“Yeah, well, I’ll make you pancakes in an hour.”

“Waffles!” she shrieked at my blasphemy. “And it’s already ten o’clock! Mommy and Daddy should be here any minute, and you know they don’t let me eat waffles.”

I knew damn well they wouldn’t. Aub had cavities in her milk teeth from all that green apple candy, so they were taking extra precautions to make sure her new teeth weren’t going to rot. That was why waffles were a big deal for her. And I fully intended to make her those goddamn chocolate-chip waffles with fresh apple on the side. I just needed another hour or so to feel human again. Was that too much to ask?

“Give me thirty …” I mumbled, my eyes still closed.

“They’ll be here by then!”

“Then I’ll take you to the diner tomorrow. Promise. You’ll get a milkshake out of it, too. We’ll say we’re going ice skating.”

“I want waffles now. Not tomorrow. Besides, what’s a promith anyway, if you don’t keep it?”

“A lie?” I creaked sarcastically. I was nasty when hungover. I laughed at my own lousy joke. My mouth tasted bitter. In all of Aubrey’s six years, every time we did a pinky promise, I always delivered. I never broke my promises. But I couldn’t for the life of me fulfill this one. I was too hungover to move.

“You’re such a … a … butt sniffer!” Her voice broke midsentence. I knew what she sounded like when she was about to cry, and she was definitely heading there.

“C’mon. Aub …” I tried opening my eyes again. I couldn’t—again. I heard her little feet thudding quickly on the carpeted hallway. She probably went back to her room to hate me privately. I tried to reassure myself. It was fine. I’d take her tomorrow—no, fuck it, this afternoon—and make it up to her. We’d hit the ice rink, then go to the Pancake House, and I’d let her order enough waffles to clog every artery in her body.

“Babe?” Whit moaned from beside me, throwing an arm over my pecs. “Was that Aubrey? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

We both did.

The way I remembered it, about two hours had passed before I woke up, but in reality, it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes. The scent of something burning filled my nostrils. Food burning.

Or plastic burning?

Fabric burning.

Flesh burning, like at the butchers.

No. It was all of the above.

I blinked, trying to sit up. It felt like my head weighed a ton. I wanted to punch my own face for drinking so much. Whit was still asleep beside me.

I sniffed, looking around. Everything looked fine. Normal. Well, other than the smoke skulking from the hallway and into my room.

What the …?

That was all the adrenaline rush I needed to sober up. I jumped out of bed like my ass was on fire, charging down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Something clearly was on fire. It just wasn’t my ass.

“Aub? Aubrey? Aubrey!” I screamed so hard and loud, I didn’t even wait for an answer. The smoke was racing up the stairs as I descended them. By the time I reached the landing, I was standing in a thick cloud of black-gray smoke. I grabbed a shirt I’d thrown on the lamp yesterday night and pressed it against my nose. The air was scorching, and I couldn’t breathe without coughing.

The heart of the fire was in the kitchen, so that was where I went.

“Aubrey!” I kept calling, shouting, begging. There was no answer. When I got into the kitchen, I had to stumble back. The fire almost reached the living room, and since there were carpet and wallpaper, it spread fast.

“West? Oh my God! West!” I heard Whit behind me. She was running down the stairs.

“Get out. Now. Whit!”

“West, I’m naked!”

“Out!” I ran into the fire, not giving a shit if I burned to death if it meant saving Aubrey.

“Where’s Aubrey?” I heard Whit ask. I didn’t reply. I fanned the smoke with my arm, trying to recognize anything beyond the curling flames.

Once I did, I wished I were smart enough to never think I’d stood a chance to save her.

There was an exposed hook on one of the cabinets in our kitchen. It used to be a door handle, but I’d yanked it out accidentally weeks ago and never bothered to fix it. My mom gave me grief about it, saying it was a health hazard. That someone could get injured.

“My pants get stuck in this thing on a weekly basis, Westie. You have to do something about it. Aubrey can get a nick.”

I hadn’t listened.

I should have.

The toaster was placed right above that cabinet with the hook.

And this time, it wasn’t my mom’s pants that got stuck in it—it was Aubrey’s shirt.

I saw Aubrey’s body under the hook, the remainder of her little jacket still wrapped around the exposed hook.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I ran to her. If I could save her—good. If I couldn’t—I didn’t deserve to live either.

I got so close to the fire I felt its echo burning my skin. I grabbed her jacket, but it felt empty. Light. Her tiny body was limp in my arms. I tried to pry her off the hook, feeling my eyes stinging with smoke and tears and fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Aubrey, please!” My voice broke. “Please, baby. Please!”

I was yanked back, my fingers still wrapped around her jacket. I fought the force that dragged me back. Kicking, screaming, and clawing at the arms around me, blind with rage and hate. The hatred facing inward made me delirious. I’d made a promise to my baby sister, and I’d broken that promise. I was so busy getting drunk yesterday, I hadn’t even thought to take her into consideration. The one single time my parents gave me the responsibility of keeping my sister safe overnight while they were out, I failed them.

I failed her.

I failed myself.

I screamed until my lungs burned. Whoever grabbed me threw me on the snow and ran back inside. From my position in the front yard, I saw someone else running after them, screaming.

Dad. He saved me and went back for Aubrey.

Mom. She went inside with him to try to save someone, him or Aubrey, I couldn’t tell.

A piercing wail broke above my head. I knew it was Whitley, but I couldn’t turn around and look at her. In fact, my body couldn’t move at all.

I was no longer drunk.

I was stone-cold sober.

And facing the harsh consequences of my actions.

In the days after the fire, I found out a few things.

For instance, I discovered that the reason the toaster caught on fire was because someone had thrown bottle caps into it, and Aubrey, who didn’t know this, pushed two chocolate-chip waffles from the freezer into its jaws, trying to make herself waffles.

Afterwards, the insurance investigator (or whoever the hell he was) explained to us that she’d tried to escape, but couldn’t, because her Barbie jacket had gotten tangled in the exposed hook. She’d probably cried for my help, but I was all the way across the house, on the second floor, snoring and recovering from a bitch of a hangover.

The bottom line was this—our house wasn’t insured for fire caused by an asshole teenager who couldn’t keep his friends in check and fulfill a small promise he’d made to his sister. In other words—we were screwed. We had no house to live in, because soon after my mother dragged my father out of the house, the fire spread and the house pretty much collapsed in on itself.