Fighting Silence (On the Ropes #1)(34)

“Jesus. Stop calling my name.”

I leaned outside and found him sitting on the ground with his back against the brick exterior of the building. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag was at his side.

“What are you doing?”

“I told you. I’m sitting in purgatory. And they say I’m the one going deaf.”

“Oh, well, that clears things up,” I said sarcastically. “Quarry was looking for you.”

“Fuck.” His voice broke as he began frantically scrubbing his face with his hands.

His reaction instantly worried me.

“Give me a second. I’m coming out.” I shut the window and ran back to the door, where Quarry was still waiting. “I found him. He’ll be up later.”

“Can you ask him to sign this? I’m about to go to bed.”

“Um . . .” I responded, remembering the way Till had slurred his words and the bottle at his side. “Here.” I snatched the pen and paper from his hand. “Does your mom spell her name with ‘ie’ or ‘y’?”

“‘Ie.’”

I scribbled “Debbie Page” across the paper and handed it back.

“Hey, thanks!” He smiled and dashed away.

I made a mental note to discuss the big, red F on the test I’d just signed later, but for now, I needed to see what the hell was going on with his brother. I snagged one of my many sketchpads off the coffee table and walked around the side of my building.

“Doodle!” Till yelled in greeting as soon as he saw me.

I kicked the sole of his boot. “Scoot over, drunky.”

“You want some?” He lifted the brown bag.

“Um. Hell yeah!”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He smiled and passed me what I discovered was beer.

I immediately poured its warm contents into the grass before handing it back empty.

“Not cool, Doodle. Not. Cool.”

“Oh, whatever. You don’t even drink!”

“I know, because that shit is expensive, and you just wasted it!”

I shrugged. “I can live with that. Now, scoot.”

“Okay, but you don’t belong in purgatory, so you can only stay for a few minutes.”

“Why exactly is the flowerbed under my window purgatory?” I asked as he lazily moved over a few inches.

Using a finger, he pointed over his head to my window. “Heaven.” Then he motioned to everything in front of us. “Hell.” And finally, he pointed to the dirt where he was sitting. “Purgatory.”

I gave him a confused look that made him fall over in laughter. I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at me or at his own joke. I’d never seen Till drunk before, but I knew right then I preferred him sober.

I sat next to him and patted my lap and handed him the sketchpad. “Here. Hold this and lie down.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Look at you going all old school on me. You must be really worried,” he teased, but he didn’t waste any time getting situated so his head rested in my lap.

It wasn’t the most ideal position, with his legs wedged crookedly between two of the overgrown bushes, but he didn’t complain. He opened the sketchpad and handed me the pencil.

I began scratching his head with one hand and drawing his eyes with my other. I didn’t say anything for several minutes, and eventually, I felt his shoulders relax as he let out a content sigh.

“I’m going to assume it didn’t go well at the doctor today,” I said quietly.

His eyes snapped to mine. “What?”

“I said, ‘I’m going assume it didn’t go well at the doctor today’.”

He slightly shook his head. “I’m still hearing at about seventy percent.”

I stopped drawing and looked down at him. “That’s good, right? It’s only gone down, like, ten percent in six years. It’s fading slowly. That means you have years before you have any real issues, right?”

“He couldn’t predict that. He said everyone’s different. Sometimes, it’s slow. Sometimes, it’s rapid.” He didn’t seem too thrilled, but I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

Later. We could deal with this later. Many, many years later.

I went back to drawing in an attempt to downplay my enthusiasm. This should have been good news, but with his lips sealed tight, I couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on with him.

“So, why were you drinking, then? I thought Slate had a strict no-drinking policy.”

“That’s only for the kids. I’m twenty-one. He can’t stop me from having a drink if I want one. Besides, are you planning to rat me out?” He reached up and tugged on a piece of hair that had fallen free of my ponytail.

“Maybe.” I shrugged, filling in his long, black eyelashes on the paper. “Now, tell me what’s really going on.”

Till avoided my question by glancing down at the paper. “You always make me look like a chick when you draw my eyes.”

“No, I don’t. And who said those were your eyes?”

“Okay, then whose eyes are they?”

“My ugly, old accounting teacher.”

“Well, he has some seriously sexy eyes, then.”