Hi all, thanks for your continued support. In response to the review critiquing my use of the word "pissed" in relation to inebriation - I'm sorry, but I'm Australian and that's what we say here. Similarly to how I cannot bring myself to spell colour as "color" unless my Word Document auto-corrects it for me. It's all still the same language, so you'll have to forgive me. All grammar and spelling mistakes are my own, I'm often writing these late at night or early in the morning. I try to proof-read each chapter but some errors escape me.
As always, enjoy and please leave a review if you have the time. I'm ever so grateful for you guys!
Lara xoxo
Daryl's eyes cracked open much later than usual the next morning. By the brightness of the sun that shone relentlessly on his face, he estimated that it was well past ten.
He scrubbed at his eyes, blinking blearily in the light. His mouth was dry, a sure reminder of the alcohol he had drank the night before. All in all, his head remained clear and he was pleased that he'd seemed to avoid a proper hangover.
His arm went for a wander across the expanse of tangled sheets until he found Beth, one leg slung carelessly over the edge of the mattress. Her hair had come undone from the careful curls she had fashioned it into for their wedding day, and the flowers that Grace had placed in her hair were strewn across the bedroom floor.
As quietly as he could manage, he slipped out from between the sheets in search of water. His dry mouth and aching throat were begging for relief, so he headed doggedly towards the bathroom. He took his time in there, splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth to remove the stale taste of booze.
It was only as he padded silently back down the corridor towards their bedroom that he paused, stepping on an unfamiliar piece of material and stopping to pick it up. Panties. Pale pink, lacy panties.
Daryl groaned as he suddenly had an incredibly vivid flashback of seeing those panties on Beth the previous night. She had attacked him as he exited the bathroom the night before, her hands in his hair and her lips pressed to his. She had tasted like moonshine, and Daryl was too under the influence himself to advise her to stop.
All he could remember was her legs wrapped tight and high around his waist, her pretty white dress rucked up over her waist and his tuxedo pants pushed past his hips, her slurring voice breathing into his ear, telling him that she felt like she was getting fucked by James Bond, at which point they both began laughing so hard that they almost fell over.
He clenched the damp material of her lacy panties in his hands, not wishing Grace or Glenn to stumble upon them as he continued to their bedroom door and pushed it open to find that Beth had rolled onto her stomach, limbs outstretched and a low-pitched whine escaping her.
"Daryl. I'm dying," she groaned, pulling on his pillow until it covered her head with darkness.
"I bet you are," he grinned.
"Stop yelling!" she grumbled, flipping him off.
He stifled a laugh. Welcome to the consequences of drinking moonshine.
"Sorry, Beth. I'll get you some coffee," he offered, half expecting her to snap at him. He wasn't disappointed.
"No. I'm going to vomit. I'm so sick."
"Knock knock!" came a decidedly cheery voice from the doorway. Daryl swung around to find Maggie looking as bright eyed and bushy tailed as ever, holding a freshly bathed Sophia in her arms.
"Would that be pregnancy-sick, or hangover sick?" she enquired as she observed Beth's prone position.
"Don't talk, Maggie. Please. It hurts," Beth murmured in response.
"Oh, the joys of moonshine," she sing-songed a little too loudly, bouncing Sophia until the little girl started to squeal with delight. Daryl grimaced at the high frequency sound waves that bounced around the inside of his head. He could only imagine what Beth would be hearing.
"Here. I'll take her outside for some fresh air." Daryl lifted her effortlessly under one arm, enjoying the cacophony of excitable sounds despite the headache it was causing.
"How's Glenn and Grace holding up?" he glanced at Maggie.
"They're technically alive. I checked them both for a pulse. I was going to make you some breakfast, but Grace started spewing from the second I started cooking the powdered eggs," she shrugged, secretly enjoying the suffering of the other housemates. She heard Beth dry-retch over the edge of the bed at the mention of food.
Daryl ushered Maggie quickly out of the bedroom to leave Beth to recuperate. He grabbed a tiny knitted beanie from Sophia's collection of clothes to jam onto her head before heading out the front door and taking a seat on the steps of the front porch.
The yard was still littered with rubbish from their celebrations. Multiple plastic cups lay on the grass, some of them half-crushed under uncoordinated dancing feet. Someone had painted "Just Married" onto the oak tree with tomato sauce, and he spotted Beth's bridal bouquet laying on the ground near his feet.
"Looks like we had one hell of a party, little one," he addressed Sophia, before settling her into the porch swing and starting to gather the plastic and glass cups, the empty sauce bottle and the fallen flowers. It took him the better part of a half hour before the clearing was returned to its pre-wedding condition. He would pause to glance up at Sophia every few seconds, often being rewarded by her chubby little hands applauding him. By the time he had checked that the Walker alarms were still functional, an hour had passed and he scooped his daughter up into his arms to return her to Beth for her breakfast.
As he entered the kitchen, he saw that Beth had somehow made it downstairs and to the kitchen table. She looked decidedly more grey than usual, but her eyes still glittered excitably when he swooped in to press a kiss to her forehead and hand over their daughter.
"Morning," Grace's weakened voice welcomed him. She was standing by the stovetop, heating a pot of water for coffee.
"Looking a bit worse for wear, Grace," Daryl replied, ignoring the irritable grumblings she produced in response.
"Normally I don't care for public breastfeeding, but I don't think I have the energy to drag myself back upstairs," Beth grumbled as she yanked unceremoniously on the hem of one of Daryl's henley vests.
"No! No, stop!" a loud clattering startled them all as Grace smashed a coffee mug onto the hardwood floor in an effort to get their attention.
"Don't breastfeed her!" she added for good measure.
"What? Why?" Beth was less than happy with the volume of Grace's voice.
"You've still got alcohol in your blood stream. That means it's in your milk, as well. You can't breastfeed her, it's not safe." Grace finally choked out.
Beth stared at her in horror at the thought of what she had almost done. Her eyes darted down to Sophia, who was gurgling up at her with nothing but trust and love in her bright blue eyes.
"Oh no. Oh God, no. I can't believe I- I should have known," Beth breathed, barely noticing Daryl reaching for Sophia's formula can and mixing her breakfast.
"Don't worry. Lots of women don't know. It's not as if you have an OBGYN to tell you these things," Grace blinked matter of factly.
Daryl hurried to hand Beth the bottle, so that she could get on with feeding Sophia and hopefully forget their close call. His eyes were drawn to what looked like a pile of rags laying on the floor in the living room.
"Uh, what's that?" he nodded in the pile's general direction.
"What would be my darling husband," Maggie replied from her seat on the couch, where she nursed her cup of coffee.
"Is he dead?" Grace asked, craning her neck to try to observe whether the pile of rags was moving with respiration.
"Not quite sure. He's snoring a bit, so I'd say not." Maggie kicked the corner of the rag pile with the toe of her shoe, producing an unmistakable groan of pain.
"What even happened last night? The last thing I can remember is dancing to Bohemian Rhapsody, and then everything is a blur," Beth croaked.
"Well, you were dancing for a good hour or so. After that, Glenn thought it would be an excellent idea to attempt some parkour. He fell down the staircase three times before I could convince him to give up," Maggie chuckled into her coffee cup.
"Oh God, I wish I had seen that," Daryl bit the inside of his cheek at the mental image of Glenn attempting anything remotely athletic.
"And then Grace took her clothes off-"
"What! I did not!" Grace screamed, eyes suddenly much more alert.
"Yes, you did. You were mumbling something about wanting to dance naked in the rain. I had to button you into one of Glenn's shirts backwards so you couldn't take it off again," she grinned.
Grace's head hit the table with a solid thunk as a groan of disgust escaped her.
Daryl shook his head, overcome with the reality of what they had done last night.
"That was really irresponsible. We're just lucky that nothing worse came of it," he mumbled, as he gazed down at his daughter who lay in Beth's arms, suckling on her bottle of formula contently.
"It was one day, Daryl. Nothing bad happened. Nobody is hurt," Maggie reassured him. "Well, except for Glenn," she added as an afterthought, looking down in concern. The lump that was Glenn groaned in response.