IT WASN’T HARD TO FIND THE BRIGHTLY LIT HOUSE where the party was. Mick looked for all the cars parked haphazardly in the driveway. And the noise level was jet engine loud. For this late at night, he was surprised the cops hadn’t been called. These people must have really understanding neighbors. He went up to the front door and rang the bell, then figured there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d hear it since the music was ear-splitting. He tried the knob, and the door opened. Great. He rolled his eyes and walked in.
Disaster, was his first thought. Discarded paper plates and plastic cups and napkins and food and drink and furniture had been shoved out of whack. It looked like a crime scene. Or a party. The first thing Mick smelled was the alcohol, which had a stronger odor than the pizza, surprising considering there were about twenty or so empty pizza boxes strewn all over the room.
He picked his way through a throng of beefy football players, several jailbait-age inappropriately dressed girls, all of whom sized him up—were they serious?
“Anyone seen Nathan?” he asked of one of the guys, who looked up at him with a half-lidded gaze that spelled either drunk or stoned.
“Nuh-uh.”
Mick moved on toward the kitchen. So far he hadn’t seen an adult in sight. Good thing Tara hadn’t come to pick up Nathan. She’d be near fainting by now.
He found Nathan out back hanging with a group of three guys and two girls. And he was just about as shit-faced as the rest of the partygoers.
Not good.
“Mick! My man! Wazz up?”
“Let’s go.”
“Dude, let’s stay and party.” Nathan threw his arm around Mick. “Do you know who this is? This is Mick Riley, San Francisco’s quarterback.”
“We know, dude. Dude, you are one lucky sonbitch.” One of the guys grinned. “How awesome is it that your mom is with him?”
“Like, wow, you’re Mick Riley.” One of the girls stumbled out of her lawn chair and fell toward him, trying her best to look provocative.
“Whose house is this, Nathan?” Mick asked.
“Tim O’Banyan.”
“And where are Tim’s parents?”
“Cabo,” everyone said in unison, laughing as they raised their plastic cups to Tim’s parents in a toast.
Oh, shit. “Come on. We’re leaving. Say good night.” Mick should probably call someone and put a stop to the debauchery, but his only concern was Nathan and getting him home. He couldn’t be responsible for the entire team and their girlfriends.
“’Kay. Night, peeps.”
Mick led Nathan to his car and got out of there, figuring it was only a matter of time before the local cops made their appearance.
“Have a good time?”
Nathan grinned, hiccupped, then laughed. “Yup.”
“Do a little drinking?”
“Nope. Did a lot of drinking.”
“I can tell. Think that’s a smart idea?”
“Yup. Very smart.”
No point in trying to talk sense to him tonight. Mick drove in silence, listening to Nathan hum, then sing, burp, laugh, and rattle on nonsensically.
Unfortunately, Nathan started weaving back and forth in the seat. And Mick noticed he was getting paler by the minute.
“Nathan, you okay?”
“Not really. I think I might need to puke. Like right now.”
“We’re a block from the house. Can you make it?”
Nathan burped. “No.”
Shit. Mick pulled over while rolling down the window. Nathan unbuckled his seat belt and heaved out the window—all over the side of Mick’s truck.
Just fucking awesome. Mick sat there and waited it out while Nathan continued to vomit up whatever he’d had to drink. When he was finally done, Mick handed Nathan one of the towels he kept in his gym bag, then drove to the house and helped Nathan out of the SUV, carefully avoiding the door panel while he did so.
Nathan wasn’t too steady on his feet, so Mick had to throw his shoulder under Nathan and help him walk.
“Come on, buddy, let’s get you upstairs.”
“That’s a long fucking way up,” Nathan said, tossing his head back and staring up the steps.
“Uh-huh. You can make it.” God, the kid reeked. “Shower time.”
“I just wanna go to bed.”
“Too bad.” Mick took him into the bathroom and turned on the water. “Can you handle this, or do I need to do it for you?”
Nathan blinked. Weaved. Dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up again.
Mick kneeled down and kept the kid from drowning himself, then tossed him, fully clothed minus his tennis shoes, into the shower. It seemed to help him a little.
“I feel terrible,” Nathan said.
“I’m sure you do.”
Mick turned off the shower, helped Nathan undress and dry off, then went to his room and found him a pair of sleep pants to slide into and shoved him into his bed.
Nathan was out cold two seconds later. Mick shook his head and turned off the light, then went in and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom.
By the time Tara came home around two thirty, Mick had warred with himself over telling her or not telling her. Turned out she wasn’t in the door a second before she knew something had happened.
She frowned. “You have vomit on the side of your truck. Is Nathan sick?”
“Sort of.”
She got a worried look on her face. “I should go check on him.”
“He’s passed out upstairs. Come sit down with me, and I’ll tell you what happened.”
“Passed out?”
She took a seat on the couch next to him.