I’ve never said that shit out loud in fear of manifesting it. I used to spend time searching for him and hoping to God I was wrong, but now that I wasn’t…I can’t bear to think he’s just as fucked up as I am.
How the hell am I supposed to do anything now?
I had one of my guys, Kyle, bring me a line of coke. He snuck it in, knowing the risks he was taking by doing it against Cairo’s and Torin’s orders, but I’d cover for his ass.
I’m notallowedto leave the house without someone with me. Which is a bunch of bullshit, but I’m not entirely cut off from my supply to have it brought to me—obviously.
I blare loud music in my ears as I read an old Batman comic book. An old pastime of mine and Ozzy’s because sometimes, we just didn’t want to talk. We wanted to lose ourselves in other people’s crazy problems and read about someone else saving the day.
It was a bonding experience without words or heartfelt feelings. Neither one of us needed them. However, the words on the colorful pages feel stale, and I’m not entirely sure if it’s the side effects of the snow wearing off or if I’m that fucking restless today.
You need rehab.
Fuck that shit.
Plucking a notepad and a red Sharpie from the floor, I try something else to see if I can draw out my frustrations.
It ends up being two stick figures, one bent over while the other is ramming into it from behind. My kiddy version of working through my issues because fucking Bay until I can’t see anymore was the kind of support group I wanted to be involved in.
Throw us in a padded room, and I’d readily work out my fucking issues.
Throwing the marker across the room, I’m suddenly hungry. I make my way out of my bedroom, pad down the hardwood floors of the hallway, and stop dead in my fucking tracks because, speaking of issues, Cairo and Bay seem to have worked out theirs.
He’s threading his fingers through her hair, his arm wrapped around her waist as he mutters something.
Color me fucking stupid because I honestly didn’t think he was going to stick it to her. Cairo doesn’t like being challenged when it comes to his authority—he gets that shit from his daddy—and I thought he’d fall off long ago with the way her ass doesn’t know how to shut up and stop pushing.
Guess with one missing asshole around, he was in it to win it.
Nah, he’s got that Italian swag. Motherfucker didn’t have to try that hard.
My brother steps away from her, giving me full access to her body. Chin tucked to her chest, my gaze descends her frame, and it immediately hits me like a freight train, she looks smaller.
Then my eyes latch onto her stomach and my own knots to the point of wanting to rush to the bathroom and throw up.
A number of questions rush through my brain, but only one sticks out that matters.
Is it mine?
Bay’s blue eyes widen at the sight of me. I don’t like how she’s losing some of her curves. I’m also not a fan of how her blues aren’t as bright as they normally are.
Shouldn’t give a fuck.
Everything that’s happened to her has nothing to do with me.
“Brother.” Cairo doesn’t loosen his grip on Bay, the motion speaking volumes, and he pins his famous disgruntled glare on me. “What part ofdon’t touch my shitdidn’t you understand fully?”
The part where he said not to touch his weed.
“You weren’t specific enough,” I deadpan, but I can’t take my eyes off Bay. She appears as though she’s seen a ghost, and I don’t think she’s taken an inhale since I came into view. “Breathe, McQueen. My cock is still in my pants so no need to hold it in.”
Her gaze narrows, but I notice the shuddered exhale from her body and the way her fingers slightly tighten over Cairo’s bicep.
“I was going to make Bay some lunch,” Cairo states evenly. “Turkey or?—”
“I’ll pass,” I cut in, starting to turn on my heels to head back to my room, but my brother isn’t a fucking moron.
“Good,” he replies to keep the conversation going. “You and Bay can finally talk.”
