Straining to remember or trying to make up for things I did in the past is only doing more harm than good. From now on, I’m going to own my memory loss. If someone seems to not like me, I won’t ask what I did, but instead ask for forgiveness. I’m going to stop entertaining stories from people like Kyle and Felicity, because even though some of the things they’ve told me are true, they aren’t helpful.

So what if I can’t remember the giddy sweetness when I first held a boy’s hand or the triumph of getting a good grade on a project I slaved over? Or the warmth during the holidays sitting around a tree, singing carols and beaming with joy as people I love open gifts I carefully chose for them? It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I can create new memories. And these ones won’t be tainted by whatever horrible moral code I had before my fall.

I climb onto the bus, drop my change into the coin slot, and take a seat in the back.

I’ll experience all those firsts again. The first love. The first kiss. The first time. I swipe the tears away from my face. It’s a miracle, really. A salty rivulet seeps into the corner of my mouth. The tears are coming faster than I can brush them off.

A true blessing.

I repeat this to myself all the way home, hoping that by the time I step into my house, I’ll believe it.

Chapter 16

Easton

“It smells like a distillery in here,” Ella’s voice says from above. It sounds like she’s speaking through a tube, a long one.

I gesture for her to come closer. “What’d you say?”

“You stink.”

Something wet and heavy lands on my face. “The hell!”

“Can you stop slurring your words?”

I’m not slurring them. I’m speaking perfect English. Something must be wrong with her hearing. “What’s wrong?”

“Ugh. Sawyer. Sawyer! Oh, hell. You’re drunk, too. Just perfect. I’m sorry, Callum. But neither of your sons can come to the phone right now. They finished off a bottle of vodka.”

I raise my fingers. It was three. How insulting she thinks we gave up after one nearly empty bottle.

“Pour water in their faces? I threw a washcloth on Easton and he barely moved. Yeah, I’ll try again.”

A washcloth! That’s what this thing is. I shove it off my face. It takes two tries before I can dislodge it enough to be able to breathe. “Give me the pho—”

Splash!

A deluge of water drowns out the rest of my words. I shoot straight up from the sofa and blink angrily at Ella through the fluid dripping into my eyes. “What the hell?”

“That did it,” she says into her phone, surprise in her voice. She listens to whomever is on the other end of the line—did she say Callum?—and throws me a towel.

I catch it and wipe my face, not taking my eyes off her in case she decides to dump another gallon of water over my head. My brain sluggishly churns into gear. She’s talking to my dad.

“I have no idea if he’s capable of carrying on a conversation. He’s got a towel in his fist and he’s probably imagining squeezing my neck with the same force.”

I’m not gonna do that, but I am mad. Ella and I have always been tight. I didn’t think she’d rat out my drinking to my dad.

I shove off the sofa and pluck the phone out of her hands. “How’s Dubai?”

See, I remember what’s going on. My personal triumph lasts all of a second because the room starts spinning. Dad says something I can’t make out because it’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying when I’m busy focusing on not tossing my metaphorical cookies all over the marble table. “Can you repeat that?” I ask.

“I asked you to take care of everyone while I was gone. You promised that you could handle it.”

There’s a pause. I guess he’s waiting for my input. “I’m handling it.”

“By getting your underage brother drunk in the hospital room where his twin is lying comatose?”

This time the churning sensation in my stomach has nothing to do with my liquor intake. “Well, when you put it like that, it does sound bad,” I say, cracking a shitty joke.

There’s a prolonged silence on the other end of the phone as Dad is probably fantasizing about throwing me off his hundred-and-fifth-floor hotel room balcony.

“I’m waiting for you to grow up, Easton. You’re eighteen. God help the people beyond Bayview, because I’m going to have to unleash you on them.”

He makes me sound like an ecological disaster…although, didn’t I once tell Ella we Royals were like a Category 4 hurricane? Maybe he’s not so off. Still, it’s not awesome to hear your father run you down like this. Another shot of vodka could make this lecture so much more tolerable. I cast around the room, trying to locate my backpack. Did we drink it all or is there at least one bottle left?

“Until you can prove you’re a functioning adult, I’m going to treat you like a child. That means in addition to no flying, there will be no car.”

“I don’t drive a car. I’m a truck guy.”

“I swear to Christ, Easton Royal!” he explodes. “This is not a joke. Life is not a joke. Your behavior is very dangerous. Straighten up or you’ll spend the next semester at The Citadel. From this point on, you have no wheels, you have no money. If you want something, you’ll have to get permission from me and I’ll want the request in written form. Do you hear me?”