Concisus Page 8

  Nick backs off. “Fine, if that’s the way you want it. Keep drinking your bitter-tasting beer until someone else finds the perfect ingredient. Let them become filthy rich while you idly sit by.”

  Dean’s glare shuts up Nick, but now everyone at the table is tense. Chris’s gaze darts between Dean and Nick. Then he jumps up.

  “Time for another round. Nick, care to help?” Chris asks. Nick stands up, and several people toss a chip to Chris. He tosses mine back to me. “My treat.”

  Gregg and Luis disappear to use the “can,” as they so elegantly call it, so there’s no point in playing a practice round. Dean still looks pissed, so I try to distract him. “Who comes up with the funny passwords to get in here?”

  Dean looks at me and furrows his brow as if he doesn’t understand me. I open my mouth to repeat myself, when he says, “It’s 1-3-5-7.”

  “What?” I’m confused.

  A smile breaks out on his face; at least my confusion amuses him. “Every week a new book is selected for the ‘book club.’ Anyone who belongs here knows to look up the first word in the first line of the first page, the third word in the third line on the third page and so on, until they have the password.”

  “Huh, that’s pretty smart,” I reply. Even if anyone overhears the name of the new book being used, unless they’re privy to the code, they have no hope of deciphering the password.

  I’m actually happy to see Chris return. Once more, he’s juggling beer bottles and a bright red drink, but this time my drink’s twice as tall as the previous one. I don’t complain. Sipping it gives me something to do while we wait for Gregg and Luis to return.

  Tensions seem forgotten as soon as we start playing cards again. I’m losing miserably, but Dean’s on a winning streak. Everyone’s laughing, joking, and seeming to have fun. I have a warm, fuzzy, happy feeling. Actually, what I feel is a strange warm buzzing sensation just below my skin, or maybe it’s a numb sensation, I can’t quite tell. My nose is definitely numb. I give it a flick to make sure it’s still there. Chris laughs and pretends to snatch my nose. Chris is annoying, but he’s also surprisingly funny. I reach for his fingers on my nose, but he pulls them away at the last second. Then, he pretends to put on my nose, and sticks his own in the air, acting stuck up. I laugh so hard that I knock over my glass which is almost empty and doesn’t make a big mess.

  Dean picks up the glass and wipes the table with a napkin. “What’s with you?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.” I say, shaking my head. That’s when I catch sight of her, wearing a bright red miniskirt and a sleeveless black top that barely covers her stomach. She’s sandwiched between two guys, whipping her ebony hair around and waving her rose vine tattooed arms in the air.

  “Brett?” Dean calls my name, but his voice seems miles away. Kelly and the two guys that aren’t Ryan have my full attention. I storm across the dance floor, plant a hand on each guy’s chest, and push with all my might. They both stumble backward.

  “What the hell?” Kelly turns and faces me. “Oh, it’s you. Meddle much?”

  “Cheating whore much?” I spit back.

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” She flips her hair. “Why don’t you go back and continue crying into your beer, lush.”

  I poke her in the chest. “How about I find Ryan and tell him how you prefer to spend your evenings?”

  She slaps my hand away. “Go ahead. Why don’t you tell him right now? I’m sure he’d love to see you like this.”

  “He deserves better than you.”

  Hand on her hip, Kelly slowly looks me up and down. “Oh please, just how deluded are you? In what world would you be considered better than me? Ryan knows not to expect me to just sit around moping while he figures things out. It’s time to face facts, sweetie. It’s just a matter of time until Ryan gets over his guilt about you and decides to be with me.”

  I lunge at her and miss, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground. I scramble to my feet and reach for her ink black hair, intent on ripping every piece of it out of her bitchy head, but I feel a pair of hands clamp around my waist and pull me back several feet. I claw and kick to break free, while she flips her hair once more and disappears into the crowd.

  “Hold her.” Dean passes me to Gregg, who’s staring at me with wide eyes. Chris jumps up from his seat, but Dean’s taller and faster and catches Chris by the collar. He drags him back into a chair.

  “What did you put in her drinks?” Dean’s deep voice sounds calm, but gives me chills.

  Chris scans the room for anyone who might help him. “There was nothing in her drinks,” he says. “I didn’t spike them, I swear. She’s just drunk.”

  Dean clasps his hand back around Chris neck. This time he squeezes. I watch Chris’s eyes bulge. “Drunk on what? You said they were Shirley Temples.”

  A strangled gasp escapes Chris. Dean lets go, and Chris rubs his neck. “I never said that, she did. I just listed what was in it.”

  “And conveniently left out the alcohol part.” Dean’s knuckles turn white as he balls his hand into a fist. If it’s possible, Chris’s face pales more. Dean raises his fist. Chris ducks and covers his head.

  “I swear I didn’t mean any harm,” Chris cries. “I figured a drink or two would get her to relax and maybe I could win a few hands against her.”

  “So you took it upon yourself to fool her into getting drunk. Don’t you think she should be the one who decides whether or not to drink?” Dean’s raised fist trembles.

  I lurch forward, break free of Gregg’s grasp, and stumble in front of Chris before Dean can hurt him. The motion makes my stomach bubble. I grab the table to steady myself.

  “Stop,” I mumble. “He didn’t fool anyone. I could taste the alcohol. I knew what I was drinking.”

  The disappointment and shock that spreads across Dean’s face is more than I can bear. I step away, and my foot tangles with the table leg. Dean catches me before I fall and holds me against him.

  “This isn’t over,” he tells Chris. “Whether she figured it out or not doesn’t excuse what you did.” He walks me a few steps and then stops. “Gregg, cash me out? I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. There’s no need for both of us to get in trouble.” Then, he leads me away.

  The time it takes to walk from the building feels impossibly long. The air is thick and suffocating, and every step sloshes around the hot liquid in my stomach. I want to know what Dean meant about getting in trouble but my thoughts are muddled. I expect the night’s fresh air to bring relief, but once we’re outside my stomach lurches. I push away from Dean and fall to my hands and knees as my stomach contracts and empties itself. Dean holds up my braid.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” I want to tell him it’s not his fault, that he couldn’t have known, but as soon as I open my mouth my stomach clenches back up. I lose track of time as my stomach repeatedly convulses in dry heaves. I’m exhausted and all traces of my warm, fuzzy happy feeling have vanished. All I want to do is go home and curl up in my bed.

  I stand and Dean scoops me up in his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here before someone notices.” The “trouble” Dean was talking about finally makes sense. Alcohol is forbidden on base. If I get caught, whoever is with me will get in trouble, too.

  “Put me down,” I say. “I can walk back to the dorm by myself.”

  His grip doesn’t loosen. “You can’t go back to the dorm. Not like this. You’ll definitely get caught.”

  I try to wiggle from his grasp. “Then at least let me walk. If anyone sees you carrying me we’ll get caught.”

  “Fine.” He sighs loudly and puts me down. After I take a few wobbly steps, he clasps his arm around me and leans me against his chest. “You haven’t been drunk before, have you?”

  “Uh-uh.” I shake my head, and the motion makes me dizzy.

  “That’s what I thought. Do me a favor and the next time you have the urge to drown your troubles, don’t.” His
voice is thick with concern.

  “That’s not what I was doing.” Even as I protest, I know he’s right. My embarrassment won’t let me admit it. “You’re one to talk. You were drinking too.”

  “I had a beer that I nursed the entire night. Besides, I’m older and know my limits. I never would have let you drink that much if I’d known it was alcoholic.”

  “Humph.” I am not buying his story.

  “Fine. If you promise not to drink anymore, I promise not to drink anymore, not even an occasional beer.” Guilt sinks through my embarrassment. I hang my head.

  “Fine,” I mumble.

  I haven’t been paying attention and am surprised when we stop in front of a house. Dean rings the doorbell, and a minute or two later Troy’s worried face greets us. Great. That’s just what I need, more people to see my predicament and add to my embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry to wake you guys, but she needs somewhere to spend the night.” Dean sidesteps through the door with me and sits me on the couch.

  “Don’t worry about it. We were already up—Hazel’s morning sickness.” Troy presses a hand on my forehead. “What’s wrong with her?” He leans in and examines my face, but when he smells my breath his entire expression changes, and not in a good way. “Is she —?”

  “It’s my fault,” Dean says. “One of my idiotic colleagues decided to feed her drinks. Don’t worry, I’m gonna deal with the jerk later.”

  Troy returns with a glass of water. He slides his arm under my back and helps me sit up. I’m about to complain that I’m perfectly capable of sitting up on my own, but a wave of nausea makes me double over. Troy watches me with an expression that I assume is pity.

  “You might not feel like it, but you need to rehydrate,” he says, and I take the glass. Troy stands and looks at Dean. “How much did she drink? Should we bring her to the hospital?”

  “No!” I cry and drop the glass. I attempt to jump to my feet but only make it halfway up before dropping back down onto the couch. “I didn’t drink that much.”

  “I’ll get Wendy. We should at least have someone here who’s medically trained.” Hazel leans against the hallway wall. Her skin is pale and circles shadow her eyes. The morning sickness is really taking its toll. The last thing she needs to do is tramp across the base in the middle of the night.

  “I’ll get her.” Troy quickly offers.

  A bemused look spreads across Hazel’s face. “And just how do you plan on getting into the dorm?” She pulls out a coat from the hall closet. “I’ll be fine. I’m perfectly capable of walking, and the fresh air might do me good.” She kisses Troy on the cheek.

  “Be safe,” he whispers. Hazel his pats his arm, and leaves.

  Troy gets a towel and cleans up my mess. I try to help, but he tells me to lie down. The instant my head hits the couch, the room spins, and my stomach churns. I stagger to my feet. “First door on the right,” Troy calls as Dean ushers me into the bathroom. Once more, my stomach refuses to recognize when it’s completely empty.

  When the dry heaves subside, I gargle some water and stumble back to the couch. Troy wants me to drink more water, but I lie down and close my eyes. He doesn’t argue.

  “You brought her to the warehouse, didn’t you?” Troy asks Dean.

  Dean sighs. “I just wanted to cheer her up. She seemed so bummed the other day.”

  “It’s bad enough that you keep going to that place, but you had to drag her along too.” The sharpness of Troy’s tone cuts through me.

  Dean’s voice trembles with anguish. “I know I screwed up. I’m never taking her back there again.”

  “But you’re still planning to go,” Troy says. “Come on Dean. You’re smarter than that. You know it’s just a matter of time until that place gets busted. If you and Gregg are there when it does, you’ll be in a shitload of trouble.”

  “I really don’t care, but you can relax a bit. I promised Brett I wouldn’t drink again and I mean it.” The defeat and sadness in his tone startles me. I open my eyes. Dean sits with his head in his hands and wipes his sleeve against his eyes. “Even if they catch me at the warehouse, just what the hell are they gonna do to me? They can’t possibly give me a worse job than the one I have. Heck, even if they make me pick up garbage, I’ll still get nights off. Seven days on and three days off is a crappy shift. And let me tell you, watching people tar a road is even less exciting than watching paint dry. The best part—once they finish paving the road to the sea, I get to watch them pave a road south. Lucky me.”

  Troy’s expression softens. “Why don’t you talk to your field manager? He could reassign you to a new job, one that you’d like. A few nights sleeping in the pod and you’d have all the training you need.”

  “Uh-uh. I already told you I’m not going to sleep in those things. It’s bad enough they messed with our heads during cryogenic sleep. I’m not about to willingly lie down and let them do it again – it’s just not right.”

  “Fine, keep sleeping on the floor,” Troy snaps. “Let your paranoia keep you miserable, but don’t come crying to me when you and the warehouse gets busted.”

  A phrase my dad used to tell me echoes in my head. Something about whining over shoes until you meet someone without shoes or feet, or something like that. I can’t remember the exact words in my foggy state, but I understand its meaning, and guilt stabs my chest. I’ve been so consumed with self-pity over my job and my failed romance that I never once bothered to see how Dean or the rest of my friends were doing. Sure, I know who’s dating, who’s engaged and whatnot, but that’s only because my friends tell me these things. By the sound of it, Dean was sleeping on the floor back when he worked in the field with me. Did Ryan and Jake know or did he wait until everyone fell asleep before relocating to the floor? I drift off to sleep contemplating what a horrible friend I’ve been and what else I don’t know.

  I wake as Wendy jostles me and hands me a glass of water. “Drink,” she orders. I slowly sip until I drain the glass. Then I lean back and close my eyes. I’m not sure how long I sleep or even if I sleep. Wrenching pains in my stomach force me awake. I dash to the bathroom and empty my stomach again. The effects of the drinks must be wearing off, because my head is starting to hurt as bad as my stomach already does. When Wendy opens the bathroom door, I wave her off, but she comes in anyway and holds back my braid. When I finish, she wordlessly hands me a cold facecloth and some water. I gargle with it. She refills the glass. I grimace at the sight of it. The last thing I want is more water to make me vomit again.

  “I know it sucks,” she says, “but if you can’t keep some down, I will bring you to the hospital.”

  I take the glass and walk back to the couch. Again, I sip the water slowly, willing my stomach to cooperate so I won’t get anyone in trouble. Luck is finally on my side. I wake up the next morning, still on Troy’s couch. Dean watches me from an armchair on the other side of the room. He looks exhausted. I sit up. My head pounds, my stomach lurches in protest, but it’s only pain. Nothing actually threatens to come up.

  “Have you been up all night?” I croak. My tongue feels as if it’s coated in fur. Weird.

  Dean stretches and yawns. “No. We took turns watching you. Do you feel as bad as you look?”

  “God, I hope not.” I reach up and rake my hands through my hair, and comb it straight with my fingers. I grimace from the constant pounding in my head.

  “Hangovers suck,” he says in an unsympathetic voice and ambles into the kitchen. I follow him to the refrigerator and take out some orange juice. My stomach complains at the sight of it, but I really need something to wash away the gross feeling on my tongue.

  “Should I stick with water?” I ask.

  “It’s up to you. Either way, take these.” He slaps a couple of aspirin into my hand. I swallow them and chase them with the juice. My stomach’s not happy, but I think the aspirin will stay down. I rest my elbows in the counter and grind the heel of my hands into my temples to counteract the relentless p
ain behind my eyes.

  Dean pops some bread into the toaster. When he pushes down the lever, the noise reverberates through my skull.

  “Hazel’s asleep and Troy had to work, but he told me we can stay as long as we want.”

  “Remind me to thank him,” I mumble as I rest my head on the cold countertop, close my eyes, and wish for the pain to stop.

  “How are you feeling?” Hazel asks entering the kitchen and fetching a glass from the cupboard.

  I slide over to make some room. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

  “Nah, it was this little guy,” Hazel says as she rubs her stomach. She looks up and laughs. “You look worse than I do.”

  “Thanks,” I groan. “I feel stupid.” Hazel grins at me until I ask, “What?”

  Hazel pours herself some juice, sniffs it, frowns, and then pushes it away. “It’s kinda silly, but it’s nice to know you’re not so perfect after all.”

  I look to see if she’s joking and immediately regret moving. “No one has ever accused me of being perfect before.”

  Dean hands each of us a slice of dry toast. Hazel cautiously takes a bite. “You know what I mean. You and Andi make everything you do look effortless and easy. It’s enough to give a girl a complex.”

  I frown and stare at the toast, unsure if I should dare eating it. “Well, Andi is probably as close to perfect as you can get, but me—not a chance.” I force myself to take a bite of the toast which tastes bland. But that’s probably all my stomach can handle right now, so I eat it, chasing it down with juice.

  Hazel stands, pushes her hands into the small if her back and stretches. “I’m going to shower and change, but you two are welcome to stay. A bit of sleep will do you both some good.”

  I clean up after myself and take Hazel up on her offer. Just getting through breakfast was hard enough. There’s no way I could get through a day at work. I flop down on the couch, close my eyes, and pray for sleep until it finally comes.