Page 28 of The Way We Swing Back

My entire body froze.

Zach stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands balled at his sides, his expression sliding from confusion to disbelief to fury in less than a second.

“Oh my god,” he said, walking toward us. “Are you kidding me?”

“Zach—” I started, but he held up a hand, jaw tight.

“You brought them here?”

“I didn’t bring them,” I shot back. “They showed up.”

“And you let them drink?” His voice cracked upward. “He’s fourteen!” He pointed at Gavin as if he were revealing evidence in a trial.

“It’s one drink, Zach,” Gavin said, voice small.

“Jesus, shut up, Gavin, you’re a moron. We’ll talk later,” Zach muttered, not even looking at him. His eyes stayed locked on me. “And you’re supposed to watch after him.”

“I am,” I snapped. My words came out sharper than I meant. Sloppier, too. And louder. “That’s why I said just one. And we’re going to leave.”

Zach’s face hardened even more. “You’re drunk again.”

I swallowed. The room wasn’t spinning anymore—it was tilting. “So what?” I muttered. “I’m allowed to drink.”

“Not with my brother,” he shot back. “Not with the way you drink.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut deeper because of that.

“You were drinking when you were a freshman,” I said, trying to defend myself. To defend Gavin.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t being dragged to a party with a bunch of juniors by an alcoholic eighteen-year-old.”

Alcoholic. The only word that landed. The music kept pounding, but it felt like it was playing for someone else, somewhere else.

“You think I’d let anything happen to him?” I said, stepping forward. “You think I’m stupid?”

Zach didn’t blink. “Right now? Yeah. You are. And you put him in a cast once.”

His punch landed.

My hands curled into fists. “Back off.”

“No,” Zach said. “You don’t get to tell me that. You don’t get to act as if you’re part of us but pull shit like this.”

Gavin flinched, his ears turning red.

Jake whispered, “Guys—”

“Shut up,” Zach and I said in unison.

My throat burned. “I said they could have one drink. I’m not letting them get wasted. I’m not—” My voice wavered. “I’m not my dad.”

“You sure about that?” Zach’s face flickered—only for a moment—like the anger had cracked. But then he straightened. “You should’ve told them to go home.”

I wanted to scream I tried!, that I wasn’t good at saying no to Gavin, that they looked up to me and I didn’t want to disappoint them the way everyone else had disappointed me. But the words stuck in my throat.

“We’re leaving,” Zach said. “Now.”

“Fine,” I said. “Good.”

“Good,” he fired back.