Murmurs went up quickly, and Jack raised his hand to quiet everyone down before he continued.
“Everything is ok. In fact, it’s fucking phenomenal.”
I was happy for my brother. I was. I just... I wanted what he and Sam had. For the past two years, I’d talked to Rachel about having kids. She kept putting me off. I guess now I knew why.
“It’s fucking twins!”
The noise in the room expanded. I wanted to celebrate with my brother, but I couldn’t.
God, I’m a bitter fucking asshole.
“Tell them what we’re having.” Sam looked at Jack with a satisfied grin.
“They’re both girls,” Jack muttered.
The room erupted in laughter at Jack’s expense. Even my own lips cracked up in the corner. Two fucking girls to add to the spitfire he already had. Couldn’t have happened to a better guy.
“I thought it was too early?” King asked.
“There is a blood test you can do, and I opted to do it. I just didn’t tell Jack.” Sam laughed.
Looking out over the room, I glared at Ryder as he hugged his wife. His hands clasped together over her own protruding belly.
Asshole.
Everything Rachel said in her letter was bullshit. She’d always put him first. My fucking old lady had decided someone else was better equipped to make the decisions regarding her life.
And she chose the one fucking person I hated the most. I never should have agreed to let him join the club.
Gunner pulled my attention from Ryder when he stalked across the room, bent over, and threw his woman over his shoulder.
“Excuse me, brothers. Takin’ my old lady upstairs for a little chat.”
“Chat implies talking, not fucking,” Shotgun called out as Gunner left the room.
I didn’t begrudge any of my brothers finding an old lady. I just hoped to God they were more loyal than mine had been.
“Need to talk to you, brother.”
I ignored King as he sat on the stool next to me. I brought the bottle of beer to my lips, keeping my eyes straight ahead. Everyone harped on me about my drinking. This was a fucking MC clubhouse. We all fucking drank. Hell, Bane barely left the bar stool he was currently sitting on, day or night. No one was up his ass about how much he drank.
“I want you to talk to Haizley.”
My hand halted halfway to my lips as I prepared to take another drink. “What the fuck for?” I asked, glaring at my president.
“You need to deal with your shit. I can’t have my VP drunk off his ass every goddamn day.”
“I’m dealing with my shit just fine,” I said as I took another drink.
King sighed heavily next to me. “That’s a fucking order.”
Goddammit!
This was bullshit, and King knew it. Ordering me to deal with my shit. He needed to deal with his shit. I wasn’t the only one avoiding my goddamn feelings.
I left the clubhouse at the right time, as if I were going to the appointment he’d ordered me to set up with Haizley. But that wasn’t my destination. At least not yet. I knew I had to go. King knew I wouldn’t disregard a direct order, and I had a feeling Haizley would rat me out if I blew her off. That didn’t mean I had to be there for the whole fucking hour.
With twenty minutes left of the appointment, I pulled into her driveway. Five minutes passed before I finally got the fucking courage to get off my bike.
