Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2 (23 page)

Less than three days until my birthday. I’ve bitten the bullet and called my caseworker. I had to leave a message of course. True to form she still hasn’t called me back. No doubt, she’s waiting for the clock to strike midnight before she returns the call. Heaven forbid she had to do something with my case since I’m still underage.

Somehow, I’ve managed to directly avoid Kid and Snapper. I’ve stayed in my room, and Em has been gracious enough to bring me food and hang out with me so I don’t have to risk running into either one of them. I also know that Doc and Kid are the only members still in the house. Everyone else has left and went to finish up in Vegas. I pray no one else gets hurt there.

“You know you don’t have to hide out in your room,” Emmalyn says before popping a
Cheetos
in her mouth.

I give her a sideways glance.

“Snapper left.” That gets my attention.

“She’s gone for good?” Her huff screams ‘
I wish
’.

“She went to visit her grandmother out of state. Diego urged her to leave. Told her it wasn’t good for anyone here for her to stay.”

“I’m sure Kid is mad his easy lay is gone.” It’s petty and I’m bitter, but at this point, I don’t care.

She doesn’t respond to my nasty remark.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“We’ve talked a little bit, but he’s been keeping to himself a lot too.”

“Do you think he remembers us?”

“Not from the limited interaction that I’ve had with him.” She grabs another
Cheetos
from the bag between us. “I think that when he does, he’s going to be beating your door down.”

I take a long breath and release it slowly. I hope for and dread that day if it ever comes.

“Three days until my birthday,” I remind her. “I don’t think I’ll be here much longer than that.”

“I wish you’d reconsider,” she says softly.

“I’m not running, Em. I just need to do something with my life. Staying here is no longer an option.”

“I get it, Khloe. I honestly do, but everything that you want to do can be done while you live here,” she offers.

“It can’t though, not everything. I need to get over him. I need to get past the hurt feelings I have from a broken relationship I’m not even certain I was in. I can’t do that here. Not with the chance of seeing him every day. It’s not possible.”

She places a comforting hand on my knee. “Have you heard from your case manager?”

“Not yet. She’ll probably call after I age out. I’m hoping I can get in with their aftercare program, but I may be too late. That may be something that has to be set up before turning eighteen.”

I sigh again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I gave someone a genuine smile.

“I haven’t seen him touch anyone else since the night he got back,” she tells me.

“Once was enough,” I say quietly.

She nods her head in agreement, then suddenly slaps her legs with both hands. “I know what will make both of us feel better. Ice cream sundaes!”

She climbs quickly off the bed almost dumping over the bag of Cheetos. “Let’s go!”

Begrudgingly I follow because ice cream sounds pretty damn good right now.

We reach the kitchen, and I grab the ice cream out of the deep freezer while Emmalyn flits around and gathers the other supplies.

“Okay,” she says sweeping her hand over the products on the counter. “Chocolate sauce, hot fudge, caramel sauce, sprinkles, maraschino cherries. We also have bananas and that hard shell stuff.” She looks at me with a wide grin. “What do you want?”

I grin back at her, “All of it.”

Who says food can’t bring you happiness? Ice cream makes almost every situation better.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I think you’re right!”

We grab bowls and spoons and begins to dish out more sweets than we’ll ever be able to eat, but we will give it every effort.

I’m damn near comatose by the time I give up on my bowl of chocolatey goodness. My stomach is killing me, and I’m certain I won’t get a wink of sleep tonight from the sugar I just consumed.

“Emmalyn?” I hear a familiar voice say from behind me. “Gypsy said you were looking for me. Something about a bookcase needing to be put together.”

I close my eyes slowly and try to calm the increase in my heart rate that I still get every time I hear him speak. It’s been days since I’ve heard his voice. Even mad, even with a broken heart, I still crave the sound.

“Oh yes!” Em says standing from the table. She gives me a light squeeze on my shoulder as she walks by. “The box is near the door. I couldn’t move it after FedEx dropped it off this morning.”

Her voice fades away as she leaves the room to show Kid what she needs. I sit quietly for a few minutes before standing up from the table. I carry both of our bowls to the sink and wash them. After drying my hands on a paper towel, Emmalyn still hasn’t returned to the kitchen.

I feel guilty about not watering the plants out front for the last couple of days. I know they’re probably dead beyond resuscitation, but I head in the direction anyways. There’s no telling where Em ran off to or if she even plans on coming back.

I can see Kid crouched down over pieces of wood with his back to me. He’s grumbling and turning a piece of wood different directions, clearly having trouble with the bookcase. Quietly, I try to make my way to the front door. I knew I should’ve never tried to sneak past a Marine. Just as I reach for the doorknob, I hear his voice.

“Where ya going?” he asks. I know he’s the only guy here which means, even though he doesn’t have all of his memory, he’s responsible for looking after us. We always have a male member here. Most of the time it’s Doc, but it looks like today that responsibility has shifted to Kid.

“To water the plants,” I answer without turning around.

“I took care of that earlier today,” he says.

I turn around and face him. “You what?”

“I watered them already,” he says standing and wiping his hands down the front of his pants.

“Thanks.” I begin to walk away.

“Khloe,” he says to my back. I love the way my name sounds on his lips, but with the happiness also comes the pain.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” he says as I turn back toward him. My head tells me to scurry back to my room as fast as I can, but my heart wants me to stay. I’m torn between the two.

I point toward the pile of wood and go for the safe topic of conversation. “That shelf giving you trouble?”

He looks over his shoulder and runs his hand over his now bare face. He looks so much younger now without the beard. I can easily see why he earned the road name he’s been given.

“Yeah it only has instructions in Chinese.”

He takes a step closer to me; I take a step back. The last thing I need is him in my space. I have no control over my ragged emotions, and I don’t know if I’ll hug him or claw his beautiful brown eyes out.

“
I
ntelligence
N
ot
E
xpected,” I mutter, referring to our banter back and forth about the hierarchy of the different military branches.

“What did you just say?” He takes another step toward me and reaches out for me.

I see the second it happens. It’s almost as if the shutters have lifted from his eyes. I take a step even though I can see the recognition in his eyes.

He stumbles back as if he’s been hit by a blow. “Khloe?” He says. His voice cracks suddenly. I turn my head as he reaches for me again. His hand stay suspended in the air when I angle away from him to avoid his contact with my cheek. He’s done it a million times. It kills me not to turn into his large, warm hand. “Oh fuck, Sweet Girl. What have I done?”

I’ll never forget the sight of the tear I see running down his cheek as I turn and bolt from the room.

The doctor mentioned the memories could flood back at any time. What I didn’t expect is the love, regret, and pain to hit me all at once.

“Khloe,” I whisper. It kills me when she positions her body so I can’t touch her. “Oh, fuck, Sweet Girl. What have I done?”

I don’t even try to fight the burn behind my eyes as the first tear fights it way past my lashes. I close my eyes and welcome the pain. She’s already fled by the time I open them again.

I’m pinned in place, only able to turn my head and stare into the empty room.

I hit my knees and cover my head with my hands; a vain attempt to stop the extremely detailed memories that are flooding my mind.

The warm feeling I got in my chest every time she texted me in Vegas.

The realization that I’d never let her go.

The way her lips felt on mine.

The perfect way her body curved against me while I held her at night.

The glazed look in her eyes when she came from touching herself.

The way Snapper moaned when I fucked her after getting out of the hospital.

“Oh God. Please, no,” I moan rocking back and forth.

I feel a warm hand touch my back, and I snap my head up finding Emmalyn, not Khloe.

“You remember?” she says softly.

I swallow roughly. “I’ve fucked up so bad.”

“You didn’t know,” Em says soothingly.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say before bolting up and running outside.

I barely clear the steps out front before I’m emptying my stomach into the bushes. I remember the day they were planted by Emmalyn and Khloe. It was also the same day my tongue first stroked over Khloe’s in the kitchen. It was the day I hitched her leg up high on my hip, and I allowed, for a split second, my erection to rub against the thinnest yoga pants ever made.

I stand and wipe my mouth on the hem of my t-shirt. How can all of these memories be so vivid now, when minutes ago, I was seeing Khloe like it was the first day that I’d met her? I’m disgusted with myself.

Every memory is vivid.

The way I grabbed Em’s ass when I first got back.

Shadow telling me Khloe was off limits, but getting called out front by Kincaid before he could explain why.

The shitty comment I made about ‘new club pussy.’

Jesus.

The way I fucked Snapper on my bed as if I were a single man.

The way I enjoyed fucking her at the time.

I bend in the middle again as another wave of nausea hits. My stomach, now empty, hasn’t given up, and I continue to dry heave for what seems like days.

The way Khloe’s hair feels sifting through my fingers.

The tangle of Snapper’s hair in my fist.

Khloe’s hot breath on my chest as she slept.

Snapper’s lips wrapped around my cock.

I stumble from in front of the clubhouse and close myself inside of the garage. I grab the bottle of whiskey from the top of the fridge. I haven’t taken the pain pills for the last two days, but at this point, it wouldn’t matter. I spin the lid off, not caring that it hits the concrete floor and bounced away. Getting drunk is the only thing I can think of that may help this situation, so I doubt the lid will ever need to be returned to the top.

I turn it up and chug, relishing the fire that burns down my throat and hits my empty stomach. I feel queasy again, so I wash that discomfort down with another chug of the golden liquid.

I pace and drink until the bottle is empty and smashed against the wall. The whiskey barely takes the edge off. I’ve fucked up. It’s nothing new to me. I’ve done it more than once in my lifetime, and I’m sure to do it again. The difference is this time I’ve hurt a woman I care for more than any other person before her. Her heartbreak was evident in her eyes; in the dark, under-eye circles marring her usually perfect skin.

I have no clue what to do now. The whiskey is telling me to go inside and profess every single undying feeling I have for her, but the still semi-cognizant part of my brain knows that shit won’t fly. I don’t even know if there is a chance to repair the damage I’ve done.

Her birthday is in a few days. I could get her a gift, but even drunk I know grand gestures aren’t going to cut it. I didn’t accidentally run over her puppy; I cheated on her. For most, that’s an unforgivable act. Hell, if the shoe were on the other foot I’m not sure what I would do.

“Kid?” I hear from the open doorway of the garage.

I turn and see Emmalyn standing standoffishly on the threshold. She has a pained, unsure expression on her face. I don’t even bother to wipe away the tears I can’t seem to stop pouring from my eyes. I swallow thickly and keep pacing, knowing my voice would break the second I tried to mutter a word.

On my pacing turn toward the door, I see her sit in one of the chairs around the small wooden table in the corner of the garage.

“Snapper should never have gone with you,” she consoles.

I shake my head roughly. The motion makes it swim, increasing the blurriness in my vision already hindered by the alcohol.

“This is all on me, Em. I did this. I’ve ruined any chance of getting her back.” I reach for a beer out of the fridge on my way by.

She doesn’t counter my words, adding even more dread that my ramblings are more truth than not. The pacing isn’t helping so I lean against the wall and take a long pull from the beer bottle.