He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ian had made an oath to himself, in private, to avoid alcohol on holidays ever since the Christmas him and Scout had fought. He couldn't do that to his mother again. She'd been so upset, she'd wept for weeks, it seemed. No, he wouldn't be insensitive like that again. "I'll pass, thanks," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm sure Megan will do some shots with you later, though." She was always hanging around the bar lately. Ian wasn't sure he liked it, but then again, he wasn't the type to tell her what to do.
"Does Mom know you were coming by early?" He checked his watch again. "Have you talked to Bradley or Gemma?" He often refused to call his siblings by their nicknames. No one called him Dill anymore. Why should he call them by their foolish pseudonyms? Of course, sometimes it was force of habit. But when he could help it, he avoided it.