Page 53 of Making Choices

One woman I have to fight to stay away from. The other won’t take the hint.

Who’d have thought… thirty years old and still having girl trouble.

It’s as pathetic as it is implausible.

“The fuck you doin’ skulking around in the dark?”

Jumping like a twelve-year-old caught jerking off by his mother, I turn around to find that Fret is awake. As he raises the backrest of his bed, he blinks at me. Once. Twice. His strange eyes, an eerie strange combination of green, blue, brown, and gold that seems to stare deep into your soul, are filled with sympathy. With a sigh, I push the door shut and take a seat in the chair at the foot of his bed.

“That was a quick nap.”

“Your brain woke me up.”

“How?” I ask, kicking my legs up on the end of his bed.

“You. Overthinking things. It was loud.”

When I don’t respond, Fret drums two fingers from his least-injured hand against the table on wheels that sits over his bed. It’s a cadence I find familiar but can’t quite place. Watching his fingertips, I realise that his amputated index finger is moving as well, although it isn’t long enough to connect with the tabletop. After my mind inserts the beat that’s missing, I recognise the tune.

It’s one of his favourites.

“Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana.

“Hope you know how fuckin’ sorry I am, brother.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” he scoffs. “Not as sorry as Brutus will be.”

“Venom’s on it, so am I.” Through gritted teeth, I vow, “No one’s gonna let him get away with this. Loyalty is the basis of our brotherhood and he bloody pissed all over it.”

“That’s rich comin’ from you.”

Cocking my head to the side, I scowl. “So you’re gonna start in on me about it too?”

“She’s my sister. She’s been to motherfuckin’ hell and back… and the only reason she got through it was Venom. So, yeah, I’m gonna start in on you ’cause I’m not capable of sittin’ back and watchin’ you tear Cherub apart with your selfishness. The truth will break her because she can’t reciprocate—Venom’s it for her and everyone with eyes can see that.”

There’s that word again.

Reciprocate.

At this point, I’m sick of hearing it.

“You’re actin’ like I had nothin’ to do with her recovery. I was there every step of the way. I counselled her and Venom when they looked like fallin’ apart. You think I wanna feel like this?” I release my hair from its elastic band and shake it down around my shoulders, then comb through it with my fingers and re-tie it back in place. The entire time, Fret watches me with his piercing gaze. It makes my skin crawl. “I fuckin’ hate that I fell for her. I’ve tried to turn it off, but it’s gettin’ to the point where the pretence is eatin’ me alive.”

“I’m sure it sucks, brother,” Fret tells me without an ounce of pity. “But that’s all it’s ever gonna be… a pretence. Cherub doesn’t love you back, not like that. To her, you’re just another brother. You’re her confidante. One of her best friends. She’s pretty black and white with how she views the lot of us, and that won’t change unless Venom does somethin’ that breaks her heart—which we all know he’ll never do ’cause it’ll destroy him in return.”

“I know.” Surging to my feet, I link my hands at the back of my neck and glare up at the ceiling. “Of course, I know I stand next to no chance with her.”

“You stand no chance.”

Cherub’s joke about me being her back-up husband bursts into my head, but I can’t bring myself to tell Fret about it. He’ll poke holes in my hope, pop it like a balloon, make it drift so far away that I’ll never be able to find it again. If I want to live to see another day with my sanity intact, then my grip on the tiny amount of faith I maintain that my duchess will one day find me worthy of a slice of her heart needs to remain tight.

I won’t survive without it.

“Listen, I’m never gonna act on it, so y’all can stop watchin’ me like a hawk.”

“Hunt said you made her cry.”

“I didn’t…” My defence trails off when I realise that I’m not sure if I made her cry or not. She certainly hightailed it out of the den after telling me she would never want anyone but Venom. “I didn’t know she cried.”

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