Homeport

revolved. Join the circus, see the world, he thought, and stumbled toward the door.

    He’d just find out what old Ryan Boldari’s intentions were. Yes indeed. He had to show that slick New Yorker that little Miranda had herself a big brother looking out for her. He took another long chug from the bottle as he lurched down the hall, and grabbing the banister at the top of the steps, looked down.
    There was his baby sister, right at the foot of the steps, in a hot liplock with New York. “Hey!” He called out, gesturing wildly with the bottle, then laughing when Miranda whirled around. “Whatcha doing with my sister, Mr. New York?”
    “Hello, Andrew.”
    “Hello, Andrew my ass. You sleeping with my sister, you bastard?”
    “Not at the moment.” He kept his arm around Miranda’s rigid shoulders.
    “Well, I wanna talk to you, buddy.” Andrew started down, made it halfway on his feet, and tumbled the rest. It was like watching a boulder fall down a cliff.
    Miranda leaped forward, kneeling beside his sprawled body. There was blood on his face, which terrified her. “Oh God. Andrew.”
    “I’m all right. I’m all right,” he muttered, shoving at her hands as they poked and probed for broken bones. “Just took a little spill’s all.”
    “You could have broken your neck.”
    “Steps are a tricky thing,” Ryan said mildly. He crouched beside Miranda, noting that the cut on Andrew’s forehead was shallow, and Miranda’s hands were shaking. “Why don’t we get you back up them, clean you up?”
    “Shit.” Andrew brushed his fingers over his forehead, studied the smear of blood. “Look at that.”
    “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
    Ryan glanced over at Miranda. She’d gone pale again, but her eyes were shuttered. “We’ll take care of it. Come on, Andrew. My brother tripped over a curb the night of his bachelor party and did more damage than this.” He was hauling Andrew to his feet as Miranda got to hers. But when she started to go up with them, Ryan shook his head at her.
    “No women. This is a guy thing. Right, Andrew?”
    “Damn right.” Boozily he made Ryan his best friend. “Women are the root of all evil.”
    “God love them.”
    “I had one for a while. She dumped me.”
    “Who needs her?” Ryan steered Andrew to the left.
    “That’s the spirit! I can’t see a fucking thing.”
    “There’s blood dripping into your eye.”
    “Thank Christ, thought I’d been struck blind. Know what, Ryan Boldari, pal?”
    “What’s that?”
    “I’m going to be really sick now.”
    “Oh yeah.” Ryan dragged him into the bathroom. “You are.”
    What a family, Ryan thought as he held Andrew’s head and wondered vaguely if it was possible to throw up internal organs. If not, Andrew was giving it the old college try.
    By the time it was over, Andrew was wrecked, white as death and trembling. It took three tries for Ryan to prop him on the toilet seat so he could deal with the cut on his face.
    “Must’ve been the fall,” Andrew said weakly.
    “You threw up the best part of a fifth,” Ryan said as he wiped blood and sweat away. “You embarrassed yourself and your sister, took a header that would have snapped several bones if they hadn’t been permeated with whiskey, you smell like a four o’clock bar and look worse. Sure, it was the fall.”
    Andrew closed his eyes. He wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep until he died. “Maybe I had a couple too many. Wouldn’t have if Miranda hadn’t started on me.”
    “Save the lame excuses. You’re a drunk.” Ruthlessly, Ryan swabbed antiseptic over the wound and felt no sympathy when Andrew sucked in his breath. “At least be man enough to take the responsibility for it.”
    “Fuck you.”
    “That’s a clever and original comeback. You shouldn’t need stitches, but you’re going to have a hell of a black eye to go with the war wound.” Satisfied, he pulled Andrew’s ruined shirt over his head.
    “Hey.”
    “You need a shower, pal. Trust me.”
    “I just want to go to bed. For God’s sake, I just want to lie down. I think I’m dying.”
    “Not yet, but you’re on your way.” Grimly, Ryan pulled him to his feet, bracing himself to hold the weight while he reached out and turned on the shower. He decided it was more trouble than it was worth to remove Andrew’s pants, so dragged him half dressed into the tub.
    “Jesus. I’m going to be sick again.”
    “Then aim for the drain,” Ryan suggested, and held him in