Page 16 of Unmanageable

“Quiet!” Ivy hisses.

We creep forward, moving in a slow, uncoordinated line toward the living room. I brace myself for a mess of beer cans, loud music, or some kind of bachelor party aftermath.

Instead, we stop dead at the edge of the rug.

The living room is a literal battlefield.

Brick is spread out flat on his back across the massive sectional sofa, with Noah tucked under his arm like a human pillow, both of them snoring in perfect, rhythmic sync. On the floor by the coffee table, Kovács is curled into a ball, his flannel shirt covered in dirt, while a large taxidermied squirrel sits squarely on his chest.

And right there, in the very center of the sheepskin rug, is Callahan. He is missing a shoe, his hair is a disaster, and his arm is thrown heavily across the shoulder blades of Cash.

Cash is face-down in the wool, his long legs tangled in a blanket, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, steady breaths.

“Oh my god,” Jenna whispers. “They fought a war.”

“They’re dead,” Ivy says, a small, incredibly tender smile breaking across her face as she looks down at her soon-to-be husband.

The sheer physical exhaustion of the night catches up to us all at once. The weight of the tequila pulls us toward the floor like a magnet.

Nobody even mentions going upstairs.

Why bother? The floor is soft enough.

Ivy slowly slides down onto the rug next to Callahan, carefully moving his hand so it rests on her knee, her head dropping onto his shoulder. She sighs, a sound of pure relief.

Jenna doesn’t even take off her neon sash; she just collapses onto the other end of the sectional, her legs dangling over the armrest, instantly asleep. Dean crawls into the leather recliner, still wearing the pink glittery cowboy hat and the blue lipstick, curling into a neat ball.

My knees give out. I drop heavily onto the soft wool rug, my body sinking into the floor like it’s made of quicksand.

As I pull a stray edge of the knit blanket over my shoulders, Cash stirs in his sleep.

Without opening his eyes, his massive hand reaches out, his fingers catching the edge of my jacket and tugging me an inch closer.

Even drunk, apparently, he knows exactly where I am.

“Needy bastard,” I whisper.

His fingers tighten once around the fabric, like he’s answering me in his sleep. I snort at the action, closing my eyes, the room finally stopping its long, dizzying spin.

Just as the darkness begins to take over my brain, a faint, muffled sound drifts through the open window from somewhere deep in the backyard.

Bllleeaeheh.

I blink in the dark, my half-asleep brain processing the distinct, high-pitched bleat of a farm animal.

A goat? I think faintly. Why is there a goat? Did we adopt a goat?

I let out a slow, heavy breath.

It doesn’t matter.

I close my eyes and let myself sink into the dark.

5

Scottie Elise Reed

“Is the sun always this loud?”