Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

“You got this,” I say softly, not sure what’s wrong, only knowing that I would do anything to make him feel better. “I don’t know if I do,” he says back, voice rough like gravel. It makes my chest ache. “I’ve got you, then,” I murmur, giving him a tug as I turn away to lead him upstairs.

“Me, hungover? No, I feel fabulous.” Both Clyde and Bash look back at me with doubtful expressions. But it’s Clyde who can’t keep himself from needling me. “That’s weird because you look like hell,” he announces. “Only because I’m tired of your shit,”