MY FATE FOR YOURS

Chapter 1- EAMON

Eamon

 I pause in the doorway of Carl’s bar, taking in the pathetic sight of my brother, Tobin, slouched over onto the wooden bar top, rolling a shot glass back and forth under his palm. This has become a ritual the last couple of months. Me finding him somewhere, drowning himself and his misery in a bottle of cheap booze.

Tobin leans over to reach into the pocket of his jeans, and has to grasp onto the bar to steady himself. He puckers his mouth, and pulls his brows together, looking confused when he comes up empty handed. He scans the length of the bar, then stands up to peer over the counter to Rachel who called me to come and get his drunk ass. Again. A smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth as she pulls herself up off of the floor, and raises a knowing eyebrow, her dark hair hanging around her face.

“Tobin LeJeune, you didn’t actually think I’d let you drive home after that last round, didya?” she says. Rachel’s known us both long enough to say just about anything, which means she tells us both like it is.

“Rach, come on, you know it’s not that far. I’m good,” Tobin answers, the slur of his words, and the stumble when he gets up from his stool proving otherwise. It’s getting pathetic. He is. I’m not feeling as sorry for him as I did a few months ago, but I still gotta see him through this.

Rachel frowns. “You’re crazy is what you are. If your mama knew you wanted to get behind the wheel of that truck drunk, she’d—”

“I’m not drunk,” he says as he blinks a few times, still swaying a bit as he grasps the bar with one hand.

I shove myself off of the doorframe, ready for this to be done.

“Is that so, brother?” I say, slapping him on the back. “You’re looking pretty damn rough to me.”

Tobin glares at me, but stands up to follow me out, knowing that resistance is futile. He may be just as big as me, but he’s still, and always will be, the little brother.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Rach,” I say with a wink. I shouldn’t do it, it’s only leading her on, but it’s habit. All ladies need a little attention, even ones you grew up with.

“No problem,” Rachel says. She tosses me his keys and Tobin slouches into me, nearly knocking me down because the extra weight is unexpected. “Uh, do you need help with him?”

I glance over my shoulder at Rachel’s tiny frame. She’s a Southern girl, which means she can handle her own, but there’s no way I’m letting her help drag my swaying, drunk brother out of here.

“I’ve got it.” I shake my head. “Thanks again. I owe you.”

“Someday, I’ll collect,” she says. She runs her tongue along her bottom lip, and I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s trying to be sexy. And she probably would be, if she weren’t Rachel. She may be standing there in those curve hugging jeans and a white tank top that’s practically painted on her, but she also used to help Tobin and I collect toads, and make Molotov cocktails. So sexy isn’t something I see when I look at Rachel. Maybe.

I haul Tobin to Dad’s truck, which I’m forced to borrow since mine is at the bottom of the lake, and curse the entire time at him about how Jim Beam always turns him into dead weight.

“You’re lucky Rachel got me on the phone, you know. I had a date,” I say, as I climb into the driver’s seat. A gorgeous girl, home in Rainy, one town over, and just back from college for a few days. She was perfect.

“You always have a date. She’ll wait,” he says. He lets his head slump down a little and mumbles, “Thank you.”

“Rachel said the next call she was going to make would be to Ma, since you’d been at that bar all damn day,” I say. I’m waiting for him to snap out of this. I keep thinking one day he’ll finally get that he’s mourning something that’ll never happen. His girl is gone, and she’s not coming back—at least not for him.