might grab a shower in a minute.”
And this is something else that reminds me of Isaac, Josh’s dad. He hardly eats anything. Gets most of his calories from alcohol.
Jesus, when did it get so bad?
“You need to eat something.” I take out my phone and pull up the restaurant chain’s menu. “You want waffles? Hash browns? Eggs?”
He just shrugs. “I’m good.”
Not acceptable. “I’m getting you something.”
Josh rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
I grab my wallet off the dresser. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say, eyeing him with suspicion. “You’re gonna stay put, right?”
He blinks at me in surprise. “You’re worried that I’ll leave?”
He’s got a point. If he left, problem solved. Right?
But, yeah, I am worried he’ll leave. Not that I really expect him to. But if he did, I’d know it was because he gave up hope.
Once upon a time, I could have lived with that. I don’t think I can now.
Still, I’m not planning to give him the satisfaction. I scowl at him. “Just stay put.”
He snorts and snuggles deeper under his blankets. “Fine with me.”
“Be right back.”
I don’t even bother with the truck. The walk will do me good. When I get to Waffle House, I put in an order for two chicken biscuits, two hash browns, and two coffees. I text Greta while I wait, and to my surprise and relief, she calls right back.
“Hey, how’s everything?” She sounds a little breathless and more than a little concerned.
I bust out a sigh. “Okay…”
