Page 9

I’d been in Memorial a half-dozen times, and I’d never had a bedside visit on their psychiatric unit. Thankfully, it wasn’t my typical vacationing spot. The V.A. took care of most of my needs, and if driving to their facility was possible, it was mandatory to do so.

I’d never voluntarily walked into one of their fine establishments. The V.A.’s mental health services, or Memorial’s damned unit. I tended to arrive in a squad car, with little memory of what inspired the chariot ride.

Truth be told, the law probably only tossed my ass in there so they wouldn’t have to listen to me in the drunk tank all night.

Pat had helped me walk away from all of that. He took me under his wing and made me feel like a part of his family. In doing so, he’d convinced me to go back to church and set aside the belief that my sins were too many and too reckless for the lord to ever forgive.

So, maybe it was Pat somehow posthumously saying goodbye to me in the hospital…

Or maybe it was the sedation.

Either way, staying at Memorial wasn’t an option, not after I saw Pat’s obituary in a newspaper lying about the common room.

The stretch of highway in front of me came back into focus, as did the clubhouse. I sighed, realizing that I’d done it again. I was going to end up breaking my fool neck if I didn’t learn how to keep my ass grounded and in the present, or whatever the quacks called it.

I parked next to my brother and admired his new bike as I made my way to the clubhouse.

Inside, Chef Aviston was standing awkwardly close to the mother of his children. Her jaw was stiff, and tears welled in her eyes. Chef didn’t let the woman’s obvious discomfort stop him from berating her, his words grew louder as the room began to fill.

“Why can’t you just be a fucking woman, and do what the fuck women are supposed to do? Ignorant bitch,” he clipped, and for a moment, I thought he might slap her.

He’d been growing more volatile lately. His habits were getting the best of him, and I couldn’t help but wonder about their two boys, Eric and Anthony.

“Fucking character that one,” I huffed under my breath, making eye contact with my brother on the opposite side of the room.

He hefted his brows and snorted as if he had read my lips from all the way over there. I sighed and made my way toward him. When I reached his table, I grabbed the back of the chair, rather than sitting down in it.

“What’s the word, brother?” I mumbled.

Montana gave a slow, unimpressed shake of his head, “I quit trying to figure shit out a long time ago, brother.”

The door next to him opened, and Mark stuck his head out long enough to give a simple order, “Get them inside.”

I glanced back at the bar, but before I could call for the others, my brother had beat me to it, “Table.”

Chef glanced over his shoulder, an ugly scowl twisting his face.

“Now. It wasn’t a suggestion.’” Montana doubled down, unmoved by his antics.

Several of the other men trickled past, but Chef didn’t budge, not until he realized I was still staring at him. His eyes were glistening with impairment, but he was still coordinated enough to shove his wife aside when he begrudgingly started toward the conference room. I couldn’t help narrowing my gaze on the ugly bastard. His best friend might be the president, but that didn’t mean shit to me.

I didn’t appreciate being made to call a man ‘brother who beat on women for sport.

“Feel better?” I mumbled falling into place behind him.

He gave a half glance over his shoulder, his eyebrow perched high with discontent, though his lips never dared twitch toward an answer.

“Nah, I get it. Sometimes you gotta smack on whatever's small enough to give you a fighting chance, eh–brother?” I laughed.

My own brother’s head whipped to the right and he suddenly found great interest in the bar. Chef whirled around, but I didn’t stop walking. When we neared the point of colliding, he was left nose to chest with me. His hands shot out, exploding against my shoulders with all he had, but it wasn’t enough to move me.

“You done, cupcake?” I kept my chin tucked as I pointedly stared downward at him.

Whispers broke out around the table.

“Knock it off you two!” Mark barked.

“I was just gonna pull his chair out for him.” I shrugged.