“Yes, Mom.” He winks.

“Wow, you really are wasted.”

“I see feelings.” His drunken answer.

“Not possible.”

He reaches up, grabs something out of the air, and then blows it to me. I feel it, and weirdly enough, it makes me smile. He smiles back, which again confirms how drunk he really is since he’s been a giant asshole to me recently. I so desperately want to be like, ask me, ask me what happened, don’t just blame me, ask me!

Instead, he just stares at me with a sloppy grin and then holds a hand to his mouth.

“You’re going to puke, aren’t you?” And who gets to babysit? The therapist.

I want to announce that the party’s over, but Ambrose is currently puking his guts out in the bushes, over and over and over again.

I would laugh if I didn’t actually care about the jerkface. I pat him on the back and look around, only to see Quinn walking toward me.

His expression is concerned, and then he frowns. “Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, just puking up his stomach, no big.” I rub Ambrose’s back again. “Think you could get everyone out of here so I can sober him up?”

“Sure.” Quinn nods, then frowns. “When is his mom getting back tonight?”

I don’t know what to say, so I just shake my head and keep rubbing Ambrose’s back.

Quinn’s eyes narrow, and he looks between us. “Do you have an ETA on when that will happen?”

“Never!” Ambrose says, wiping his mouth with his hand. “She’s not coming back. Apparently, this perfect life was too much for her. It’s just a foster kid and an orphan; how fucking perfect!” He pukes again.

I flinch.

Quinn looks like he doesn’t know what to do, then finally, he nods his head and turns around. “COPS!”

“What?” I screech.

People start running.

He crosses his arms. “Works every time.”

“Expert at killing the vibe, yeah?” I tease.

Ambrose pukes again. “I think I’m done.”

He makes a noise.

Quinn scrunches up his nose. “I think you just started.”

“Son of a bitch!” Ambrose yells. “I can’t stop.”

“Should have never started,” I add.

“Do you guys think you could be a bit more helpful while I barf out my internal organs all at once?”

Quinn actually smiles at Ambrose even though he can’t see him from the desecrated bushes. People continue to run, and suddenly, gone, done, we have no more underage drinkers and weed users at the house, but we do have a hell of a mess.

Gee thanks, bro.

“Hey.” I grab his hand. “You done?”

“Never,” he rasps. “Maybe. Who knows? Might come back… it’s like I got food poisoning.”

Quinn snorts. “More like almost alcohol poisoning.”

“Not now.” Ambrose raises a middle finger. “Argue with me when I’m not staring at the bushes of vomit with the girl I fell in love with behind me, comforting me, when I don’t deserve it, when she killed everything, when I died, don’t, not now, everything’s gone, everyone’s left.”