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Colt was going to die.
He was going to be killed whether it be via death glare, a brick being thrown at him, or his older brother grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and tossing him off a cliff.
Colt was a dead man.
He woke up with a killer headache as is, but when he walked out from his room into the kitchen, all pain seemed to dull as fuzzy memories of the night before hit him like a freight train.
He invited a shit ton of people to the house for a party because Court was out of town for a few days on a business trip. He provided soda and snacks and only asked his attendees to bring the… strong liquid. And maybe some other substances for funsies.
Ryland had begged him not to throw the party because Courtland was supposed to come home within the next day or two. Colt just clapped his shoulders with his usual grin and told him: "lighten up, little bro! Get your head out of your ass for one night!"
"My head is out of my ass! You're the delusional one if you think you can throw a raging party and have Court NOT find out! I'm trying to save your ass from impending doom!"
"Ry, come on. We're teenagers! We're supposed to throw parties and drink when we're underage! It's a right of passage—"
"It's irresponsible—"
"It's an experience—"
"It's risky—"
"Oh my God, Ry, just this once. Okay? One party. Because I know if we graduate without doing this at least once, you'll regret it. Come on," Colt pleaded, grabbing the front of Ryland's t-shirt for extra dramatic effect. Ryland couldn't say no to him, he knew. "Please? Pretty please?"
Ryland had furrowed his brows, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at his desk. It was always like a hurricane came through. He had papers everywhere with a bunch of shit Colt didn't really understand, along with notes of future colleges to attend and just all this responsible shit that always gave Colt a headache. Colt needed this, and he knew Ryland needed it too, in his own way.
He'd had his head shoved in between textbooks for months. Colt had watched him study for countless nights until ungodly hours, sometimes until the sun came up and they had to go to school. Ryland would walk around like a zombie, two seconds away from falling asleep standing up. He was lucky he had most of his classes with Colt because if he didn't, he surely would've fallen asleep for real.
"Okay, fine. One party," Ryland said firmly.
"That's my boy."
And so at school, Colt spread a little invitation to a few of his friends, who passed the invitation to their friends. Ryland looked nervous the entire day, but Colt could tell deep down he was excited. Anxious but reeling at the sudden adrenaline rush knowing they were going against what Courtland would want.
After school, the twins rode the bus home and talked excitedly about the party. He knew Ry would come around to the idea. His eyes were sparkling.
"Okay, um, we have a lot of chips and stuff but we don't have much dip," Ryland said absentmindedly, taking inventory. "I kind of ate a lot of it last night."
"We have the stuff to make dip, though, right?"
"Probably but I dunno if it'll be ready in time. You told everyone five pm, right?"
"Yeah."
Ryland started muttering numbers. Calculating. Colt just watched with endearment. Who knew Ryland would be so focused on making the party such a good one? But then again, when a Gentry sets his mind to something, he'll get it done.
"That leaves me around 2 hours to make dip. I dunno… that's kind of pushing it—"
"Hey, you're forgetting this is a party of teens bro. People are gonna be late. Plus, I don't think people are gonna be too worried about dip with all the other stuff that'll be passed around."
"Snacks are very important when consuming alcohol."
Colt rolled his eyes, knocking their shoulders together. "It'll be fine. Stop worrying so much. You're helping me set up, though."
When they arrived home, they got to work immediately. Colt was tasked (by Ryland) to scavenge for red solo cups, which they thankfully had plenty of. He was also in charge of making sure anything that could be broken was out of sight and that Courtland's room was locked. No drunk teens stumbling about on Ryland's watch.
Ryland made some dip, cursing under his breath as he did so, talking about time and how it was out to get him. He also hoarded cleaning supplies in his room for some reason. He claimed he didn't want anyone mistaking the very colorful labels as some fun juice.
By the time five rolled around, Ryland was sweating and trying to find a good and "proper" way to display their assortment of chips and fruit (people have to stay healthy, Ryland says). Colt sat on the couch, leg bouncing anxiously. Ten minutes passed without a knock or ring of the doorbell. He was starting to think he accidentally told them the wrong day when finally, the doorbell rang.
He rushed to grab it.
"Oh my gosh, okay—"
"Dude, chill out. Relax," Colt hissed.
"I am relaxed—" Ryland protested.
"No you're not! Stop freaking out!"
He opened the door to a group of five. He recognized some of them from his algebra class.
"Heeeeey! What's up guys?" Colt said happily. He could practically feel Ryland cringing behind him.
"Colt! My man! Got the goods just like you asked," one of thr guys smiled, flashing a bottle of Jack Daniel's like it were a pack of drugs.
"Come on in, guys. We've got food and soda in the kitchen."
Ryland nervously stood in the kitchen, offering the group a shy wave. "Chips," he said uselessly with a chuckle, gesturing at the chips.
One of the girls smiled coy at Ryland, who was too busy grabbing sodas from the fridge and handing them out. Colt snickered. How Ryland never noticed, he didn't know. He watched with amusement as the girl introduced herself and Ryland nervously launched into an explanation about water-based life forms. Her expression went from "Oh this guy's cute" to "what the fuck."
From there, the party increased in number every ten minutes or so. The living room was jam packed with people, some having already pregamed and stumbled around with slightly slurred speech. Poor Ryland got overwhelmed with just twenty people, but now that there were probably forty, he had retreated to the backyard for some calm.
Colt was having a blast, though he worried for Ryland. He drank liquid courage, stared at Callie from fourth period that definitely liked him back, and ate and cheered and conversed with a few football players that turned up. He didn't even know what they were talking about. Something about varsity or quarterbacks. Stinky football gear.
The house was hazy with smoke. Someone had brought goodies greater than Colt anticipated. He opened a few of the windows in the living room to air it out knowing damn well Ryland would have a fit if the smell stuck around for too long. He'd probably claim something like "I'm gonna get high from the residual smoke!"
Did that even work?
Colt kept drinking, or maybe someone kept filling up his cup. Maybe it was himself. He didn’t know, he didn't care. He felt great. His brain was foggy, he couldn't think about the impending, unknown future if he tried, and Courtland wouldn't be home for a few days. He hadn't felt this loose in a long time and he loved it.
At some point, he saw Ryland come back inside and slip into the kitchen. He went back outside with a plate in his hand. Good. He needed to eat more. He got really neglectful of his health when he went to study for literal days at a time.
"Ayo, Gentry! Put on somethin'!" someone shouted.
Cheers erupted in the house as Colt reached for the TV remote. He put on some stupid summer party playlist and turned the volume all the way up. The party turned up. People got off their asses and moved. He adverted his gaze when a few couples started… doing couple things. Colt could ignore the drinks spilling and chip crumbs falling onto the floor, though deep down he was dreading the cleanup that faced him tomorrow morning.
He finally had the courage thanks to Jack Daniel to approach Callie. It definitely wasn't as smooth of an approach as he planned for it to be, as he knocked his hip on the couch and nearly stumbled right into her, but it got a laugh out of her.
"Easy there or you'll get a face full of couch," she smiled.
Colt shrugged. His mouth opened but his mind blanked. "Ehemm," he hummed. God, he was going to go out back and jump off a cliff.
Callie stared at him with amusement. "Don't tell me you're a lightweight. You've only had, like, four drinks."
"Mhm, well, both of my brothers are… stupidly… irresponsible—nope, wrong one. Responsible."
"Good thing they are or else you'd probably be dead."
Colt shrugged. "Win some you lose some, you know?"
Callie laughed, shaking her head. "What are you even talking about?"
Uhhh. Colt didn't know, actually.
"You ever hear about the weather?" Colt said with wide eyes. "'Cause it's so weird, you know, like—"
The party goers cheered again. Colt whirled around at the noise, seeing that someone had put a karaoke version of Counting Stars on the TV. Some random dudes went to stand in front of the TV to sing completely out of time.
Callie patted his arm. "You should grab another drink!"
Colt nodded vehemently. "Y-yeah, yeah. I drink, totally."
She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Colt to stare after her with smitten eyes. He sighed dreamily as he glanced around. He frowned, not seeing the familiar dirty blonde hair of his twin.
Colt stumbled to the backdoor, peeking through the glass. Ryland sat on the grass with a plate in his lap, eyes pointed at the sky. He was eating… was that a brownie? When did he make those? If he made them.
Colt went into the kitchen and mixed up a drink for him. Half sprite and gummy bears and half straight vodka. That would wake him up. Ryland never drank before. Sure, he had a sip of beer when he was sixteen because Colt had one. Courtland had offered, and when Ryland made a disgusted face, Courtland just said: "never gets better. Don't expect it to."
He made himself an identical drink and stepped outside. The roar of the party dulled to a hum as Colt shut the door. He walked slowly, trying not to spill the drinks. He was barefoot. Oh. No wonder his toes were suddenly cold.
Ryland glanced at him with a smirk. "You good, man?"
"'M perfectly fine. It's you that I'm worried about," Colt slurred as he plopped beside his brother on the grass. He handed him the drink. "Come on, grow some chest hair."
"Colt."
"Huh?"
"What the hell is this?"
"'S a drink. Courtesy of—" a hiccup "—the best older brother ever."
"You're only older by, like, a minute."
"Because they couldn't get your fat skull out of—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
Ryland laughed, his smile wide and carefree. He'd been so uptight lately, so worried about his future. Rightfully so. They were nearing their senior year. Colt wasn't as academically inclined as Ryland, not in the STEM field. He liked math, and he acted every math class he ever had, but he never saw a career with it. He wasn't as goal-oriented as his brother. He just kinda… wanted to go wherever the wind took him.
Ryland took a tentative sip of the drink, face immediately souring. He spluttered, coughing up a lung as Colt laughed.
"What did you do to this drink, dude?"
"It's vodka and sprite."
"Is it supposed to taste like that?"
"I put in gummy bears for you." Colt sipped his own drink. Oof. Yeah, maybe he went a little to heavy on the vodka. "Sweet tooth."
"Doesn't matter if there's enough vodka in here to put me into a coma!"
Colt rolled his eyes. "Just drink it, you big baby."
Ryland glared at him but continued to sip on the drink. Colt glanced down at his plate. Some chips, a side of dip, and a half-eaten brownie. Colt curiously picked up the brownie, knowing that there were some people inside who definitely brought straight up weed, and sniffed it.
Oh. Shit.
Colt glanced slowly at his unbothered brother. "Um, Ry?"
"What?"
"How many brownies have you had?"
Ryland looked at the sky. "Ummmm… I think three? Maybe that's my fourth? I dunno."
Colt gently placed the brownie down, thinking himself into a spell. Oh God. If Court finds out… Colt was deader than dead. He was uber dead.
Ryland didn't seem to be feeling the effects just yet, though. Colt didn't count on him being calm for long. Part of him was really worried and the other part was cackling, trying to imagine his brother tripping.
"Court's gonna kill us," Ryland said.
"Not if he doesn't find out," Colt pointed out. "Trust me. We'll be fine. Live a little, bro."
Ryland sent him a small smile.
It was not fine.
Colt went back inside shortly after, coming to find a few people passed out in all sorts of odd areas. Like the windowsill next to the front door, or under the dining table. Whatever. He watched people pour their hearts into shitty karaoke, even joining in himself for a song.
A half hour passed, and Ryland finally came back inside. Colt could immediately tell he was feeling it, now, whether it be Colt's poisonous concoction or the brownies. His eyes were glazed and he moved like he was a newborn deer, constantly knocking into people and sending mumbled apologies their way. Colt watched him enter the living room in the middle of his karaoke song. Ryland saw him and gaped, coming to stand by his side.
"So take a look at me noooow—" Colt sang, tongue heavy as Ryland tossed his arm around his shoulder. The dazed crowd paid more attention with the appearance of the shy twin. "Come on, Ry, sing it!"
Ryland looked like he was on Mars. He was two blinks shy of crying and one step from falling over. Colt wrapped a supporting arm around his back, helping him stay upright with amusement.
Ryland closed his eyes and raised an arm. "Well, there's just an empty space!"
His voice was raspy, crackling with nerves, but he sang loud. The party cheered him on as he swayed with Colt. Looking around, the drunk teens didn't seem to care much, but a few were looking at Ryland as if they didn't know he could talk. Fair enough. Ryland didn't really talk to people he didn't know unless prompted to.
"And there's nothin' left here to remind me," the twins sang together. Well, "sing" was too proper of a word. They shouted the lyrics at the complete wrong moments and dragged behind the instrumentals, but to a crowd of drunk and high teens, no one cared.
Once the song was over, Colt helped Ryland into the kitchen. He was giggling at nothing, raising his arms to swipe at invisible… somethings. A trio of girls giggled at him, and he waved with a dumbass grin. The girls retreated into the living room, leaving them alone. Colt deposited him against the counter.
"You feelin' okay, Ry?" Colt asked. He hadn't been sipping on his drink—he lost it somewhere before karaoke—so he was beginning to feel a bit more clarity than anyone else in the house. He didn't think he could stomach another drink, anyway. His stomach ached like someone grabbed it and twisted it. Must've been his 92% vodka solution he made for himself and Ry. That, and he was worried about his brother.
"Mmm, corn on the ceiling," Ryland laughed, trying to touch the ceiling fan.
"Okay, yup. You're done."
"Unicorn, Colt."
"What?"
Ryland tapped his back. "Seven single-called organisms… what'd you call that?"
Even though Colt was feeling a bit sober, the sluggish part of his brain was actively having an aneurism trying to understand his brother. Ryland just giggled and kept looking around as if it was his first night on Earth.
"Court…?" Ryland asked through bleary eyes. His glasses were right on the tip of his nose. Colt pushed them up for him.
"Not here, pal."
"When's he…?"
"Tomorrow, maybe."
Ryland laughed again, leaning his head on Colt's shoulder. He kept laughing, his shoulders jostling as he moved from side to side. Chuckles bubbled in Colt's chest. This was even better than he imagined. Ryland usually spoke nonsense but in an academic way—big words and shit about science. Now, he just wasn't making sense at all.
Though, he seemed sad that Court wasn't there. He clung to Colt's arm, fingers digging painfully into his bicep but he didn't care.
"Frogs have mucus on their bodies," Ryland said, unhelpful.
Colt snickered, trying not to laugh. "I know. We watched The Princess and The Frog, like, a million times as kids."
"Love… muh brothers…"
Colt fixed a glass of water for his brother. He finally let a laugh escape him when Ryland whined, his hands reaching for Colt again.
"C'mere!" Ryland whispered excitedly. "Got s'mn to tell you."
Colt nursed the glass in his hands, wondering how he was gonna get Ry to drink it when Ryland's hands clasped his arm again. "What is it?"
Ryland jolted, like he meant to hiccup but his body didn't produce a sound. He chortled.
"I think I'm high," he smiled dumbly.
"Oh?" Colt raised a brow, playing dumb. "What makes you say that?"
"Those… those brownies were weird. 'N now I'm seein' gummy bears." Ryland's hand reached up to slowly poke Colt's forehead. "Since when you have gummy bears?"
"You want some water?"
Ryland shook his head. "Water… no need for life."
He was seriously bringing up his big, original research question when he was high? What a nerd. Colt ruffled his hair.
"Yeah, well, you're gonna wanna kill yourself tomorrow if you don't drink some."
"Nice try, grim reaper. 'M not suicidal."
"Just drink the damn water."
A guy stumbled into the kitchen. Max, if Colt remembered right. He seemed sober, too.
"Hey, I'm gonna start calling people's rides," he said.
"Sounds good."
"Thanks for the party, man. It was great." Max glanced at Ryland. He didn't understand what kind of charm Ryland had, but nearly everyone who looked at him had a sort of fondness or attraction in their gazes within seconds of meeting him. "Is he…?"
"Microscope!" Ryland blurted loudly, making Colt jump. His brother was sliding off the counter, reaching for the ceiling fan.
"High as a kite," Colt grumbled.
"I'll just take these, then," Max said as he grabbed the half-eaten tray of brownies. "For a rainy day."
"Get home safe, man."
"Thanks. Good luck with that."
Colt grabbed the back of Ryland's shirt and pulled him back to sit on the counter. He grabbed the glass of water. "Don't make me force feed you this."
"Don' want water," Ryland said like a stubborn four year old. "Don' need it."
Colt finally sighed and gave up, setting the water on the counter that was covered in red solo cups with various liquids in them. "Fine. Your funeral tomorrow."
"I'm dead?"
"You will be if you don't drink."
Ryland slid off the counter again, his feet seemingly controlling his body. He stumbled to the back door, then changed his mind and went into the living room. Colt followed from a safe distance, still finding Ryland's state kind of funny. He was never going to let Ryland live this down. He watched Ryland clumsily step over a dude passed out on the floor. He seemed to be looking for something. Colt watched as he took the lamp from the coffee table and started to walk away, the plug ripping from the wall and trailing after him. Colt looked around before following his brother, happy to see that the majority of the partygoers were gone.
Ryland then walked down the hall to his bedroom door. He tried walking into the door as if he could phase through it. Then he tried the knob, but his fingers couldn't clasp around it. Colt rolled his eyes and opened the door for him, which caused Ryland to stumble face first into his bed. The lamp fell to his feet before the bed.
"No…" Ryland said, face stuffed in his bedsheets and his hand reaching blindly for the lamp.
Colt picked up the lamp and set it on the empty side of the bed. "Come on, up you go."
He had to practically drag his brother onto the bed to lie down properly. Colt snickered at his brother, who grabbed the lamp and clutched it to his chest like a teddy bear. He grabbed the quilt Ryland kept at the foot of his bed and covered him with it. He made sure the alarm on his clock wasn't set and took a deep breath. He was worried about Ryland and how he'd feel when he woke up. He'd had a drink before but never touched any sort of drugs. Yet. What a first encounnter, huh?
Colt made sure the curtains were closed before starting towards the door, itching to get out of his sweat-dry clothes and brush his alcohol-stained teeth. He could still taste remnants of the vodka concoction and he wanted it out of his mouth.
"Colt," Ryland called softly.
"Yeah, bud?" he said as he turned.
Ryland was quiet for a moment. He hugged the lamp tighter. To Colt's amusement, he saw tears leak from Ryland's eyes.
"Why'd Ray have to die?" he cried softly. "He… he was supposed to see Naveen and Tiana get married."
Colt pursed his lips and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying desperately not to laugh. He succeeded, though the sound of Ryland's sniffles nearly sent him over the edge. He coughed to clear his throat.
"'Cause he had to go see Evangeline," he replied.
"But she's a star."
"She is a star."
"He was a firefly."
"Fireflies can't be stars?"
He didn't get a response. Ryland's eyes were closed, his mouth slightly parted as puffs of air escaped his mouth. Colt walked back over to the bed, reaching down to use the quilt to wipe Ryland's tearstained cheeks. Once it seemed Ryland wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, Colt left to go to bed.
Which led to the morning, where he was freaking out because there was so much shit everywhere. The chip and fruit platters Ryland made were ransacked, with some of the food in heaps on the floor. So many red cups everywhere, still with liquid in them. There were napkins everywhere, empty cups, leftover Mary Jane, some half-drunk liquor bottles. Colt was freaking the fuck out.
Ryland was down for the count. Colt had woken up surprisingly early thanks to his sobering up last night. Brushing his teeth to rid himself of the alcohol taste helped, too. He reached for the medicine cabinet and slammed three Ibuprophen with the glass of water Ryland refused to drink. Then, he got to work.
Colt grabbed a dozen trash bags from the laundry room and started cleaning up. He started in the kitchen since it seemed to be the worst so far. He dumped out all the liquid in the sink and tossed the cups. He tossed the chips as well, since they had to be stale. He picked up any and all trash he saw that couldn't be swept up in the vaccum, which took up two trash bags already.
How the fuck was he supposed to hide this from Court? Trash day wasn't until Monday, which was two days away!
Colt decided to throw the bags in the trash can anyway, setting the bags by the front door to take out later. As he started cleaning in the living room, he tried to think of a sound excuse for all the garbage. They… held a book club? Ryland held study group for a bunch of people? No, he wouldn't do that. Court would never believe it, anyway.
Once all the trash was piled by the door (four bags worth), he brought out the vaccum cleaner and started going over the floors. He worked quickly, the hairs on his neck standing up. He had no clue when Courtland was getting home and he needed it to be spotless if he were to persuade his brother that nothing happened.
Colt entered the living room when he realized it still smelled like weed. And alcohol, too, for that matter. Colt made sure the windows were open and the ceiling fan was on full blast for some circulation. He swept the entire house and dumped the contents he collected in the trash can. Shit, that was a lot. He needed to vaccum more.
Then, he brought out the bleach and sanitizing wipes. He hastily wiped down the counters, the table, even the damn fridge. He wasn't leaving any evidence behind. He bleached the sink so the smell would go away. He made up a mop bucket with Fabuloso, knowing the smell would probably overpower whatever residue was left behind in the living room.
He mopped the kitchen and started in the living room when he heard a car drive by. Slowing. A familiar sound, one that only happened when—
Oh shit.
Courtland was home already?!
"Shit shit shit!" Colt cursed as he feverishly mopped. He abandoned it as he heard a car door slam. He instead ran to collect the trash bags from the entryway and quickly toss them towards the little alley between the backyard and the front. He peered around the house to, thankfully, see Court opening the trunk of his car to bring in groceries.
Colt ran back inside and continued mopping at ungodly speeds to the point where it just felt like he was flinging soapy water around instead of cleaning. But he could see the magic had worked. He could smell it, too. Maybe he was noseblind, but he couldn't smell any evidence of substances of alcohol. Hell, he even mopped the hall to their bedrooms and bathrooms because God forbit he miss a spot and Courtland catch onto it.
Just as Colt grabbed the mop bucket and retreated into the kitchen, the front door pushed open. Colt quickly dumped the water into the sink, running to put the mop and bucket back into the laundry room. He stood outside the kitchen, wiping his brow, watching Courtland place an armful of groceries on the dinner table. Courtland turned to walk back outside before jumping.
"Jesus, Colt," he huffed. "You're up early."
"Figured I'd get a headstart on today," Colt smiled.
Courtland's eyes narrowed before glancing around. He went back outside without a word. Colt exhaled in relief. So far so good. He tossed on Ryland's cocs and went outside to help Courtland bring in a second round of groceries, making sure to close the trunk of the car after he grabbed the last bag. Colt went inside and shut the front door behind him, depositing the last bag on the countertop. Courtland had already started unloading them, and Colt followed suit.
The silence was almost tangible. Knowing. Anticipating. Colt bit his tongue. Courtland could be silent all he wanted. He couldn't have known that anything happened while he was gone. Colt got rid of all the evidence.
Once the milk was put away, Courtland turned, leaning against the fridge with crossed arms.
"So, what'd you guys do while I was gone?" he asked casually.
"Oh, you know. Just the usual. Eat too much, watch shitty TV," Colt said with a shrug. He grabbed the empty plastic bags to put in their little plastic bag dispenser. Courtland liked to use them as little trash bags for the bathrooms.
"It's quiet."
"Ry's still asleep."
"You would usually be watching TV by now."
Colt frowned, his heart racing in his chest. "Does everything have to be an interrogation?"
"I'm just saying. You're being weird."
"Weird how?"
Courtland studied him like Ryland did to those organisms under the microscope he insisted didn't nened water to live. "You… you look nervous. Like you did something wrong."
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Why's it smell like bleach and other cleaning products I can't name off the top of my head?"
"Is it so wrong for me to want you to come back to a clean house? You work hard, man. You deserve a break," Colt said earnestly. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Court didn't need to know that. But yeah, Court did work really hard so that the twins could come home to a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs. That was something Colt didn't play about. He did a lot of chores before Court got home just because he couldn't look at his brother with bags under his eyes as he did the dishes. It wasn't right.
Courtland's gaze softened at that. He glanced around, impressed. "You did an amazing job. Though you might've gone a bit overkill with the bleach."
"That's why the windows are open."
Genius save, Gentry, he thought smugly. And thank God Court seemed to buy it.
Court pushed himself off the fridge to close the distance, bringing Colt in for a warm hug. He and Colt were nearly the same height, now, with Colt being just an inch or so shorter. Colt returned the embrace, squeezing Courtland's middle before pulling away, sharing a soft smile with his brother.
"You hungry?" Colt asked. "Did you drive all night?"
"Had to if I wanted to make it home in time for a day off before going back to hell," Courtland said with a sigh.
"Go sit down. Eggs okay?"
"Scrambled, please, chef."
Colt sent him a glare but turned on the burner and placed a pan atop it. He started prepping for breakfast for the three of them as Courtland sat down at the dinner table.
"You said they had you in Seattle?" he asked to get his mind off of the events of last night. The less he thought about it, the less likely he was to spill about it or make a suspicious face that Court would pester him about.
"Yeah."
"For what?"
"Some stupid conference. I swear, dude, that seriously could've been a long email. There was no need for me to be away from home for a week just because these corporate bros like to see people. Put faces to names or whatever," Courtland said with an eyeroll. "Corporate bullshit, is what it is."
"Can't they hold online meetings, now?"
"Yeah, they just choose not to because they're a bunch of old fucks who refuse to learn how to use a damn computer."
"Dumbasses," Colt agreed as he buttered the pan.
"Exactly. Like retire already."
The egg batter sizzled a bit. He turned the heat down.
"It's not like they're bad at their job. They've been doing it forever," Court said with his hand resting on his forehead. Colt made him a glass of orange juice and set it on the table. "Thanks. It's just that they have this… like, ego complex. Like they want you to learn the job, teach you how to do it, and then get mad when you perform better. It's not my fault you don't wanna get with the times, old man."
"Have you ever thought about switching careers?" Colt grinned.
"Hell yeah, I have. But the money's too good for me to quit."
"You have really good skills, though. Surely someone out there needs a guy who can do literally anything."
"Like a handyman?"
"Kinda. Mechanic, maybe?"
Courtland hook his head. "Nah."
"What about tech? Like IT?"
"I dunno. It's too early to think about other potential careers."
Colt opened the fridge to grab leftover bacon he'd made yesterday morning and put it in the microwave for fifteen seconds. He used the spatula to push the eggs around, making sure they cooked properly from all angles. Courtland hated his eggs runny. Once, Colt accidentally "burnt" his eggs a little bit but Courtland ate them without complaint.
Colt plated Court's portion of eggs before sprinkling some shredded cheddar on top. He grabbed the bacon from the microwave and put two slices on his plate before delivering it to his brother.
"Your breakfast, bitch."
"Thanks, asshat."
A thump sounded from the hall. Colt's heart leapt to his throat. Ryland stumbled into the doorway, the lamp still clutched in one hand as the other wiped his red-rimmed eyes.
Colt's blood ran cold. Fuck fuck fuck. He still looked high as fuck. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair rumpled from sleep, not to mention the goddamn lamp that all three of them knew belonged in the living room. Ryland stretched a bit, still holding the lamp. Colt pointedly kept his eyes on the sizzling eggs.
"Morning, Ry—why are your eyes so red?" Courtland asked, abandoning his eggs to stand and inspect his little brother. His hands brushed the crazed strands of hair away. "Have you been crying? It looks like you've been crying."
Ryland blinked at Court, a smile slowly overtaking his face. He flung his arms out to the side before enveloping Court into a hug. Courtland returned the hug in confusion.
"Court!" Ryland said happily, squeezing the eldest brother tight.
"Not that I'm not happy to see you, Ry, but are you okay? Did you stay up all night again? You've gotta stop doing that."
Ryland laughed the same way he did when he refused to drink water. Or when he sat slumped against the counter. Yup, he was still high. How? Colt thought that shit wore off if you slept long enough. Though, when he looked at the clock on the oven, Ry had only slept a good six hours or so. He did eat quite a couple of brownies. Maybe the effects wouldn't wear off for a few more hours?
Shit.
Colt could feel Courtland's glare from a mile away. He kept his head down, eyes on the eggs. Don't burn Ry's eggs.
"You're a beaver…" Ryland said breathlessly as he pulled away from the hug. His wide eyes stared at Court, one of his fingerscoming up to boop Court's nose. "Teeth."
Colt bit back a smile.
The warmth sucked out of the room as Courtland's hardened gaze pierced Colt's back. Ryland just continued to poke at Court's face, mumbling something about branches and other buck-toothed animals.
"Colton Gentry, what happened?"
Uh oh.
The no-bullshit tone. The one that told Colt if the truth didn't come out now, then he would be exiled into next Tuesday. Colt quickly turned the stovetop off and plated the eggs before he could burn them. Only then did he turn to look at his brothers. Ryland had moved on to Court's hair. And Court's glare intensified.
"Nothing happened, I dunno why you would think—"
"This is Ray," Ryland interjected as he lifted the lamp. Then, his eyes filled with tears. "He died…"
Courtland gaped like a fish. "What the fuck is going on?"
"He couldn't go to the wedding!" the youngest exclaimed ruefully as he hugged the lamp. Colt couldn't hold back a chortle when legitimate tears started to fall from Ryland's eyes.
"Colt, if you don't start talking right now, I'm gonna lose it. Why's he acting like this?"
Colt bit his lip. Courtland's glare was too much. He was gonna die either way. Ryland was the last piece of evidence he hadn't accounted for.
That, and Courtland was a bit too perceptive. He leaned into Ryland's personal space and sniffed. Courtland's eyes bulged.
"What the fuck—why does his breath smell like weed? Colt!" he yelled, which only seemed to distress Ryland further, which only made it more difficult for Colt to contain his laughter.
"Okay, so there… might've been a party—" Colt raised his hands to stop his brother from stalking forward "—but I didn't, like, give Ry anything! He ate brownies without knowing what was in them!"
"Are you fucking kidding me right now? You threw a party?!"
"The wedding!" Ryland sobbed, the grief really getting to him as he slid down the wall to sit with his knees against his chest.
"What the fuck is he talking about?" Court exclaimed incredulously. "Nevermind. How long has he been like this?"
"Since two in the morning."
"How many did he eat?"
"I think three."
Courtland took deep, measured breaths, running his hands along his face. "Oh my fucking God… I can't believe you threw a party!"
Colt stayed silent, having the decency to feel a little bit guilty. But he couldn't deny that the party was pretty awesome. And it got Ryland out of his shell a little bit. He sung karaoke when he never would've without peer pressure or help via substances.
"We'll talk about this later, and believe me when I say you two are not getting out of that discussion," Courtland said firmly. He crouched beside Ryland, poking him gently. "Hey, you wanna eat some eggs? You've gotta get something in your stomach."
The sobs had stopped, leaving Ryland to stare off into space with unreadable eyes. Colt couldn't tell if he was thinking existentially about his existence again or his science stuff. Courtland poked him again. Ryland's eyes slowly, almost creepily, found his.
"You think the Dr. Pepper knows?" Ryland whispered seriously.
Colt snuffed out his laughs when Courtland glared at him.
"Come on, Ry, up you go."
"Rivers flow South."
"Yup, they do."
Even though Courtland was less than impressed, Colt could see it in his brother's eyes. That tiny, tiny part of him that wasn't surprised that the twins had a fun Friday night with some drinks and other substances involved. If anything, he looked like he expected it. He definitely was angry about Ryland getting into weed without knowing, and if this were alcohol he knew it would be a bit of a different story since Ryland would be sobered up by now.
Colt couldn't stop laughing at Ryland's odd sentences. Eventually, he said somethind dumb enough to draw a chuckle from Court.
Sitting on the couch for the rest of the afternoon watching crappy TV and eating a tub of ice cream wasn't how Colt planned on spending his day, but it was infinitely better than the party, in his opinion. Especially when Court kept rolling his eyes at Ryland's odd comments.
But yeah, lesson learned. Don't let Ryland near the brownies.