t Camp Screw You, Tyson Thompson, and no meteor fell from the sky and ended my life, so I couldn’t make my current situation any worse.
Just my luck.
The car ride back wasn’t any better.
In front of the Green Monstrosity, he parked his car. We sat there for a moment, and I wanted to say something, anything, but my throat constricted and all I could do was focus on breathing.
“Tyson,” he said, and I looked over, sure he was about to say something that would change everything.
“Yeah?”
“We should probably go inside,” he said.
Get a grip, man! “Yeah.”
And that’s what we did.
People shouted surprise! when the door opened.
I smiled and pretended to be just that.
Streamers fell. Balloons flew. People laughed and clapped.
And now, an hour later, I’m glaring at Corey, who’s laughing way too fucking loudly at something Dominic says and reaching up, trailing his fingers along Dom’s biceps, and I imagine that Corey wouldn’t have the same smile on his face if someone smashed his fingers (and kneecaps) with a ball-peen hammer (and for a moment, I’m distracted on how it is exactly that I know what a ball-peen hammer is—I’m so full of useless crap).
“Your bones will poke through the skin,” I promise him darkly, unaware that anyone can hear me.
Which, of course, someone does.
“That sounds unpleasant,” Otter says, coming to stand next to me where I stand partially hidden behind a gaudy fake tree/plant thing Bear found at a swap meet that for some reason he adores. Otter and I have both tried to accidentally light the aptly named Gross Bush Tree Thing on fire. Both times, Bear caught us. He was not amused. “Who are you threatening?”
“Oh, Dom!” Corey practically shouts as he all but rubs his entire body up against Dominic’s huge body. “Aren’t you just dear! I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who has put me in such a good humor!”
“Ah,” Otter says sagely. “Now it’s as clear as mud.”
“Shards of bone,” I growl.
“Who are we staring at?” Creed asks, coming up to stand by his brother.
“Death by raging fire,” I say with a scowl.
“Tell me, Dom!” Corey says, louder than the thirty other people in the room. “What’s your favorite position? You know. In sports. I prefer to play all over the field!”
“Oh,” Creed says. “Now I get it. I think. Whose death are we plotting?”
“I think right now it could be either or,” Otter says. “Or both. Or neither.”
“So we’re plotting behind Gross Bush Tree Thing, then? I feel my life has been missing evil plots as of late. Anna’s pregnancy makes me tired.”
“What about Anna being pregnant?” Otter asks.
Creed waves his hand. “All she has to do is carry the little bastard. I’m the one who has to lose sleep next to her when she kicks me awake all night because her back hurts.”
“Yeah, probably shouldn’t let your wife hear that.”
“Too late,” Anna says, cuffing Creed upside the head. “If it bothers you that much, you can sleep on the couch. Why are we hiding behind Gross Bush Tree Thing?”
“We’re planning murder,” Creed explains.