Page 47 of Finding Him
I sigh, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve, and handing it back to him. Finn suddenly sits up, swaying slightly as he looks around. “Where are we?”
I glance over the edge of the truck. We’re on a narrow backroad somewhere outside of town, hemmed in by high stone walls and sprawling fields. It’s pitch black—no streetlights, just the pale yellow beams of Fitzy’s headlights illuminating the twisting tarmac ahead of us.
“Dunno,” I shrug, leaning my head back against the metal. The sky’s clear tonight, the stars scattered across the dark canvas like someone had tossed a handful of salt on the sky. I wonder if Molly was looking at them from the Keane’s window. I had told her I look at the stars when I brought her to the Strand. Jesus, why did I tell her that? I’d bet I sounded like a pathetic sap.
“Fitz!” JJ yells, turning around and pounding his fist against the back window. “Where the feck are we?”
The window cracks open a few inches. “Would you lot shut up back there? I’m trying to concentrate on not putting us in a ditch.”
“Where are we at?” JJ demands again.
“By Rafferty's farm,” Fitzy answers, sounding exhausted. “I’m taking you home. Now pipe down before I charge you for the petrol.”
JJ groans dramatically, flopping backward. “But I’m not ready to go home yet... We haven’t even gotten properly pissed.”
“Youareproperly pissed,” I point out, watching his eyes struggle to focus on me.
Finn laughs, rolling onto his side, but the laugh turns into a harsh cough. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“Don’t!” JJ and I shout in unison, shrinking away from him.
“If any of you spew in the bed of my truck, I’m throwing you out while we’re moving. I mean it.”
Finn groans again at Fitzy’s words, burying his face in his arms. “I think I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying, ya tick,” I tell him, nudging his leg with my boot. “You’re just drunk.”
“Same difference.”
JJ takes another swig before passing the bottle to me. “Your turn.”
I take it, tilting my head back. The cider’s warm, taking on the heat of our hands, but I can’t force myself to care. Finn sits bolt upright again, his face looking sickenly green under the moonlight. “I think I really am gonna be sick.”
“That’s how I feel every time I look at your stupid buzzcut,” JJ nods solemnly.
“Will you come off it about my hair, you absolute—” Finn cuts himself off with a wet, choking retch that luckily doesn’t produce anything.
“Not in the truck!” Fitzy bellows, slamming on the brakes. The truck jerked to a halt. Finn scrambles to the edge on his hands and knees, leaning over the side just in time to empty the contents of his stomach onto the grassy verge. The sound is violently unappealing.
“Disgusting,” JJ says, wrinkling his nose and looking away.
I sigh, handing the near-empty bottle back to JJ. “Right. That’s enough for him.”
Finn groans, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and spitting into the grass. “I hate cider.”
“No you don’t,” I say, pulling him back from the edge by his jacket so he wouldn't fall out. “You've just had too much of it.”
Finn collapses back onto the floor of the truck bed, staring blankly at the sky. “We can't all be raging alcoholics like you, Blue.”
I roll my eyes, leaning my head back against the metal. The stars are starting to blur at the edges. “I’m not an alcoholic,” I mutter.
JJ snort. “Right. That’s why you’ve been locked every weekend since we were fourteen.”
“Fuck off, JJ,” I say, kicking his leg lightly. But there is real heat in my voice, a sudden spike of anger that makes my chest tight.
JJ raises his hands in mock surrender, sensing the shift in my tone. “Alright, alright. Keep your hair on. I was only messing.”
Finn groans again, curling into a fetal position. “Can we please go home now?”
