Page 10 of Up In Smoke

My brother’s best friend? The guy I had the most enormous puppy-dog crush on? The one I was convinced I’d work up the courage to hit on once I got rich and famous but never did?

And now he’s found me like this.

It’s actually kind of remarkable how low my dignity keeps sinking. It’s got to be several points below zero by now, surely.

“I can do it,” I protest weakly. “You should go.”

But seeing as Rico has to seat me on the closed toilet lid because my legs are too unstable to keep me standing, I think we both know that’s a lie. My mind is still such a mess, though, and I’m struggling to hold onto a train of thought. Unfortunately, my shame is like a prickly porcupine, trying to surround myself with spikes to maintain an illusion that I can defend myself.

“Fuckoff!”I do my best to shove his shoulder. “Nobody asked you to come here.”

He gives me an impatient look that cuts through even my inebriated state. “Your brother literally asked me to come here and check on your sorry ass because he was worried sick about you. In fact…” He pulls his phone out and quickly swipes out a message with just his thumb. His other hand is keeping me steady on the damn toilet. “Okay, I’ve told him you’re not dead. Now stop being a brat and let me help you. These clothes stink. You’ll feel better after a shower.”

The fight blows out of me as quickly as it arrived. I sniffle again, feeling absolutely wretched. “Water?” I mumble hopefully. My mouth still tastes like roadkill and I’m sure my breath must be as bad.

“Bear with me, kid,” Rico says softly, slowly pulling my soiled T-shirt over my head. I lift my arms obediently to help him, trying not to cry out as I jostle my ribs. He doesn’t comment but he must have figured it out by now. From what I can see of myself, the bruises across my torso are truly breathtaking. “I’m going to sit you in the shower first. I think you’ll want to rinse your mouth out a few times before swallowing, and that’ll be easier in there.”

I don’t have a tub, only a walk-in shower just about big enough for me to stand in. I’m relieved he suggested sitting because my legs still aren’t cooperating. The trouble is, there isn’t much room to maneuver. I guess he’s realizing this as he looks between me and the cramped space and sighs.

But he doesn’t give up.

Instead, he methodically strips me down until I’m naked. As I’ve only got jeans and socks left on, it doesn’t take long. I assume I kicked my shoes off somewhere when I got home earlier, but I have no memory of that.

I’m too tired to feel embarrassed that I’m completely exposed in front of my teenage crush who, incidentally, has only gotten hotter in the decade or so since we’ve seen each other. Bastard. I have just enough wits about me to be compliant as he hefts me into his arms, trying my best to take some of my own weight as we step into the shower cubicle.

He gently sets me down in the corner on the cold tiles but doesn’t turn on the water. “One second,” he tells me before hopping out. I shiver on the floor, my eyelids dropping. Even though I’m hurting all over, I’m getting sleepy again.

Before I can nod off, though, Rico is back, stripped down to his boxer briefs and carrying a bottle of water into the shower with him. That must be his. I don’t waste money on bottles when the faucet is perfectly fine. But I guess a glass isn’t a very good idea in here, and I make myself just be grateful that he’s the kind of guy that walks around with fresh bottled spring water.

I’m almost too mesmerized by his body to do anything else but stare at him for several seconds. I don’t get or care why he’s almost as naked as me, but I soon realize that while I’m ogling, he’s reaching to turn the water on.

Oh. Wow. He’s not just leaving me in here to wash off. He’s getting in with me.

I…I don’t know where to put those feelings.

Luckily, I’m quickly distracted by the cold blast that hits us both as soon as he turns the faucet. We both yelp and flinch away from the offending water, but there isn’t really anywhere to go in this box we’ve found ourselves in. Luckily, it warms up after a few seconds, becoming almost pleasant.

“Here,” Rico says, rivulets running down his face as he hands me the bottle, cap screwed off. I take it with a trembling hand, wrapping my lips around the neck and gratefully gulping down the room temperature water without swallowing much of the hot stuff raining down from above us. He was right that I needed to spit out the first couple of mouthfuls to get rid of some of the residual vomit, but after that, it soothes my throat and gives my stomach something else to work on other than booze and pills.

A tiny part of my dumb, chemical-soaked brain wants to make a joke about wrapping my lips around something else. Unbelievably, for once my grown-up brain wins, recognizing that Rico is doing me a massive fucking favor right now and being way more kind than I deserve.

He’s doing it for Adam, not me, I know. But I’m still so thankful that another sob escapes my chest. Having someone else focusing on me…really seeingmefor a change…it’s overwhelming. I couldn’t be rawer or more vulnerable if I tried. I’m barely conscious and completely naked, yet Rico is only concerned with my wellbeing as he helps me hydrate and clean up.

While I slowly sip at the bottle, he lathers product into my hair, rinses it, and wipes my face, chest and underarms with a washcloth. His legs must be cramping crouched down in front of me like that, but he doesn’t complain once.

“You’re a firefighter,” I say suddenly, because apparently my brain-to-mouth filter is even more faulty than usual.

His eyebrows rise before he gives me a little smile. “Yes, I am a firefighter,” he says quietly but warmly. “So you do remember me.”

I snort. “Never forgetyou,”I slur, starting to lose the battle with my eyelids again. I’m far from being fine yet. But getting cleaned up and flushing out some of the narcotics is alreadyhelping my abused body. I’d love some Tylenol, but I can’t remember if I have any or not.

Sleep is the only thing I care about now. I’d black out there on the bathroom floor, but of course Rico doesn’t let me. The shower is turned off and the next thing I know, he’s manhandling me out of the cubicle then toweling me dry. I’m vaguely aware that he pulls his underwear off and dries himself as well. But then he’s back in the clothes he arrived in, fussing over me once more.

“Okay, stay there,” he says firmly as he sits me on the edge of my bed—the opposite side to where my puke is still lingering. Damn, no wonder he’s a firefighter. He’s so thoughtful.

I only sway a little as I drain the last of the water from the bottle while he rummages through my drawers. When he comes back with fresh briefs, socks, sweatpants, a tee and a hoodie, I almost start to cry again.

“Thank you,” I mumble blearily, trying to move my limbs helpfully as he dresses me. “Didn’t have to…still same Rico…I don’t…thank you…”