“Always,” I promised.
“I don’t feel so good,” Spencer suddenly mumbled when I was descending the stairs to head to the truck. And as soon as I made to set him down so he could puke on the grass, he spewed vomit all over me.
Then promptly burst into tears.
“Oh, you poor thing,” I said, shaking my head as I strode to my truck, clutching him tight to my chest, wishing I could do something to make him feel better. “I bet you won’t do this again.”
“Never again,” he mumbled, sniffling.
I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then settled him in the passenger seat of my truck. After buckling him in, I closed the door and pulled my phone out, snapping a quick pic of my vomit-stained clothes and sending it to Logan.
Ezra:
[Image]
Logan:
Oh, fucking gross. Better you than me.
Logan:
Is he okay?
I glanced toward the truck. Spencer was already passed out, his head against the window and his mouth open wide. I snapped a picture of him through the windshield, then sent that to Logan, too.
Ezra:
[Image]
Logan:
Poor baby. Give him all the cuddles once you’re both clean. I’ll be joining the party in the next century if you two are still alive. This kitchen is going to take forever.
I barked out a laugh and climbed into the truck.
Ezra:
As if we’d die before you could cuddle us.
Logan:
You two couldn’t live that long without me no way.
He wasn’t wrong. We couldn’t. Life might get messy at times, sometimes even literally, but the three of us were a done deal.
And I couldn’t survive without Spencer and Logan, even with snarky comments, drunk moments, and vomit spewing.
