Page 53 of Choices

“It’s just a movie, Kit.”

Hell no, it’s not just a freaking movie.

Bundling Keg into my arms, I sidle up real close to Cutter, forcing his gaze to burn into mine. “I’d rather poke my own eyes out and lie on a bed of broken glass than cozy up in your room watching movies with you and your kid.” I smack my shoulder into him as I walk away.

“It’s not his fault he was born, Kit.” There’s sadness in his tone.

Fuck him.

“No, it’s yours.”

Closing my bedroom door, I flick the light on and startle at the figure sitting on the end of the bed. Keg leaps from my arms, his paws making a soft thud on the ground. He runs his body across Chris’s leg, making a contented purring sound.

“Hey,” I murmur, chucking the leash on the dresser.

Slouched forward, legs parted, elbows resting on his knees, Chris looks up, defeated. “I should be on top of the world.” Exhaling, he turns his head to look at me. “I’ve wanted this patch for a long time—had to kill to earn it.”

Anxiety claws at my spine at his admission.

“You shouldn’t be telling me this.” I shake my head. All I ever wanted from Cutter was honesty, for him to trust me enough to share small details, and here’s Chris, offering them so freely. It’s dangerous.

“Who should I be telling?”

“No one. Ever,” I snap, going to the bathroom and filling a glass of water in the sink. Padding back to him, I shove the water toward his lips. “Drink this. You need to sober up.”

“Everyone’s out there celebrating me.” He sniffles, taking the glass, watching the liquid as it swirls in front of him.

“I know.”

“Where were you?” He looks up, his tone accusatory.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.” I exhale slowly, unbuttoning my pants and pushing them down my legs.

Scoffing, his eyes return to the glass dangling in his grip between his legs. “You’re the only person I want to see. As soon as the leather touched my back, my first thought was telling you.”

“I’m really happy for you,” I say sincerely.

“Are you?”

“Yes, of course I am.” Irritation flares. This is what I didn’t want. We weren’t supposed to be this.

Going to Goldie’s bowl, I pop the lid on his food and scatter the colorful pieces over the water.

“Does it make a difference?”

“Does what make a difference?”

“Now that I’m a full-fledged brother, does it make a difference between us?”

Whipping around to face him, I grunt, “You think I care about that shit?”

“It’s about Cutter then.” He stands, knocking back the water and dumping the glass on the dresser.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m over this and tired.

“You think I’m fucking stupid, Kit? I see how you look at him, how he can’t keep his fucking eyes off you.” This sounds like jealous boyfriend shit, and we were never that.

“You’re drunk.”

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