Freeing Carter

"It's mine," I blurt out. "I forgot it was there. I hid it when my mom came in."

Kira's hand drops to the side so she's holding it next to her. I fight the urge not to rip it out of her hand, break it and smash it over and over, like that will somehow change things. When she drinks Vodka, I used to dump out half the bottles and add water, hoping it would lessen the affect. Nothing ever worked. She always had more. Breaking this one won't do a damn thing either.

"It's yours?" She eyes me, not flinching the way I want to.

"It's mine." I hear her chanting Liar liar pants on fire in my head.

She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, then closes it again. Shaking her head, she walks up to me, shoving the bottle into my chest so I'm forced to grab onto it.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Coach." Without another word, she walks out.

Chapter Eleven

It's crazy how easy it is to avoid someone you live with. I guess it helps when they're probably avoiding you, too. She knows that I know. Not about the bottle at work, but from our phone call. About the way she spent her day. I'm pretty sure she knows something about Grandpa, too. She had to have seen the missed calls, which means she would have called them back. They would have told her I went down there.

But still, nothing. No knock on my bedroom door. No promises that it won't happen again or vows that I don't have to work in the store. No Chinese food for di

I can't stop seeing that stupid bottle. In my head, I'm repeating the words about it being mine over and over again, when, really, I want everyone to know it's hers and that she's letting it take her over in a way she never did before. I want everyone to know I'm trapped in the middle, the worm in the bottom of a Tequila bottle, wrong on all sides of me. I just want to do the right thing, but it's always out of reach.

Without my usual bowl of cereal, I wait for her in the morning. It was a last minute decision. The coward inside me wanted to pretend it didn't happen, but then I saw one of Sara's stupid Barney dolls and remembered I'm her brother and it's my job to look out for her.

Man up, I keep telling myself, and now it's time to do it.

"Oh. Carter, you startled me," she says as she walks into the kitchen. I don't reply. She starts making her coffee and I just stand there, arms crossed, picturing the bottle and her voice and how she looked laying in her bed.

I want to grab her and shake her and tell her I'm tired of it. That I don't want to do it anymore, but I can't.

Holding her cup, she leans against the counter and stares at me. She knows I'm upset and I almost revel in it. Mom bites her lip. Takes a drink. Shifts the way she leans from one side to another before she finally talks. "About yesterday...I just want you to know I had a bad day. I'm sorry,. I won't—"

"Do what you want, but not when Sara is here." A bad day? A bad fucking day? How many bad days have I had lately? No, how many has she given me and I still deal with it. I don't turn to a bottle. I can't listen to it. Can't hear any promises because even though I know better than to believe them, I want them to be true. "Sara comes home today. She doesn't deserve it."

Mom nods. Water pools in her eyes and her hand starts to shake. Before she can make me feel guilty, I walk away. As soon as I open the front door, Sara bursts in.

"Carter! Carter!" But she doesn't take the time to stop to talk to me. She's too busy. Too much to do, so she keep ru

With the door closed behind me, I cut off Bill before he can start. I know what's coming next anyway, considering it's been a few weeks since the last time he shoved me further in the middle of Mom's drama. "Everything's fine. There's nothing to worry about. I'd never let anything happen to Sara."

"Carter," Bill calls , but I keep walking.

"I have to go, Bill. I said nothing's wrong. I'm just having a bad day." But I'm sober, regardless.

In my truck, I can't help but laugh at my lies. Nothing is fine. There is something to worry about. But the one truth I always know is nothing will happen to Sara. I will always make sure of that. Somehow I'll make everything is fine. I won't let there be anything to worry about.

***

Monday, I'm able to avoid Kira pretty well. I look around for Travis, but he's not here. I text him and he replies that he's skipping, which totally isn't cool. I'd rather be anywhere but here. Still, he's taking a big risk, one I'm kind of surprised about because if you get caught skipping, you can't play in the next game.

Unfortunately, I can't avoid Mrs. Z who wants to know how I'm doing on the-assignment-that-shall-not-be-named to which I pretend I'm working hard on it. The rest of the week it's not as easy. Kira keeps talking to me in class, which is cool and I want to talk to her, but I keep seeing her dark hand wrapped around that damn bottle. I can't stop wondering if she thinks I'm a drunk. Why else would someone stuff a bottle in a hiding place like that?

Mom's easier to avoid, because she's doing the same. I catch her looking at me, which makes me feel like shit, so I try not to look at her at all. But it's all I think about. Her, Sara, Bill, even Mel because I keep getting death stares from her all week at school. All of it takes up the space in my head, pushing basketball and school work out of the way.

I have to pay attention to Mom to make sure she will be okay, for Sara's sake.

Friday rolls around and I'm not sure how it got here so fast, but it's a game day, so I'm pumped. Practice is great, but there's nothing like a game to make everything else go away. Somehow we managed to score two Friday home games in a row.

"You have plans after the game?" Travis asks as we're tying our shoes in the locker room. "It's like, I don't even see you anymore." He fakes a cry. "Like, we're not boys anymore or something.  I miss you, man!" Travis moves in like he's going to hug me. Laughing, I push him back.

"You're such an idiot."

"Is it someone else? Tell me you haven't found someone else!" He's laughing so hard he hardly gets the words out. It feels good to laugh. I haven't really felt like it all week. When we settle down enough to talk, he speaks again. "Seriously though...we're both single now. Let's go out. Have fun. Be wild. Meet girls. Kiss girls. You know, like back in the day."

And I need it, but the thing is, I'm not really in the mood. Which makes me all sorts of lame because what guy in his right mind doesn't want to go out on a Friday night? "Let me talk to Mom after the game. Make sure..." everything is okay. "She doesn't mind."

"Sounds good. Let's go kick some ass."

***

It's halftime and the wrong team is kicking ass. It's killing me because we don't lose. Not like this, and by the way everyone on the team is looking at me, I know they think it's my fault. I'm playing like crap. Can't get my head in the game. Mom always comes to my home games and she's not here. My eyes won't stop sca

"Shaw? You okay tonight?" Coach yells at me during the timeout.