Chapter 19
OLI
Most of the time we slept naked. It was strange that we’d dressed in pajamas for bed.
The bottoms I had on were soft and warm, perfect for a cold December night, and the long-sleeved shirt was thin and comfortable.
None of these homey things changed the fact that it wasn’t what we usually did. The difference was messing with me.
My jaw ached and I forced it open to wiggle it.
The clamp on my lungs didn’t loosen up. Ren had fallen asleep holding KC, and I wasn’t sure when it had become Ren’s job, but each night he turned out the lamp.
I hadn’t cared enough to do it, so now I was staring at the way the shadows made his cheeks seem even more angular.
KC had his face buried against Ren’s neck.
Most of what I could see of him was red hair, the sweep of his strong jaw, and his curved neck, which was so tense he would probably wake up with a crick.
This was wild. KC was the steady one, the one who made peace and laughed and joked when Ren and I would prefer to be cursing at each other.
He balanced us out. How would Ren and I help him?
We could barely function ourselves. Neither one of us was an expert on how to be happy.
We stumbled into feeling less like shit and sort of hoped things would stay that way.
I watched them for a while longer, but when my stomach growled, I got out of bed, snagged my phone off the nightstand, and padded into the kitchen. I dragged my phone out again and sighed.
9:43 p.m.
Still early.
Since I was hungry, I raided the pantry and found a pub mix—I loved the sesame seed pieces—and chocolate-covered pretzels. Neither snack was very filling. After hemming and hawing over my options, I made two turkey sandwiches and pulled up a seat at the island.
Fuck it. I grabbed a beer, then settled in for real.
As I ate, guilt grabbed me with sharp teeth. When did things with KC get so bad? How did they get so bad without us noticing? Sure, we were all busy, but there should’ve been signs he was getting close to cracking, right?
I didn’t quite get what had happened with the team.
KC had muscle. In fact, recently, every ridge of his hard-on inducing abs had been popping out more than usual.
But maybe that was because he was losing weight?
I upended my beer and gulped the hopsy brew, grimacing when it was empty and the bitter aftertaste hit.
I could understand a lot of things, but I didn’t know how to help KC with this.
When people got hungry, they ate, right?
Food was fun. Food was a function of life.
How did you help someone with being alive?
“Hey.”
I flinched at Ren’s voice but gave him a grateful smile when he grabbed a beer, then took the seat beside me.
He popped the top. I glanced at him. He was wearing blue-and-green plaid pajamas.
There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d bought them for himself.
Where did they come from? Were they left over from his parents?
His last boyfriend? Girlfriend? Sometimes I wished I knew more about him.
Whose fault was it that I didn’t? His? Mine?
God knew I couldn’t ask him about it.
“Ten bucks says you can’t get the top in the trash from here.” I nudged him with my elbow.
“Child’s play.” He took aim, then let the metal fly. It bounced off the rim of the can with a clatter. We both groaned as it skidded across the floor and under the fridge.
“Boo,” I said.
“Let’s see you do it,” he grumped, despite a tired smile he flashed my way.
Mine was still on the island, so I snatched the metal and lobbed it. The top landed behind the can and I lost sight of it.
Our usual teasing didn’t happen. I could feel the need for normalcy buzzing in the air, but neither of us was able to will it into existence.
“Should we leave KC alone?” I asked, my voice loud in the quiet kitchen.
Ren clenched his hands into fists, then rested his forehead on them. His shoulders were rocks as he shrugged. “He’s out. Exhausted himself.”
“Mm.” I shoved around my empty bottle to get rid of some twitchy energy that reared its ugly head. “He didn’t even look this bad when he was destroyed over you.”
Ren snapped upright with a scowl. As if in retaliation, he snatched the sandwich off my plate that I hadn’t eaten yet and took a big bite. “I’ll fix this.” The words were almost lost in the food, and I glanced away.
“You can’t,” I snapped, unbelievably furious in a matter of seconds. “KC has to do it. You can’t. I can’t. We can’t.”
Ren took another bite of the sandwich. I waited for him to wash the food down with beer, my agitation growing by the second. Ren finally glared at me and slapped the rest of the sandwich on my plate.
“Maybe KC has to go to therapy, but I’ll make sure he has three squares and a spare every day.” He nodded once, then picked up his stolen sandwich again and devoured what was left in a few bites, almost like he thought he could will the food from his stomach to KC’s.
“I . . . don’t think it will be that easy,” I mumbled.
Ren slapped his hand on the island. “It will.”
“Damn it.” Beautiful, cleansing rage poured through me and I spun toward him. “You’re missing the whole fucking point. KC has to fix his own shit.”
Ren brushed off his hands, glaring at me while he stood, as if I’d caused the problem. “We will change things for him if he can’t manage it.”
I cradled the back of my neck with my hands. Was he for real? “Fine. You can fix this all on your own because you want to. With your big dick energy. That totally makes sense.”
He rolled his eyes and swooped in to kiss my cheek. It kind of hurt because his stubble grated my skin, but I welcomed the lick of pain. “Not on my own, dummy. With you. We’re going to make sure KC is just fine.” He crossed his arms. “Come to bed.”
Irritation prickled my skin and we couldn’t fuck the bad feelings away right now.
Or we probably shouldn’t. What was the right thing to do when one of us wasn’t okay?
Fuck, either way I wouldn’t get the pain I wanted from Ren.
He was back to taunting me with being gentle. It was so fucked up. The worst torture.
Could you safe word out of sweetness?
“In a minute,” I muttered.
Ren dragged his feet as he walked backward away from me, then abruptly spun. “Don’t be long,” he called over his shoulder.
Something that wasn’t quite anger smoldered in my gut. “Why can’t KC just eat?” I spitefully went to the freezer and grabbed a chocolate-and-peppermint ice cream sandwich. I mauled the paper wrapper with my teeth. The sweet treat was gone fast, and I didn’t feel any better afterward.
I can’t lose KC. The strength melted from my body as I turned and sagged against the counter.
Sure, things probably weren’t dangerous yet.
KC wasn’t a bag of bones. He had a lot of people looking out for him.
Everything felt dire, though. I would just have to do my best to support any plan KC agreed to.
For a few seconds, it felt like my feet weren’t anchored to the floor.
Who the hell was I to be supportive? I had a whole laundry list of my own bullshit that probably wasn’t healthy.
With the holiday break looming large, there would be no distraction from this mess, and I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
Sometimes giving a problem too much air was as bad as ignoring it.
The beer and ice cream weren’t leaving my mouth feeling its best, so I cleaned up, turned off the lights, and went to the bathroom. I had my toothbrush in my mouth scrubbing my tongue when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I spat and dragged my phone out, accidentally answering.
“Shoot.” I put the call on speaker. “Hello?” I wiped my face on a hand towel and froze as Mom’s “Oli?” filled the room.
“Mom?”
“Oh my gosh, you picked up!” Tears wavered in her tone.
My gut sank as I stared at the phone on the counter in horror. I had been avoiding this for a reason.
“Oliver? Are you there?” She sounded uncertain.
“Yeah, Mom.”
Silence filled the bathroom, but when I checked, the call was still connected.
“Is—Is Dad still there?” My gut flipped.
She sighed. “Honey, he truly doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s under a lot of scrutiny because of the reason he went to jail. It isn’t a good idea for him to go back to the motorcycle club.”
“Oh bullshit.” The shout took me by surprise. My breath came in ragged gasps. “The Kings of Men helped us when no one else cared if we lived or died. Are you really telling me they won’t give Dad a hand? He’s one of theirs!”
The noise that left her was somewhere between a shriek and a sob. “They would, but they shouldn’t! Not for a while. Maybe not ever.”
My mind scrambled and the only important question surfaced. “Does Dad want to get to know me now?” A ridiculous upwelling of hope almost took me out at the knees. I braced myself against the counter and glared at my phone for making me feel this way.
“That isn’t something he ever wanted. I’m sorry. I know you deserved better. He’s stubborn.” Her breath hitched. “I was the one who wanted something different for you and him.”
I eyed the toilet, but it would be stupid to flush my own phone. “You know what? Weirdly enough, I don’t care what the selfish fuck wanted because no one held a gun to his head and told him to blow his wad in your—”
“Oliver!”
“Well, they didn’t!”
She sobbed outright. “Wait! This isn’t why I called!”
Mom rarely cried. My heart squeezed. “Is something wrong?”
She laughed, but her voice sounded watery. “Well, he’s not gone, but he will be. I would love to have you home for Christmas.”
“Dad’s leaving? Why?” I used the hand towel to wipe off the counter. There was no way I could stand still. “You said he had nowhere else to go.”
Mom sobbed again, but it ended in a defeated chuckle. “Because I’m unlucky.”
“Huh?” I tossed the hand towel in the sink. She needed to start making sense.
There was a hiss on her end, probably a pop bottle opening. “How much detail do you want, kiddo?”
“I want to know what’s going on!”
Ice hitting a glass. A glug. If I didn’t know Mom wasn’t a boozer, I’d be worried she was trying to drink away her problems. “A month after your dad was released, I stopped having my period. I thought maybe it was stress or possibly menopause.”
I stared at the towel as the gears chugged along in my brain. “Are you sick or something?”
She groaned. “You sure are a boy. I’m pregnant. I’m telling your dad soon. We both know he’s going to hit the road.”
Silence.
The cogs in my brain popped. What. The. Fuck? “Are you keeping it?” My stomach churned.
“Yeah. I can’t bring myself to do anything else.”
I sank to the floor and rested against the cabinets.
“So, anyway, I was hoping, please, that we could set aside what happened for a day, and you and your boyfriends might come over. I have the tree up.” She sniffled. “Your stocking is on the mantel. I got one for each of them, too.”
“How could you do this to another kid?” I clonked my head against the cabinet hard enough to hurt. I didn’t wake up. This wasn’t a dream.
“Oh, honey, it won’t be the same. I have a nice job. Some savings. Benefits. I’m sorry, honey. Sorry you had the life you did.”
Guilt gnawed at me. Was I ruining something special for her? Someone had scooped out my insides. “I’m fine, Mom. But what will you tell . . . . Is it a boy or a girl?”
She laughed, an amused, musical sound that didn’t fit our conversation. “We won’t know for a while.”
“Why not?”
“It takes a bit before things develop. Until about sixteen weeks, maybe? I’ll check and let you know. They do an ultrasound at twenty weeks.” I could almost see her shaking her head at me and her kind smile.
“What will you tell them?”
She hummed. “That they have a mom and a big brother who love them.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Nothing about Dad. Nothing.”
“No.” Sadness lingered in that one word, firing up my anger again. “Will you come home for the holidays?”
“Pick a day. I’ll talk to the guys,” I mumbled.
“Love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” I said, then ended the call.
I couldn’t stand a second more of this. I would have a couple of years to make Mom understand how much she’d fucked me up by telling me all about Dad.
And I already knew I’d help her out. I’d babysit.
I’d love my little brother or sister, no matter what.
Maybe they wouldn’t have Dad, just like I didn’t, but they wouldn’t be alone.
I wanted a pity party from my boyfriends in the worst way, but KC was having an actual crisis, so I scraped myself off the floor and went to bed.
My meltdown could wait.