Breaking Curfew

“Where have you been?” Scott’s voice was low, hostile.

Bob stood just inside the hotel room, backlit, a black silhouette. “Out.”

“Without security?”

“We’re in America. We don’t need security.”

“It’s midnight. We have to be at the studio in four hours. You’re going to look like an insomniac and Frank will notice. I won’t be defending you if he lays into you.” Scott crossed his arms over his chest and attempted to loom over Bob. It was difficult to loom over someone who looked like he just didn’t care.

Bob stepped forward so the moonlight caught his face, and he raised his eyebrows. “When was the last time you defended me when he laid into me anyway? I can take care of myself. Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you’re the only one who’s competent.” He shrugged off his jacket and laid it across the back of one of the chairs, toed off his sneakers.

“Bob, you’re sick.”

“I know that.”

“You can’t go out alone at night when you’re sick.”

“I’m sick, Scott, not weak.” Bob skimmed down to his boxers and crawled into bed next to Clay, who was snoring like a freight train. He and Dan slept the deepest, and neither of them had been awakened by the argument.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know you anymore.” He climbed back into bed next to Dan and tugged the covers up, rolling so his back was to Bob.

Bob sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t know who he was anymore either.

(257 words)