Page 60 of The Way We Swing Back

“Can you teach me how to drive? I’m tired of having to ride my bike everywhere.”

A smile crept through Mr. Quinn’s beard. “I think we can make that happen.”

“Cool,” I said.

“We do need to talk to you about something else, Easton,” Mr. Quinn said, his voice lowering a touch.

I bit my bottom lip as I grabbed the cushion of my seat. “Okay.”

“What Zach told us about your drinking is an issue.” My heart skipped a beat then pounded in my chest. “We wanted to give you some time to settle in, and you’re going to drink as a teenager. But drinking by yourself is a problem, whether or not you realize it. You cannot drink alone in our house. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t want to do it anymore,” I said. I had already promised myself I’d try to stop; letting Mr. Quinn down was another reason to never drink again. My fingers pressed even farther into the gap between the cushions on the couch. “But I’ve got a question for you, then.”

“Give it to me.”

“So, like, no offense,” I started, unable to hold back my line of questioning even as sweat dripped on my forehead. “You drink beer by yourself all the time. Why is it a problem for me but not for you?”

Mr. Quinn leaned back in his recliner, running his hand through his mustache. “Good question.”

My mind zigzagged to the past, when I never would have been able to ask that question, when I would have been bent over a knee and not able to sit for a week.

But here? With Mr. Quinn? I could ask.

He leaned forward again, his face scrunched. “I’m not exactly sure I agree. I’m allowed to drink. But I sort of see your point.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

“So, from now on, if you see me drinking by myself, you can call me out, and I’ll stop.”

“Are you sure?” The couch cushions shifted under me as I waited for him to answer.

“Yeah, as long as you hold up to your end of the bargain. That’s a fair deal, don’t you think?”

“We could always just drink together?” I said, sucking in my lips and trying to keep a straight face.

“Let’s wait a couple of years on that one.”

I grinned, happy I could joke with Mr. Quinn. Happy I could have an actual conversation with him.

We talked for another half hour—back and forth, like two people trying to figure out how this whole family thing worked. He wasn’t like a dad to me—not really, at least—but he was showing me more respect than mine ever had. Ever would, really.

Chapter 27

The parents were gone, and the living room was creepy quiet. I sat in Mr. Quinn’s recliner, my legs splayed out, an orange Gatorade sitting on the floor next to me as I read an article on the Cardinals offseason moves.

Gavin walked into the room wearing a blue and yellow Akron RubberDucks shirt with bright pink shorts, shin-high orange socks, and, of course, his red Crocs. Good lord, this kid. I had been hoping he’d start matching now that he had a girlfriend. I’d hoped wrong.

“Wanna play The Show downstairs?” he asked, chewing on a granola bar.

“Let me finish this article,” I said, not looking back up at him.

“Nope, I’m bored,” he said, grabbing my phone and running toward the stairs, laughing as he went.

I sprinted after him, my bare feet hitting the shaggy carpet, trying to catch the gremlin I now lived with. I’d have been madder at him if I hadn’t pulled the same stunt yesterday when I’d needed him to throw me batting practice.

When I got to the basement, I realized we had company. Zach sat in front of the TV, his hand on the Xbox, setting up the game. Something about the setup prickled at the back of my neck before I could place it—like I'd walked into this exact situation before.

Gavin let me pass him, and I sat on the loveseat, leaving space between myself and Zach. My hands pressed into the seat, and my eyes darted to Gavin, who hadn’t left the bottom of the stairs.