Page 49

“What else should I have done when I found you unconscious in the back room of a bar?”

His eyes narrow. “Take me to the club, just like every other fucking time, asshole.”

“That’s never worked before so I thought I’d try something different. Besides, the clubhouse was being used for something else.”

Sighing, he walks over to the coffee maker and pulls a mug out of the cabinet before slamming the door and I clench my teeth to avoid losing my shit over his hissy fit.

“I take it she left for work?” he asks after filling up his mug and I nod.

“Yeah, but she’ll be back after lunch.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. I won’t be here.”

“Actually, you fucking will.”

“Actually,” he sneers. “You don’t get to fucking tell me what to do anymore.”

Sucking in a breath, I mentally count to ten to get control of my anger before meeting his eyes. “Why are you doing this, Clay? We just want to help you.”

“I don’t want your goddamn help. Why don’t you just go back to your new family and forget I ever existed?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“The club. As soon as you left home, you went and made yourself a new family so why don’t you just worry about them.”

“Is that what all of this is about? You feel alone?”

He laughs but it’s hollow. “Nothing in my life has anything to do with you.”

“The guys would welcome you with open arms.”

“No,” he mutters. “They wouldn’t.”

I nod. “They would if you were clean and I’d love nothing more than to have my brother back.”

I see the sharp retort right on the tip of his tongue but he pauses and I notice the longing in his eyes. It gives me a spark of hope.

“It’s your choice, Clay. You can choose something different. You can choose to have a family again and yeah, it’s not conventional but who cares? The family we were dealt kind of sucked so let’s make a new one.”

He eyes me warily as he drinks his coffee and my heart pounds as I wait for his answer. Hope wells up inside me despite the fact that I know better.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he finally says and I nod.

“Okay. What’s up?”

He shifts back and forth on his feet, staring down at his coffee mug. “I drove up to the prison to see him.”

“What?” I breathe, blinking at him in shock as a chunk of ice imbeds itself in my stomach. “Why would you do that?”

“I… I just needed to talk to him.”

“And what could you possibly need to talk to him about?”

He clears his throat. “He wrote me a letter a couple weeks back. He says he’s innocent.”

“He’s fucking lying!” I roar, slamming my fist on the table as I jerk to my feet. Clay jumps before his eyes narrow and he takes a step toward me.

“You don’t fucking know that.”