“Hey!” Chris yelled as he tried to stand, but was less than successful. It just wasn’t worth the effort. He stumbled toward his bedroom. “Go home, Colt. I don’t want to talk. Just go home.” He slammed his bedroom door, unbuttoned the top of his jeans, flopped on his bed, and tried not to think about the last time he’d had sex. With Julie. On Valentine’s Day. Fifteen months ago.
* * *
Chris sat straight up in bed. Oh my God. What was that horrible noise and why were there little people in his head trying to drive pick-axes through his skull in time to it? He tried to groan, but it came out more as a whimper as his stomach suddenly lurched and he dove toward the bathroom and toilet. As he sat on the bathroom floor worshipping the porcelain god, it occurred to him that a few hours of oblivion weren’t worth this.
Finally, his stomach settled enough so he could stand again. Leaning over the sink, he rinsed his mouth out with tap water and avoided looking in the mirror. He remembered making this trip several times throughout the night and was pretty sure the wear and tear would show in his reflection.
Again, the grinding noise came at him from the kitchen, hammering at his skull. He shuffled into the room, yanked the coffee grinder out of Colton’s hand, and set it very gingerly on the counter.
Colton just ignored his scowl and gave him a blinding, gleeful smile. “Good morning, sunshine.” Then he maniacally picked up the grinder and started it again.
Chris clutched his head as he sank to the floor.
Finally, the incessant noise stopped and Chris could only whimper. “You’re a sadistic bastard.”
“Come on.” Colton reached a hand down to help Chris up off the floor. “The pain will be worth it when you get some coffee in your system.” Colton pushed him into a barstool at the breakfast counter where Chris rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes to the blinding glare of the morning sun.
They sat there in the quiet, with only the noise from the coffee brewing. Chris tried to convince himself that he couldn’t truly die from a hangover, no matter how bad it felt. Colton toasted some bread and set it on a plate in front of Chris, although his stomach churned at the sight. He pushed it away. “Maybe later.”
When the coffee was done, Colton poured two cups, one of which he pushed under Chris’s nose. The smell was tempting, but Chris knew as soon as he made any movement that looked like he might live, Colt would start yelling. So for now, he just listened to the drumbeats pounding in his head. They were going to hurt worse when Colton decided to lay into him.
Finally, Chris couldn’t stand the condemning silence anymore and looked up into his big brother’s eyes. Colton leaned up against the counter in front of him with only jeans on his lean hips, looking both concerned and frustrated. Faced with that wall of muscle, he was once again thankful that Colt wasn’t a violent guy. Colton would yell at him, but he probably wouldn’t beat him senseless unless Chris really provoked him. That might be a tempting way to work out his frustrations if his head didn’t hurt so damn much.
He’d obviously spent the night, which made feel Chris feel guilty. He had a pregnant fiancé at home. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have spent the night. I was fine.”
“You didn’t look fine last night when I got here and you were falling down drunk. I told Cassie I’d take care of you and I meant it. She wouldn’t have understood if you’d died of alcohol poisoning.” Colt’s voice was soft, but edged with steel.
What could Chris tell him? That maybe it had been better if he had died? That he wasn’t worth the trouble? Instead of laying that on him, Chris sipped his coffee and avoided Colton’s gaze by checking out the blinking light of the answering machine. Those were probably all messages from Cassie. He hated that he’d caused her to worry on what should be some of the happiest days of her life.
“Chris, what happened yesterday? You’ve been doing better. There had to be something to set this off. I know you had some sort of appointment yesterday afternoon. Did something happen there? Did you get some bad news? Talk to me. Let me help.” Colton’s low,