“You don’t have to let me off the hook that easily. I hurt you.”
“You hurt yourself more.” She squeezed his hand. “But now you’re not alone.”
Winnie swiped at her eyes, which made her mascara run. “This is all so scary,” she whispered soggily. “Everything’s so scary.”
And that was another thing. Piper hadn’t known they were scared. How had she not known?
“What’s scary is your face right now,” Gavin told Winnie. “You look like a raccoon.”
On the stove was the pot of mac and cheese she’d made, along with a plate of sliced-up hot dogs, ready to be stirred into the mac and cheese. Winnie picked up a little round and flung it at Gavin.
It bounced off his chin, and he stared at her in shock before scooping a spoonful of mac and cheese and flinging it at her.
It hit her square in the forehead.
The next one hit the wall because Winnie ducked. “This is why we can’t have nice things!” she screeched, and picked the piece of macaroni from her forehead and ate it. “Good stuff, though.”
“Are you kidding me?” Piper said. “Stop.”
They didn’t. And it was like trying to hold back the tide. They’d lost their minds.
“Seriously,” she yelled, refusing to look over at Cam, because she could only imagine what he must think. “Stop!”
Winnie, who’d caught a spoonful of flying mac and cheese with her cheek, pointed at Gavin. “You’re so dead.”
In the next beat, the skirmish was full-on war. Piper opened her mouth to yell again and got hit in the face and chest with mac and cheese.
Sweet Cheeks was cleaning up the floor, chirping in happiness as utter chaos reigned. Until a piercing whistle stopped them in their tracks, and they all turned in unison toward the source.
Cam. He shook his head in shock. “I’ve been in battles that were less harrowing. What the actual hell?”
He sounded so uncharacteristically surprised and shocked that under any other circumstances, Piper would’ve laughed. As it was, it was all she could do not to cry. But she hadn’t cried in years. If she lost it now, she’d never recover.
“Man, you don’t have any sisters,” Gavin said. “Be grateful. They’re . . .” He circled a finger at the side of his head, the universal sign for loco. Then he reloaded his spoon with another scoop of mac and cheese and turned to Piper with a raised brow.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” she said. “You were an addict and you couldn’t tell me?”
“Not past tense. Once an addict, always an addict.” He gave her a knowing look. “Just like once a control freak, always a control freak.”
Piper blinked. “Are you referring to me?”
He pointed to her ever-present journal lying on the counter. “Yes, Ms. Has-to-Make-a-List-for-Everything, I am.”
She resisted the urge to hug the journal to her chest. Instead—and she had no idea what came over her; maybe it was the heavy weight of sorrow and rage and guilt—before she could think or stop herself, she grabbed a hot-dog bun and pitched it at him.
He ducked, and it hit Winnie in the nose.
“Hey!” Winnie shrieked. “I’m not the druggie. That’s Gavin and Daddy!”
In the act of reaching for another bun, Piper froze. “What?” she whispered, sure she’d heard wrong.
Winnie turned to Gavin. “Tell her.”
“Okay, but remember,” he said to Piper, “I warned you not to let me off the hook that easily and you forgave me anyway.” Gavin grimaced, and a piece of macaroni fell off his chin. “So, fun fact . . . I was going through Gram’s office earlier while you were working.”
Piper stared at him. “You had no right to do that.”
“I’ve got as much right as you.”
Piper blinked, but only one eye reopened, because the other was crusted shut with cheese.
“I found a file of medical stuff,” Gavin said. “Doctor visits, prescriptions, stuff like that. Turns out, Dad was addicted to Oxy too.” He gave a wan smile. “Apple and tree and all that, I guess. Who knew, huh?”
Piper, whose legs had lost all their bones, sank into a chair and swiped at the glued-shut eye. “Dad was addicted to drugs?”
“Prescription meds,” he said, and when she stared at him, he shrugged. “He was getting help for it, though. I actually thought you probably already knew. Winnie was too young, and I guess I was too.”
“Oh my God,” Piper whispered.
“Okay, so you definitely didn’t know.” With a sigh, he sat next to her. “Sucks, right? But I gotta admit, it’s nice to see you showing your feelings instead of hiding them and pretending they’re not there at all in some misguided attempt to be strong for us.”
She shoved her hair away from her face—and gross, there was mac and cheese in it—and glared at him. “This is not about me and my feelings.” Upset, she got back to her feet. “This is about you, Gavin, and your drug addiction. The one you hid from me. How is that healthy? Isn’t that against recovery advice, having secrets?”
Gavin’s face closed up, and to her shock, he stood as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he kept his mouth shut and just walked out of the room.
Winnie, after an accusatory, tear-filled glance, followed.
Piper huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured to Cam, and then, needing a moment, stepped out the back door. Deciding maybe she needed several moments, she walked along the hill, going just far enough to stare at the turbulent, choppy lake.
Cam followed her. She heard his footsteps, and was grateful he hadn’t spoken. She turned and looked at him and had to let out a rough laugh.
He was holding the bottle of wine she’d bought at the store earlier.
“Good call,” she said, and took a long pull. She swiped her mouth on her arm and looked him over. “How the hell did you manage to not get a single drop of food on you?”
“I wasn’t in the line of fire.” He took her hand in his. Which meant that he now knew she had sweaty palms, and he could probably hear her pounding pulse as well. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She shook her head. “No.” She breathed for a minute. “I did warn you it was going to be a shit show. I mean, I know they’re my siblings, but sometimes it’s like we’re strangers.”
“Maybe if you guys talked some more, got everything out.”
“Gavin lost his job and went to rehab. And Winnie is completely unconcerned about missing school . . .”
“Talk to them,” he repeated softly.
“But I don’t even know where to start, at least not without sounding like a judgmental idiot.”
“Start with something easy,” he suggested. “Like . . . Gavin, Winnie . . . you’re my brother and sister, and your life choices are yours to make, and I’ll support you no matter what.”
She choked out a laugh and took another long sip of wine. The liquid courage had her whispering her fear out loud. “What if I can’t say that?”
“Well, then . . .” Cam gave her a very small smile. “Piper, you’re my neighbor, and your life choices are yours to make, and I’ll support you no matter what.”