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finally manage to say. “I—”
    â€œThanks for coming.” He turns his head, smiling at me. Brings my hand to his lips. “Seriously. No idea what I’d do without you.”
    My voice fails me, along with coherent thought. “Yeah,” is all I can get out before his eyes close again.
    The drive to his house across town is silent, just as it was with Eric. But as I watch a second Lewis Creek Bulldog stumble across his yard tonight, I don’t feel an ounce of pity.
    I feel done.

Chapter Three
    Eric
    There’s a human sitting on my chest. A tiny, giggly human.
    I open one eye. My youngest sister, Emma, bounces, because I don’t
need
to breathe or anything. “Get up, Eric! The sky’s awake! And it’s church day!”
    A five-year-old’s language might as well be called EVERYTHING IS AWESOME.
    My head sinks into my pillow as I glance over at my clock. It’s only seven in the morning. Emma’s blond hair is sticking up all over the place, but her bright-blue eyes are proof that she woke up
way
before the sky.
    I’ve got the hangover from hell, so as much as I love my sister, this isn’t going to work. I put my arm over my eyes. “Go jump on Grace,” I murmur. “She’d be so upset if she overslept.”
    Emma jumps off my bed, her feet hitting the hardwood floor with a thump. “Grace is awake. She’s yelling at Momma in the kitchen. Momma’s making pancakes! The box pancakes
again
. But it’s okay ’cause we got blueberries…” Her voice trails off as she walks out of the room, talking to herself down the hallway.
    Kids, dude.
    She used to jump on Brett every morning. And once he was awake, he’d chuck something across the room to wake me up. Apparently that was only fair.
    I glance over at his old bed, which Momma still keeps perfectly made on the off chance he decides to come home anytime other than holidays. She knows that’ll never happen. Can’t say that I blame him. Our family’s good, but the town sucks. I will admit that I miss getting stuff thrown in my face every morning.
    Really.
    With a groan, I grab my phone from my nightstand and scroll through until I find Brett’s name.
    Me :
Emma says to wake up, lazy ass
    Five minutes pass before my phone buzzes. Brett :
You’re a jackass
    Snorting, I toss the phone back onto my nightstand. Now that I’m kind-of-sort-of-awake, my other sister’s voice carries from the kitchen. Hers isn’t nearly as perky. Yelling at Momma on Sunday morning is the worst possible thing one of us can do; it’s her favorite day of the week, so she protects it like a pitcher hoards a perfect glove. Grace better like being grounded until she’s seventy.
    I roll out of bed with a grunt. After a trip to the bathroom, I follow the sound of coffee brewing to the kitchen. Sunlight spills into the room. The table’s set with plates and syrup and glasses of juice, and it
would
look like something straight out of a breakfast commercial, if breakfast commercials starred a pissed-off blond girl and a mom who’s clutching her coffee mug for dear life. I plop into my chair at the table, beside Grace and across from Emma, whose face is already smeared with blueberries. The kid attacks food with a vengeance.
    â€œI still don’t get how you caught me,” Grace says.
    Momma sighs. “Darlin’, I’ve raised two Perry boys. I could hear someone sneaking in or out if I were in a coma.”
    â€œYou’re ruining my life,” Grace says. “You know that, right?”
    Looks like I didn’t miss much; it’s the same argument they have every other day. At least there are pancakes with this show. Pancakes, and…
    The Sunday paper. Sitting right smack in the center of the table. Taunting me. It’s folded, so I can’t see the headline, not that I’m sure I want to. Do you ever
want
to read someone talking crap