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Lyle fought the impending fog and raised his eyebrows. "Me? VP?"
"Yes Big Papa Bear. You. Welcome back.”
Lyle closed his eyes and smiled.
He had broken the cycle. He made a new deal this time. With himself. His terms. He was going to be the best father, the best VP, the best brother, the best lover. He was going to start again. He’d reach back for those hands of help that were being offered to him, from Penny. From Nix and Ash. From Colt and the MC brothers and sisters. If he fell, he would get back up and dust himself off and fucking try again. And again. And he’d keep going.
He felt warmth. He felt vindication. He felt like he’d won the jackpot.
Carmelo stumbled through the doors to the bar area of the MC clubhouse.
He caught himself from falling flat on his face at the last minute.
The white cuffs of his shirt were intact. That's all. There were no other remnants of a shirt on his body.
He held up his trousers with one of his hands. The button was off and the zipper was broken. He’d slung on a T-shirt he found on the floor in the bedroom he’d spent the night in. It felt tight, but his whole body felt tight. His skin felt tight. He was hungover and exhausted. Fuck his life, this was getting out of control now.
He had no idea what time it was. Hopefully it was early and he’d down a gallon of water and slink out.
But he looked around the bar and his stomach hit the floor. Everyone was there. Everyone, even April, even fucking baby Chase in his high chair, grinning with yogurt in his hair.
“Morning, pig.” Ash was first on the scene. Of fucking course. Ash gave the Sergeant a friendly pat on the chest.
Carmelo groaned and wanted the ground to swallow him up.
Nix wasn’t far behind of course. “Aren’t we a walking pocketful of sunshine today, huh?” Nix joked and slapped Carmelo’s butt playfully.
“Hey, now,” Carmelo managed a croaky protest, as Ash and Nix bounded past him to sit at the table with April and baby Chase.
Rita appeared with a plate of eggs, pale fluffy things on steaming hot toast and bacon. Carmelo didn’t know whether to puke up or inhale it down.
Rita blinked at him. “Fuck, you look like death, here, take this, sit down, eat. I’ll get you coffee,” she said, thrusting the plate into Carmelo’s hands. Fuck, they shook. Rita grabbed his shoulder and steered him into a seat at the table next to April. She looked at him pityingly.
“Aw, heavy night?” she said, smiling, while making baby cooing noises at the gurgling happy little baby in the high chair.
Carmelo pressed the palms of his hands against the cold table top, closed his eyes and hung his head, groaning with pain.
“Nice T-shirt, pig.”
Carmelo cracked his eyes open and dared to look down.
It had been dark when he put it on. He’d hoped for some neutral, baggy T-shirt.
Fuck, it was bright pink. With sparkly bits. From some Avril Lavigne concert. Fuck, it was one of the girls’.
It was tiny on him. Like ridiculously tiny. His tummy popped out from below. Fuck, he’d gained weight, too. He had a six pack but carried a little extra padding on top, ‘cause he loved his food. A bit of insulation around those abs. But the extra insulation was too extra for his liking these days. He felt bloated and unhealthy and generally like a washed-up mess.
At least the girls won't be up, he thought, picking up a fork and attempting to balance some eggs on it.
And at that moment, Jessie came into the bar area. Fresh-faced in some cute little yoga workout lycra set.
“Morning, baby,” she said, winking when she spotted him, gliding right past him to get food from the kitchen.
“How?” Carmelo managed to stutter. “How is she so fucking perky-”
“Carmelo, baby, aww, did someone not sleep very well?” Greta, now having a good giggle at his expense.
Carmelo swallowed and tried not to dry heave. He needed to eat, he needed to just eat and have some water and he’d be fine.
