Chapter Twenty-Four

Brad

Once Dylan calmed down, I closed the bar for the rest of the night. It was dead anyway, and she thankfully didn't protest. Her phone has been ringing off the hook; Dominic probably told his girlfriend what happened, and it has circled around.

When my phone starts to vibrate, I pull it out of my pocket just in case it's Dominic. I texted him to get him, his mum, and Vada over. I think she needs her family right now, and those three are it.

Turns out it's Chad. "Sup, loser," I say, answering his call.

"Is Dylan okay? Isabelle told Ella and Ella called Mady, who told me."

I chuckle. This "Chinese whispers" crap in their friend group is something I never thought would make me smile.

"She is okay, really. She just had a lot to get out and is exhausted mentally."

"If you need anything, let me know. I will happily lend you Logan if you need a few days off."

Shit, I forgot to message him. "That's a hard pass, but thanks for the offer."

"You know my number if you need anything," he says.

We end the call, and just as I do, there is a knock at the door. Dylan is out in the living room, lying on the couch, and she gets up to answer it while I quickly pull a clean shirt over my head.

"I brought tequila," Isabelle says, holding the bottle in the air, and Dylan laughs. "Let's get started before Dom gets off shift and goes all responsible adult on us."

Vada and Roman come in behind Isabelle. "You're not going to show your age right now, are you?" Isabelle asks me with a raised brow. "Because we are getting wasted and you better have lemons or limes and salt."

"They say you're only as old as the woman you feel, so tonight I'm eighteen. Let's get blasted before Dominic gets here and chews me out for not being responsible."

Isabelle skips over to me and gives me a high five before moving towards the kitchen. "Come on, old man, we need shot glasses and shit."

Dylan looks at me and I wink. I follow Isabelle into my kitchen and pull out the shot glasses and lemons, along with a handful of salt sachets I took from work.

Isabelle slides the lemons my way. I smirk at her but grab out a chopping board and knife and start cutting them into slices. Isabelle takes the shot glasses and salt to the kitchen table, and once I have the lemons in a container, I also grab a glass and some orange juice for Vada. She looks about ready to make a run for it.

Placing them on the table, I hand Vada the glass with ice and wink at her. Dylan notices and wraps her arms around me. "You're a good man, Brad. I'm so lucky."

"You really are lucky," I say, and she laughs against my back.

Isabelle has already poured shots, so Vada tips hers into her cup and adds some juice.

"Cheers to us," Isabelle says. "To friendship."

"To friendship," Dylan says, throwing back her first shot. Roman follows suit, and Vada takes a sip from her cup and her nose wrinkles.

Over the course of the next two hours, Isabelle and Dylan have started a drinking game that I don't understand the rules to, nor does Roman, but he keeps throwing back shots.

"Should we be worried?" Vada asks me.

"No, I haven't had much to drink, as it seems the girls need to let loose, and I wanted to be clear headed if they needed anything. You and Roman can stay here, or I'm happy to drive you home when he's done getting white-girl wasted."

Roman makes his way over to Vada and me. He is a little wobbly on his legs, and Vada chuckles. "I texted Grayson to come pick us up—I can't drive. Oh, and I think the girls are crying."

I look back over at Dylan and Isabelle; they are now in a weird hug situation on the floor.

"I used to be a snack," Isabelle slurs. "I was hot and always busy with school and friends. I love my sisters more than life, but small people are a lot of work. They eat all the time, and I have to come up with meal ideas. What sort of bullshit is that? Oh, and toys—who knew they made so much mess?"

"You might not be a snack, but you're now a happy meal," Dylan says, and both girls fall into fits of laughter.

Knocking on the door pulls me away. When I open it, Dominic is standing on the other side. "Sorry it took me so long."

"It's all good, but be prepared—the girls are drunk and alternating between crying and laughing."

As Dominic steps into the house, Vada and Roman say they will wait outside for Roman's brother, Grayson, who is apparently a few minutes away.

"How much have they had to drink?"

I point to the bottle of tequila, and the vodka, because Isabelle made some slushies about forty minutes ago.

"And you didn't stop them?" Dominic accuses.

"They are over eighteen, and I'm not their father. I'm watching them."

"DOMMMMM," Isabelle slurs, getting his attention as she throws her body into his. He catches her waist with his hands, steadying her on her feet. "Dylan has no parents, like me, and I'm a happy meal." Dominic looks at me and I shrug. "We are going to the cemetery," she slurs out.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" he asks her, and Dylan stumbles over and uses me to keep herself upright.

"Tis a vewy good idea, stop be a party popper... pooper." Dylan looks up at me. "We'll be back."

"I don't think so. I'm coming with you. Two drunk teenage girls walking the streets—what could possibly go wrong?"

"I'm with Brad. We are coming, and the walk might do you both some good."

The girls squeal and jump around the room. Dylan tries to go to the kitchen to get the bottle of vodka, but Dominic shuts her down since it's illegal to drink in public. She pouts at her brother but ultimately doesn't fight him. Instead, she links arms with Isabelle, and they skip—very badly—out of the house.

Grabbing my house keys, I lock up and walk side by side with Dominic as we watch the girls go on this mission to the cemetery.

"You all good to go to the cemetery?" I ask Dominic. I don't know how his relationship with his father was, but I know Dylan hasn't been to her father's grave. I have never pushed her to talk about it since most of her trauma stems from her mum.

"Yeah, I came to terms with his death. I visit every now and again. I just hope the girls are ready. Isabelle hasn't been here since her parents' funeral, and Dylan has not spoken about our father's death. It's almost like she pretends it never happened."

I wish we had driven. I'm not opposed to walking, but it's not a quick walk when you have two intoxicated women skipping and falling over.

Dominic gets an amazing idea to piggyback the girls, since it will be quicker. Initially it is, but then Dylan keeps trying to get me to run, yelling "giddy up" and kicking my sides with her feet.

When we finally get to the entrance for the cemetery, I ask Dominic where their father's grave is. He tells me, and I let him know I will get Dylan home when she is ready. He agrees. I just hope Dylan is ready for this. At the very least, she has some form of closure with her mother. She stood up to her, and I think it made her realise she has everything she needs here, and the last thing she has left is this: saying goodbye to her father.