Page 39 of Making Choices

“Cherub…” When he trails off, I lock my eyes on his. A shutter comes down over Slash’s bleak expression and he almost sounds normal when he says, “Let’s watch a movie. My choice but.”

Misgiving flares in my chest. I open my mouth to tell him I’ve changed my mind. He beats me to the punch by closing the distance between us in two steps and taking hold of my hand. With his thick, warm fingers engulfing mine, my fear that I’ve upset him evaporates, and I allow him to lead me out of the sleeping quarters and into the den.

9

SLASH

I shouldn’t be doing this.

The thought bounces around in my skull as I settle on the couch in the den. Cherub sits next to me with her legs crossed beneath her. As I battle with my scruples, we lapse into another awkward silence. Cherub shifts next to me as she tries to get comfortable, huffing out a sharp breath when I glance her way and our eyes meet. She quirks her lips into a tight smile that I return a touch too late.

Dropping her gaze, I do my best to ignore the way my dick responds when her knee nudges my leg. Since the useless bastard was dead when I needed him back at the hospital, I offer the offending appendage a hard glare. At the same time as I’m staring at my crotch, Cherub moves again. Her legs part. The T-shirt she’s wearing lifts. I force myself to look away when I catch a glimpse of her blue panties before she pulls the hem of Venom’s T-shirt lower. Although I point the remote at the TV, it takes all my effort to scroll through the movie selections because my eyes keep straying to her thighs.

Smooth skin.

Lightly tanned.

Bruises the size of fingerprints…

“What the fuck?” I half ask, half curse as I toss the remote onto the coffee table and twist in my seat to face Cherub. Her mouth makes a perfect O as she follows my gaze to her legs. Hand shaking, I brush my fingers over her injured flesh. “If Venom doesn’t get him this time, I’m gonna.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Cherub wraps both hands around my wrist and stops my fingers from trailing higher on her thigh. “I mark easy.”

“Bullshit.” The sadness that darkens her gaze makes me swallow hard. I shake off her grip and snatch my hand back before I give into the urge to lift her T-shirt to inspect the rest of the damage Alex has wrought. “You needa stop minimising what that piece’a shit has done to you. These bruises aren’t from markin’ easy, they’re from his abuse.”

“You’re as bad as Zeke.” Cherub snorts, rolling her eyes as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “This is nothing. I didn’t even need the hospital this time.”

“Jesus.” I shake my head. “Like that’s some kind of consolation.”

Rather than engage with me, she snags the throw rug off the back of the couch and pulls it over her lap to cover her bare legs. When she stares straight ahead without blinking, I take the hint. I retrieve the remote and pick the first thing that catches my attention.

Sweet Home Alabama.

Cherub’s favourite movie.

Here’s hoping it’s enough to work my way back into her good graces.

Although an uncomfortable quiet lingers between us for a little while, Cherub can’t help but laugh when the movie gets going. As the main characters start to torment each other, her enjoyment becomes more vocal until she’s elbowing me every time she finds something funny. By the time the black moment has arrived, Cherub is tucked under my arm with her weight resting on me. She’s hiding her face in the crook of my neck, whining against my throat about them making a huge mistake, as the hero agrees to sign the divorce papers and walks away from the woman he loves.

I hold Cherub tight as the heroine’s choice between her past and her future is seemingly made.

If only this was the end of the story...

As the protagonists past love wins, I find myself screwing my eyes shut to block out the glaring truth that mocks me. Life mightn’t be like the movies, but it does get one damn thing right. Nothing beats first love. Second choice will never measure up. Because it’s not even in the same ballpark.

“Why were you mad at me earlier?”

My entire body stiffens in the wake of her softly posed question and I immediately lie. “I wasn’t angry.” When Cherub’s hand slides under my shirt and heads for my nipple, I amend my answer in a rush. “All right. Fine. I was angry.”

She presses her point. “At me?”

With my mind racing, I extricate myself from her reach. Standing in front of the couch, I do my best to avoid Cherub’s questioning gaze. “Not at you. Never at you.”

“Who… if not me?” She grabs my hands when I don’t respond. “I’m a big girl. Tell me the truth. I can’t apologise if I don’t know what I did to you.”

“Duch—” I press my lips together when the nickname I use in my head nearly pops out of my mouth. Cherub scowls, tugging on my arms in a silent request for me to continue. Dropping to my knees in front of her, I curl my fingers over her shoulders and hold her in place as I tell her, “Cherub, you have nothin’ to apologise for. My head’s a mess and that’s not on you. It’s all me.”

It’s as close to the truth as I’ll ever get with her.

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