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He needed to get out of here. The stench of sweat, booze, and Drakkar Noir was starting to give him a headache.
Eddie had long since sold the last of his product and was now hanging on the edges of the revelry, only tolerated because no one wanted to piss off the only dealer they wouldn’t have to meet at a sketchy dive on the other side of town. Even so, he watched as the thin veneer of artificial civility began to crack as his classmates got drunker as the night progressed.
He finished off the last of his godawful beer (of course, Johnson couldn’t be fucked to spring for something decent) as he racked his brain to figure out his next move. It was Friday night, Wayne was working, and Eddie didn’t have a shift at the auto shop until the next afternoon. He could go to The Hideout; a mid-tier band from Columbus was playing, and Macy was working the bar that night — maybe she’d be down for a smoke and a quickie in the van.
He heard the sound of glass followed by shrieks of terror from the girls and laughter from the guys, and Eddie knew it was time to go. With the way things were going, the cops were going to show up at the front door in thirty minutes, tops, and they didn’t take kindly to seeing Eddie’s face, no matter how many times the chief let him off with a warning — a grunt of a thank you as Eddie handed over an eighth to help with his backaches.
Eddie scrubbed his hand over his face. Maybe he should go home. Actually read the chapters O’Donnell assigned this week if he wanted to graduate this year. Or he could just crash; Macy could wait, and he needed the sleep.
He was almost to the back door when a hand grabbed his arm. He turned to see Debbie Chen.
“I’m tapped, Chen. Maybe we can meet Monday —”
“How drunk are you?”
“Huh?”
“How drunk are you? Can you drive?”
“Yes?”
Debbie’s face flooded with relief. “I need a favor.”
Eddie raised his eyebrows. He liked Debbie; she was a cheerleader, but she was one of the few who treated him decently enough at school, didn’t call him a freak, and told the people who did to knock it off. And the time they got partnered up for a chem project, Eddie got an ever-elusive B-minus. They were friendly, but that didn’t mean they were friends. And Eddie didn’t do favors for people who weren’t friends. Especially when that favor was probably chauffeuring a drunk jockstrap back to their parents’ five-bedroom colonial while they slur insults about his van. He wasn’t going to put Sheila through that.
“It’s Chrissy,” Debbie continued, and Eddie’s ears perked up. “She’s…not well, and she really needs to go home, but I’m not sober enough. I didn’t even drive tonight, Vanessa did, and I can’t find her; she’s in another fight with Tobey somewhere —”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. What’s going on with Chrissy?”
“She’s fine, well, she’s —” Debbie sighed and grabbed Eddie by his jacket sleeve. “Come on.”
Suddenly, he was being led through the throng of drunk teenagers. The clearer eyes followed the two of them curiously, but no one said anything. “Has she taken anything?” Eddie asked, leaning forward so that only Debbie could hear.
Debbie shook her head. “I don’t think so. I only saw her drink some Sprite mixed with Andy’s shitty vodka.” He grimaced. Shitty beer, shitty vodka. At least Johnson was consistent.
Eddie forced out the question that he didn’t want to ask. “Where’s Carver?” He hated the guy, but he thought the dude would have enough human decency to care for his girlfriend if she wasn’t feeling well.
“In Kenosha visiting family.”
She led him to the basement, and as they descended the rickety wooden stairs, Eddie saw that Johnson’s basement was pretty much where they kept rejected furniture. Eddie rolled his eyes as he took in a broken ping pong table, a VCR in mint condition save for a scratch on the top, and an Atari. Fucking rich people, man.
Chrissy was in a recliner, her legs folded beneath her, her head resting on her arms, eyes closed. “Is she asleep?” Eddie whispered. Debbie shook her head a little and went over to the recliner. Eddie spied an empty Solo cup on the floor, a little puddle of vodka next to it.
“Chrissy, honey,” Debbie said softly as she shook Chrissy awake. “Chrissy, wake up.”
Chrissy sat up with a jolt, wide eyes blinking at Debbie. “Wha – ?”
“Eddie’s gonna give you a ride home, okay?”
Chrissy turned to look at him, and Eddie sucked in a breath. Her red-rimmed eyes were glassy and puffy. Her skin was pale, her makeup smudged. Eddie noticed her ponytail was still perfect, though, and he had to rein in the sudden instinct to go over there and wrap her in his arms.
“Hey, Cunningham,” he said, giving her a little wave, feeling like a massive idiot.
To his horror, she immediately started to cry. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She looked at Debbie. “I’m so sorry, Debs, I didn’t mean —”
Suddenly, Eddie found himself kneeling in front of her. “Hey, hey, Chrissy, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you. No one’s upset here.” He looked at Debbie, who nodded.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” Chrissy whispered as she wiped a tear from her cheek.
Eddie pulled out his bandana and handed it to her. “You’re not a bother. Everyone has a bad night once in a while. Right, Chen?”
“Uh-huh. Remember when I had too much Boone’s at Abby D’s birthday last year and spent the rest of the night puking my guts up in the bathroom? You stayed with me all night and made sure none of it got in my hair, not even once!”
“See?” Eddie said. “And you’re not even vomiting right now, so that’s a plus for me.”
It was meant to be a joke, but Chrissy’s subtle flinch made him feel like he made a wrong step on uneven ground. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Is it all right if I take you home?” Chrissy looked down at her lap and nodded. He gave her a little smile and stood back up. He cracked his back dramatically and heard a giggle. Score.
“Milady,” he said as he held his hand out with a flourish. She took it and pulled herself up the scent of vanilla surrounded him as she stepped into his space.
Eddie couldn’t help but stare. (He’d had a crush on her in middle school, okay? Those feelings, mixed with the brand-new puberty hormones, were killer, dude. And apparently, five minutes in her presence was enough to bring those feelings back in full force. Not that they ever really went away, but that was beside the point, all right?)
Her face was pink and a little raw from the crying, but her eyes...her eyes took him out. Grey like the sky before the first thunderstorm of summer, the type that reminded him of canned chicken noodle soup and reading Fellowship on the ratty, old couch for the seven thousandth time as wind and rain beat against the trailer.
A soft ahem brought him back to the present, and Eddie stepped back, let out a strangled chuckle, and turned away to hide the fact that his face felt like it was on fucking fire.
“So! Here’s what I’m thinking, ladies,” he said, swinging into Dungeon Master mode, loud and performative. “Chen, you take the precious cargo upstairs, and I’ll go out the back, rev up the old girl, and meet you by the stop sign at the end of the street.”
“Why can’t I just go with you?”
He stared at her. “Uh…” he looked at Debbie. “I mean, a lot of people will ask questions if we’re seen together, Cunningham.” The head cheerleader leaving a party with the Freak would not go unnoticed by the Hawkins High rumor mill.
Chrissy looked about to argue, but Eddie stepped in before she could say anything. “What is it you jocks say? ‘Ready, set, break!’” With that, he bounded back up the stairs and heard, “he’s so goofy," whispered behind him.
Leaving the party was pretty painless. He had a few people stop him, but once they realized he was sold out, they went back to ignoring him.
Eddie hummed the chorus to “Holy Diver” and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, his legs bouncing up and down like he just took a bump in The Hideout’s bathroom. (Never again. At least, not there.) He flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror and saw the two girls walking toward the van, Debbie’s arm wrapped protectively around Chrissy’s shoulder. He hopped out of the van and jogged over to the passenger side.
“Your chariot,” he said as he opened Sheila’s door. Chrissy gave him a small smile and took the hand he offered. Again, the intoxicating mix of strawberries and vanilla almost overwhelmed him as she landed in the seat. Eddie closed the door and gave her a grin through the window before he turned back to Debbie.
He was met with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
“What?”
“Real subtle, Munson.”
He pushed past the implication. “So, uh, you wanna come with? Make sure she gets home safe and all that?”
Debbie shook her head. “I have to make sure the others make it through the night in one piece. I know you’ve got it handled.”
“Trusting your friend’s well-being with The Freak? That’s playing with fire, Chen.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know that I know that you’re all bark, no bite, especially when it comes to pretty girls.”
“Oof,” Eddie groaned, hitting a fist to his chest. “How you wound.”
“You know where you’re going?”
“Loch Nora, right?”
She nodded. “1439 Maplewood.”
When he hopped back in the driver’s seat, he saw Debbie motion to Chrissy through the glass to call her. Eddie gave her a mock salute and turned the key in the ignition.
“All right, Cunningham. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
The ride to Loch Nora was quiet. Eddie had turned off the radio when he first got in the car because he didn’t know if Chrissy would appreciate Blackie Lawless screaming at her when she was having a bad night. Every so often, he’d glance over at her, the light from the streetlights pooling her in light for seconds at a time.
She was leaning against the window, her body folded together tightly, like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Eddie would’ve thought she was sleeping if it wasn’t for the occasional sniffle.
A couple of times, he would turn to say something, his mouth opening before he realized he didn’t know what to say before focusing back on the road.
Nice, Munson. The girl you’ve been staring at across the cafeteria for years is crying in your car, and you’re just sitting there like an idiot. You can’t even ask her what’s wrong. But what was he supposed to say? He wasn’t exactly experienced when it came to crying women. He once saw Max Mayfield storm out of her front door, wiping at her cheeks, and when he asked if she was okay, she flipped him off before getting on her bike and taking off.
Unfortunately, the way to Loch Nora was familiar. When he was sixteen, one of Wayne’s fishing pals did him a favor and hired Eddie for the summer to help him with his landscaping business. The gig lasted about two and a half days until someone in Loch Nora called the cops because they saw “a hooligan loitering in their neighbor’s yard.” Hopper and Callaghan showed up to see Eddie pushing a lawn mower, sweating like a pig.
Dennis gave him fifty bucks when he said it wouldn’t work out — the business ran on referrals, and he couldn’t have anyone unhappy. “You’re a good kid, Ed. Maybe if you cleaned up a bit, people would see that.”
He met Rick two weeks later.
As he turned the corner that led into the neighborhood, Chrissy spoke.
“I don’t wanna go home.”
“Um.”
She sat up quickly, and now that she was looking at him, Eddie could see her red-rimmed eyes and flushed face. “I don’t want to go home, Eddie. Please don’t take me home.”
Eddie put Sheila in reverse.
“I’ll take you wherever you wanna go, Chrissy.”
As he pulled up next to the trailer, he chanced a look at her. “So, uh. If you're not cool with this, I can take you somewhere else.”
“Eddie,” she said with a small smile, exasperated. “I already told you I was okay with it.”
“I know, but if you were just being nice, I mean, I wouldn’t care. I know that I —" Chrissy opened the door and hopped out of the car. "Okay, then."
Eddie led her up the concrete steps and held the door open, trying not to feel self-conscious when she stepped over the threshold and took in the trailer. He studied her face as she cataloged the mugs and hats on the walls, the old-as-shit TV, and the knit throw on the couch that Mrs. Ecker made them a couple of Christmases ago.
“So, this is the castle,” he said, eager to break the silence.
“I like it,” she said, turning to him with a smile.
“You don’t have to say that. I know it’s kind of a dump.”
“No, I do!” she insisted. “It feels like a real home.” Eddie thought he heard wistfulness in her voice, but that didn’t make sense.
“Well, we try.”
“We?”
“Me and my Uncle Wayne. He works nights at the plant. Bringing home the big bucks.” He looked around, unsure of what to do. “Uh, can I offer you something to drink? We have beer, soda —”
“Can I have a water, please?”
“Is tap okay?”
Chrissy nodded, and Eddie grabbed a mug from the shelf before going to the sink. When he came back and handed her the mug, her fingers were skimming the throw. “Thanks,” she murmured with a small smile. Eddie shrugged.
“Sorry, we don’t have anything fancier.”
“I don’t need fancy,” Chrissy said.
“The queen of Hawkins High doesn’t need fancy? Color me surprised.”
He meant it as a joke, truly he did, and Eddie would be the first to admit that he had a minor case of foot-in-mouth disease sometimes, but when Chrissy’s eyes started to well up, her cheeks going a bright pink, Eddie’s stomach dropped.
Chrissy turned away from him, the tears starting once again.
“Oh, God,” Eddie’s brain went staticky. He made her cry?! He was such a fucking moron. He scrambled to the edge of the couch beside her but didn’t touch her. “Chrissy, I’m — I’m so sorry if I said something stupid. I really am an idiot, y’know? Jesus, I never know when to keep my mouth shut. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad —”
Her hand on his stopped him from tearing his entire heart out in absolution. He stared at their entwined fingers. Chrissy had nice hands (she had nice everything), smooth and dainty but sturdy, hands of someone who did cartwheels and handstands in the school’s gravel parking lot when she had extra energy to burn off after a really good practice.
Her nails were a soft baby pink, a little chipped on the edge of her pinky. Eddie’s mind flooded with a vision of Chrissy unconsciously chewing her nails as she did her homework or read one of those trashy romance books Eddie knew she liked because he saw one peek out of her backpack as she was packing up after class one day.
(The man on the cover was half-naked, his black, curling hair flowing in the wind as he held a swooning redhead in an undone bodice in his massive arms. Chrissy glanced up to see him looking and quickly zipped up her backpack before rushing out of the room.
The rest of the day was basically a wash after that.)
Chrissy squeezed his hand and looked at him. “It’s not you, Eddie. You’ve been so nice to me — you’re always so nice to me, even when my friends are total jerks to you.”
“Hey, everyone needs a hobby, right?”
She sniffled. “I am sorry, though. Not that it’s gonna matter what I think anymore.”
If you asked all the people on the planet one question, and that question was, “Is Edward Alan Munson a patient person?” almost all of them would say, “Absolutely the fuck not.” And he would agree with that assessment, even though he was currently on his third go-round of senior year, though that was less about patience and more about being a stubborn asshole (and so the frame that Wayne bought in May of ’84 wouldn’t go to waste).
So, yeah. Eddie wasn’t patient. But he knew how to mind his business for the most part. If someone was fucking with one of his sheepies, all bets were off. But he couldn’t, couldn’t, let the notion of Chrissy Cunningham’s thoughts — opinions, dreams, et cetera — not mattering slide. He was incapable of that on a molecular level.
“Oh, well,” he said softly, trying to ease into it, “I’m pretty sure people are always going to care what you think, Chrissy.”
Chrissy shook her head. “I ruined everything, Eddie.”
“What’d you do? Kill someone? That’s no problem.” He popped a thumb over his shoulder. “I can borrow the shovel from old man Kimball a couple doors down. Dig a hole near the lake, have it all taken care of by morning.”
“Jason and I broke up yesterday.”
Oh.
Everything in Eddie’s body was screaming at the universe. That guy? You’re upset about that guy? The walking ad for Reagan’s pube ointment?!
The fact that Chrissy could be in such a state over Carver boggled the mind. He wanted to grab her hands, look into her eyes, and say, “Chrissy Cunningham, you could never, ever, ever possibly ruin everything. And if you did, then they were meant to be ruined. Maybe things were meant to crumble under the weight of your absolute badassery,” — and he wouldn’t let it slide if she protested this. He had seen her twirl multiple times in the air from under the bleachers; in his book, she was a badass — “and if Carver can’t see how lucky he is that you chose to give him even a millisecond of your day, he doesn’t deserve you.”
But he didn’t say that.
Eddie didn’t say anything for a while. In his defense, he wasn’t exactly old-hat at comforting someone after a breakup. None of the guys ever had relationship issues — a relationship period — and Eddie was more of a hook-up-at-a-show-in-Wabash-and-never-see-each-other-again type of guy, and that was only the one time. And besides, girls needed more reassurance than the hard pat on the shoulder and a “you’ll be fine, bud” that guys usually went with.
But he had to say something, didn’t he? Chrissy Cunningham was crying, thinking she ruined everything in his own abode, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t let that stand.
“Well, um, I,” Eddie cleared his throat, swallowing the formed lump there. “I’m, uh, I’m sure Jason will see the errors of his ways soon. He’d be an absolute idiot not to. I mean, you’re Chrissy Cunningham. Ask any guy in Hawkins — any guy on the fucking planet — and they’d give a left nad — arm! — for a chance to take you to dinner or something.” He paused before he forced the following sentences out of his mouth. “Carver cares about you. He knows how awesome you are. He’ll come around.”
Chrissy was shaking her head. “No, Eddie — I broke up with him.”
On second thought, maybe there was a higher power.
“Oh. And you’re…regretting it?”
“No. Maybe?” Chrissy hid her face in her hands before breathing in deeply and wiping her face. “It just felt like we were together because everyone expected us to be and not because we wanted to be, y’know?” She sighed and Eddie noticed that she had started to pick at one of her nail beds. “He was talking about plans after graduation, what school we would go to, what we would major in, where we would live off-campus after we got engaged, but he never asked me what I wanted. It was all about him and what he thought was best for us — for me. Like I wasn’t able to make my own choices about my life.
“And when I pointed this out, he freaked out and told me that I was being selfish, that I wasn’t being a team player, and it was just bullshit.” She spit the word out, her eyes widening in shock as she did, like she couldn’t believe she had said it.
“I said it was over, and he freaked out even more. When he realized I was serious, he left. And I...I didn’t want to think about it, so I went for a bike ride. And when I came home, my mom was waiting for me, and she was mad.”
“Mad?”
Chrissy nodded. “Uh-huh. Jason called the house and told her that we had a fight and I was ‘talking crazy about breaking up.’”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie broke in again. “He called your mom? Like — like some sort of tattletale?”
“He always does that after a fight. He calls, says he wants to talk to me to make up, but he knows that Mom will ask what’s wrong. She always takes his side.” She shrugged as if this was a normal way to behave in a relationship.
“Are you shitting me? What kind of person calls his girlfriend’s mom to clean up his messes? What is this, kindergarten?”
Chrissy’s eyes went glassy again. “And Mom was so mad. S-she said that Jason was the best that I would ever get, and I should be grateful that he ever wanted me to be his girlfriend in the first place.” She smoothed a hand over the blanket, her eyes averted, “she said some other stuff, too. A-about how I look.”
Eddie’s heart plummeted. That bitch. Chrissy snorted, and he realized he must’ve said that out loud. “Oh. Sorry.”
She sniffed loudly. “But, what if she’s right? What if Jason is the best I’m ever going to get? What if my friends do find me annoying? What if they only tolerate me because I’m with Jason?”
“She said that to you?”
“Not exactly, but I got the gist.”
Wayne taught him never to hit a woman, but Eddie had a feeling that he would make an exception, given the chance.
“I’m needy and annoying, and when they find out that Jason and I broke up when he gets back from Kenosha, they’ll all side with him, and I’ll have no one.”
Eddie laughed; he couldn’t help it. Chrissy stared at him, the divot in her forehead furrowing. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I call bullshit on that one, Cunningham. I had to pass, like, a gazillion background checks before Chen helped you in the passenger seat, okay? I’m pretty sure if you don’t call her tomorrow to let her know you’re alive and in one piece, she’ll go Elm Street on my ass. The rest of the squad, too. I can see it now, me running down Main with a horde of cheerleaders with sharpened batons and shanks in their pompoms.”
“We don’t use batons,” she grumbled, but she was smiling.
“Well, either way, I’m screwed; fifteen in-shape athletes against one chain smoker? Those aren’t great odds.”
“So, I should remember to call Debbie tomorrow.”
“My life hangs in the balance here, Cunningham. You’re my only hope.” Chrissy laughed, and Eddie could’ve walked on water. Before he could do it again, she sobered.
“I didn’t tell Debbie or Vanessa when they picked me up tonight. I just wanted to have friends for one more night, y’know?”
Eddie wanted to breathe fire and raze everyone and everything that made Chrissy feel small. But for now, he just had the truth. “You’re gonna still have friends, Chrissy. I’d bet my senior year on it.”
“Which one?” she asked, and he could hear the grin in her voice.
“All of ’em. And if I’m wrong…if I’m wrong, I’ll still be right.”
“How?”
“Because I’ll be your friend.” He made a face to escape the sincerity of the statement. “Duh.”
Chrissy smiled. “Okay." She leaned against the couch with a sigh. “I’m so tired.”
“Yeah, thinking that everyone’s gonna desert you for dumping your dickweed boyfriend — which is absolutely the correct move, in my opinion — can really drain ya.”
“And I’m hungry.” She pulled at her ponytail. “And my hair hurts.”
“Lucky for you, milady, those are easy fixes in the Munson household.” Eddie leaped from the couch and made a beeline to the kitchen. As one of the only name-brand foods he splurged on, Wayne squirreled away the Oreos in one of the cabinets, convinced they would last longer if they weren’t always in view. It mostly worked, and Eddie knew that Wayne would forgive him for sneaking some, given the circumstances.
He popped one in his mouth and went back to Chrissy. Her eyes widened as he held out the plastic tray in offering.
“Oh, I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked, his mouth half-full. “Allergic?”
“No, I...I haven’t had an Oreo in ages.”
“How long has it been?”
“Since I was ten, maybe?”
“The last time you ate an Oreo, you were ten? That’s, like, eight years. That’s almost a decade.”
“Mom doesn’t allow sweets in the house,” she said, not looking away from the cookies.
Eddie took in that information, a long stream of creative names for Mrs. Cunningham running across his mind, and changed course.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’m gonna leave these here,” he placed the cookies on the shitty coffee table in front of the couch. “And if you want any, they’re fair game. As for the hair,” he held up a finger and half-jogged to the bathroom, grabbing the brush from the counter, thankful to see that it was mostly clean. He pulled the last strands of hair off and tossed them in the trash as he walked back to Chrissy.
“So, uh, you can use this to brush your hair, or I can, um, I can braid it for you, if you want? If you want a braid, I mean, you can keep it down, that’s cool, too. I just figured —”
“You know how to braid hair?” she cut him off.
“’Course I do, Princess. You think I don’t know how to care for these luscious locks?" He paused. “I used to do it for my mom all the time when she was sick.” Eddie didn’t like talking about his mom, especially with new people. The pity in their eyes made his skin itchy, but Chrissy only nodded.
“I’d like a braid.”
He huffed out a breath and grinned widely. “Great! Great. You wanna see if there’s anything on TV?”
Chrissy found a channel airing reruns of MASH. “I love this show,” she said, scooting back against the couch between Eddie’s legs. Her shoes were off, and the blue ruffle of her socks entranced Eddie. “I used to watch it with my dad when I was younger. He cried during the final episode.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He said it was allergies.”
“Tell me if I hurt you or something, okay?”
Chrissy looked at him over her shoulder. “Eddie, I’m a cheerleader, and I was in gymnastics before that. I was never a tender head. Do your worst.”
Eddie snorted and gently pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail. Strawberry blonde waves tumbled down to her shoulders, vanilla faintly wafting in the air.
Chrissy’s hair was soft and smooth, and Eddie had no trouble running the brush down it. After about a minute, Eddie saw the tension leave her shoulders.
“Eddie?” she whispered.
“Yeah?” he murmured back, unwilling to break the calm that had come over the trailer, even with Hawkeye’s antics in the background.
“I don’t want to make this weird,” (he held in a laugh, they were way past weird), “but this feels really nice.”
Jesus, the way she said it let Eddie know that she didn’t get “nice” very often, and Chrissy Cunningham should’ve had nice things — the nicest things. People should be tripping over themselves to give her whatever she wanted. Chrissy Cunningham should’ve had the world and the best things it had to offer.
“Anytime, Princess,” was all he said.
“Eddie?” she asked again. “Can we still be friends? Even if my old friends don’t leave me?”
His throat went dry. “Sounds good to me.” She hummed, content with his answer, and focused back on the TV.
Eddie took his time. Chrissy was relaxed, laughing as Hawkeye and Trapper played cards in monkey suits. He thought he should feel a little skeevy, brushing a girl’s hair like he was, but it wasn’t like that. Chrissy needed some TLC, and if Eddie was the only one not stupid enough to give it to her, then that was that. Yeah, he had the world’s biggest thing for her, but Eddie was a grown man. He knew how to keep it in his pants.
When the next episode started, Eddie was finished. At that point, Chrissy was slumped back against the couch, and the box of Oreos was down five cookies (Chrissy quietly ate two, Eddie the other three; it was a start, at least).
“All done, Cunningham,” he said. “You want to look? There’s a mirror in the bathroom.”
Chrissy shook her head. “I trust you.”
“You sure? It could look like Rough and Tumble Barbie back there.” Chrissy smiled, yawned, and pushed her cheek into his calf. “All right, someone’s sleepy. Maybe I should get you back home, huh?”
Chrissy shook her head and looked up at him. “Can I stay here?”
What, was Eddie supposed to stare into those big blue-grey freakin’ doe eyes of hers and tell her no? Fucking rip his heart out first. “Yeah. Sure.” Chrissy smiled softly, and her eyes drifted closed.
Eddie slowly moved to stand. As he looked down at her, he knew one thing.
He was fucked.
Eddie sighed and crouched down next to her. “Chrissy, can you stand for me?” Chrissy whined. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. Just for a second.” Chrissy took his hand, and he pulled her up.
“‘m so tired, gonna fall,” she whined, leaning into him.
“Good thing I’m here, then.” Chrissy nodded against his chest. Eddie hoped his heartbeat wasn’t going to fucking narc on him. “Arms around my neck, okay?” He placed a hand underneath the crook of her knee and the other at the middle of her back and lifted her up.
Once they got to his room, he gently placed her on top of his bed, grateful to every higher power out there that he had the foresight to wash his sheets last night. He grabbed the old quilt his mother loved and laid it over Chrissy. He went back to the couch and grabbed her water, making a quick detour to the bathroom for some painkillers before setting the mug and the pills on the bedside table. He didn’t think she’d be hungover in the morning, but better safe than sorry, right?
When he went to turn off the lamp, Chrissy grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be just out there, sweetheart.”
She frowned. “I kicked you out of bed.”
Eddie shook his head. “I want you to be comfortable, Chrissy. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll still feel bad about it.”
“Yeah, well, do me a favor, get some sleep first, and feel bad about it in the morning. Deal?”
Chrissy rolled her eyes. “Deal.”
Eddie turned off the light and started out towards the hallway. As he closed the door, he heard Chrissy whisper, “You’d be a really good boyfriend, Eddie Munson.”
He bit his lip as he walked to the couch. Chrissy had a lot of shit to deal with. She had to make sure her dickhead ex heard the ex part loud and clear, she had to tell her monster of a mother to kindly fuck off, and she had to figure out what she really wanted. Hopefully, tonight was the first step in that direction. It was her life; she called the shots, and she made the rules. With any luck, she’d let Eddie ride shotgun, feeding her Oreos the whole way there.
And when Chrissy decided that what she wanted was a really good boyfriend, Eddie would be the first one to line up.