Page 56 of Make Me Yours

My heart stops and I can’t seem to form a single syllable. Drake came here looking for info about his mom. Better yet, he found an aunt. “Drake…”

My friend suddenly resembles a scared little boy instead of this tough, independent man who’s never given two shits about anything, unable to process what he’s just confessed. “I know it’s fucked up, but I couldn’t not know, you know,” he adds, as if justifying what he probably feels is betraying his own choice to remember nothing about his past life.

I nod, understanding his jumbled statement, and how hard it is for him to confess it. “Did they know your father?” I ask, wondering if that’s what this is all really about, but his expression instantly hardens, and I know that’s as far as that goes. We rarely talk about the men who donated their sperm to create us, mainly because mine was a fucking sick child beater who deserves to burn in hell, and Drake has known nothing about his.

“No, none of them know what happened. Apparently, Vicky’s family lost contact with Veronica just around the time she had Ruby and I. Veronica was older than Vicky, so she says she vaguely remembers her, but I remember.” A small smile sneaks past his lips, “Vicky looks like her man, only with blond hair instead of black.”

“Does Ruby…” I ask, but his scowl quickly moves back in place as he shuts me up.

His shoulders stiffen, his jaw ticking in anger. “No, and don’t you dare say anything? She’d kill me if she knew I was digging up old shit we decided long ago would stay buried. Or worse, she’ll be pissed I dug it up without her.”

It’s true. Ruby is aslevel-headedas her twin bro, but I can't imagine him keeping something this huge from her. As far as I know, those two have always been open and honest with each other. “But she has an aunt,” I counter, thinking it may be best to fill Ruby in on this bomb he just dropped on me. “Maybe even more family. I’m sure she’d like to know.”

Drake moves away from me and walks around the bar to pour us another much-needed shot. He chugs his before continuing, while I bring the one he set on the counter for me to my lips but can’t force myself to take it. Bile rises inside of me from just the smell of tequila accompanied by the dreadful news I’m hearing, and I set the glass back on the counter, unable to stomach it.

“I don't know about more family,” he murmurs, pouring himself another. “Vicky also lost touch with her parents when she ran off and married Dex. You can imagine they didn’t approve of his lifestyle, but yeah, maybe you’re right about Ruby. I don’t know man, I don’t think she’s in the right place for that bomb to drop just yet.”

“She still fighting with Jax?” I ask, but I know that ship has long sailed. Jaxon has been uncharacteristically irritable while Ruby’s gone out partying with Stella more often than not. Those two always were on the outs, arguing more than not, and I know for a fact he cheated on her on more than one occasion.

“I think they’re done, man, this time for good. Can’t say I'm pissed, though. I love Jax, but he’s a fucking pig, and Ruby doesn’t deserve that.”

He chugs down the third shot he’s poured himself, and I soon realize we ain’t leaving tonight in his condition, so I say fuck it and join him in his grief, drinking the rest of mine, and sliding my glass across the bar for him to top it off. “That’s a hell of a bomb you just dropped on me, man.”

He laughs, a nervous chuckle meant to hide the thunderstorm surely raging in his brain. “Yeah, you ready to drop one on me?” he asks, and my body goes stiff.

“Nah…”

“Come on Kai,” he interrupts, furious I won’t open up to him and admit what he’s so sure is true. “I know you care about her, man. Why is it so hard for you to admit it?”

And we’re back to me. I came here to forget everything that’s happened lately, which was supposed to mean no talk about The Cobras, no mention of Stephan Silver or my fuck up, and definitely no thoughts of Stella Silver, my broken little doll.

Sitting here divulging my so-calledfeelingswas not part of the plan, and definitely something I have no interest in doing.

As a boy, I quickly learned nobody gave two shits about what I was feeling. At first it was intense fear, panic whenever I saw him. I knew after a few beers, or when he’d come home wasted from the bar, he’d become violent, and I’d be the one who’d suffer the consequences.

That was followed by the agonizing pain of his heavy fist or whatever weapon of choice he used that day. Sadness when I realized my father hated me so much that he’d rather beat the shit out of me for existing than try to be a decent father to me. The older I got, the angrier I became, hating everyone and everything about my life, cursing the almighty God everyone seemed to worship for leaving me to fend for myself against this dreadful being.

Soon enough, though, all of those emotions morphed into indifference. I knew no one cared if I was upset because of what my father did to me, so I buried it all deep inside of me, and never asked for help. I realized what I felt was inconsequential. Others had it worse, and those who didn’t could never be bothered to waste their time solving my problems.

That’s when I decided to never let myfeelingscloud my judgment. “I don’t want to get into it, Drake…” I grunt, hoping my nasty mood will make him drop the subject, but something crawled up my best friend’s ass today and has him in such a chatty mood.

Drake’s heavy hand falls upon my back, pushing me forward with the force he hits me. “But you need to. Look man, you're my brother and I love you. I’d do anything for you, but…”

I gape at him, a mocking smirk taking over my scowl. I want to punch that snide scowl off his face and could probably take him, seeing as his eyes are now red and glazed over.

“Did you just say you loved me?” I ask, but he doesn’t miss the sarcasm in my voice, and quickly looks just as irritated as I did a moment ago.

“Quit the bullshit, Malachi. I know you love me in your own fucked up way too.”

I shake my head in disagreement, pull a cigarette out of my back pocket, and bring it to my lips. I light the cig and blow a cloud of smoke in his direction. “Sorry bro, that ain’t true. I’m not capable of feeling that shit.”

Drake laughs, full-blown laughter at my expense, and nearly stumbles on his way back around the bar. “Fucking bullshit. I see the way you look at her, the raging jealousy when someone else is near her. Hell, you wanted to beat the living shit out of me when you thought we had a thing.”

“Yeah, thanks for that fucker,” I snap, abruptly turning to glare at him.

He yanks the cigarette from my lips and takes a puff. “You're welcome, and I’d do it again if I thought it would help get your head out of your ass and realize you like her. Hell, you more than like her. You…”

“Don’t Drake,” I hiss, my voice suddenly laced with unfiltered rage. “Don’t you dare say it.” I’m panting, breathing heavily as my chest heaves in anger. Instead of heeding my warning, the fucking bastard grins at me and I can’t help the pang of guilt that hits my chest, making it constrict painfully. My voice suddenly softens, now filled with remorse. There’s no point in hiding what he already thinks he knows. “Of course I fucking care about her, but I’m no good for her, man. Look at the shit I’m involved in. Stella deserves someone who’ll put her first, give her everything she’s ever wanted. Someone who treats her like the goddess she is. I can’t give her anything remotely close to that. I have The Cobras and,” I pause, looking up at him, “That isn’t a life for her.”

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