Page 2 of Penalty to the Heart

I’m a walking-talking nightmare.

No one is as high up on his list of concerns as I am.

And that’s saying something since there is a world of people who depend on him, twenty-four-seven.

“The fuck am I going to do with you?” he finally mumbles in greeting, arms crossed over his bulky frame.

“Well, for one, you could help me get up?” I smile broadly, raising my arms and inviting him to help me.

I’m not sure at what point in the night I fell on my ass in the middle of the street, but by the stale-smelling vomit beside me, it’s been a while.

“Nah. Down in the gutter looks like the perfect spot for you.”

“Ah, don’t be like that, Jack.” I pretend to pout, letting my heavy arms drop to my side. “I admit that I might have had a few too many tonight—”

“You think?” he interrupts with a deep-rooted scowl.

“But can you blame me?” I add, ignoring his snide commentary. “It was Nate’s wedding, Jack. Nate’s wedding! Our boy got the girl. Can you honestly blame me for celebrating after the shitty start of the season Nate’s had? After the hell he and his girl went through to get here? To get to their wedding day?” When I see my brother softening somewhat, I pile on a little more, hoping it will get me out of the doghouse. “So yes, I might have celebrated a little too hard tonight, but it was for a good cause. I did it for love.”

When he snorts in sarcasm, I know I went too far.

“Love? Since when have you ever cared about love?”

“Hey!” I point at him. “I love love! You know I’m a romantic at heart.”

“If screwing every woman that bats her eyelashes at you is what you call being romantic these days, then yeah, you’re a real fucking Prince Charming, alright,” he quips with an eye roll.

“I didn’t say that I wanted it for myself, but I do applaud those who found it. Hence the celebration,” I retort, not liking the look in his eyes—the one that says I’m full of shit.

I mean, he’s right.

I am full of shit.

Doesn’t make it sting any less that Jack thinks that of me, too.

“Geez, it’s not like I killed anyone,” I grumble under my breath.

“Tell that to your liver. I’m sure its days are good and accounted for.” He scoffs.

“Hey, my liver can take a beating. Why have good Irish genes if you can’t put them to good use?” I tease with a hiccup, bringing back the taste of vomit into my mouth.

Gross.

Maybe I did overdo it tonight.

Usually, after a party, I’d be balls-deep into some hottie, not stranded in the middle of the street with vomit as my only companion. Is it any wonder I’m flying solo tonight after having puked most of the contents in my stomach from partying too hard?

This shit is so not sexy.

It’s no wonder I had to call my brother to pick me up. No Uber or taxi would want me to step inside their vehicle looking like this.

“This crap is getting old, Caleb. You’re not a kid anymore. I can’t bail you out every time you decide to drink your weight in booze. It’s time you acted your fucking age and grew up a little,” Jack reprimands as if reading my thoughts.

“Ah, see, I beg to differ,” I shake my index finger at him. “Plenty of guys my age are still living their best lives in fraternities right now, getting shit-faced on the daily. No one gives them any grief.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you trying to make up for not having had the whole college experience?” His brows furrow in concern. “Because I’m sure if we talked to Nichols, he wouldn’t oppose you taking some college classes while playing for the Guardians.”

Ah, crap.

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