Page 133 of Control Freak
I woke a few hours later,desperately thirsty. When I went out to the kitchen to get a Gatorade, I found the whole family gathered around the table like they were holding a vigil.
Gray, Axel, and Dalton sat with beers in front of them, while the others drank from cans of Coke or Dr Pepper.
Axel’s dogs, Loki and Taz, were curled up under the table, while Sugar paced the room. Banshee darted around my legs and ran to greet her former pack.
All eyes turned to look at me. Even Sugar’s.
“I’m not at death’s door,” I grumbled as I went to the fridge. “You can go about your business.”
Shiloh stood up, a too-bright smile on his face. “Hey! Glad to see you up and about.”
I pulled out a Gatorade and uncapped it. “Is that why you look like you’re trying to reassure a terminal patient?”
His smile fell. “Sorry.”
My heart dropped. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was supposed to put smiles on his face, not chase them away.
I swiped a hand over my face. “No, shit, I’m sorry. I’m a little out of sorts.”
Bailey snorted. “Alittle.”
“Yeah, Holden is always a dickhead after he has a panic attack,” Axel put in helpfully.
Dalton chuckled beside him. “Well, what’s your excuse?”
Axel elbowed him. “I’m a delight, and you know it.”
“Really, Shy, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just…fucked-up.”
“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “I’m just glad you feel well enough to be irritable.”
I smiled wryly. “Lucky you, huh? You got a real prize.”
“Don’t say that.” His eyes flashed with anger. “I’m damn glad I have you. Do you really think I did any better with the likes of Jimmie?”
I grimaced. “Your taste in men could use some work.”
“My taste in men has gotten infinitely better.”
The doorbell rang, and Bailey hopped up. “That’ll be the pizza.”
I guzzled half the bottle of neon blue Gatorade while Bailey went to the front door. He returned with three pizza boxes containing a Hawaiian—his fave—and two pies with sausage and peppers.
I took a seat at the table, even though I wasn’t hungry, in the hopes that everyone would stop watching my every move like I might collapse at any second.
“I’m okay,” I told Shiloh. “Just drained. Feel like a truck hit me. The hangover is real.”
Emory chuckled. “You didn’t even get to drink. It seems unfair.”
“Doesn’t it, though?”
Everyone finally focused on getting their share of the pizza out of the boxes. I took one slice, just so they wouldn’t pester me about eating, and picked at the edges of the crust, trying to relax.
But as soon as we weren’t talking, my thoughts started racing. I replayed the confrontation with Brick and Curtis.
Hands on me.
Touching. Pushing. Pulling.
