Free Love Sex & Other Games: Part 2 by Cheryl McIntyre Page A

on?” Miles asks. “What was Emerson doing here? Since when do you two hang out? Why did she take off like that?”
    He fires off one question after another, not giving me the opportunity to answer. My back is still to him and I close my eyes, inhaling a calming breath. And then a second one for good measure. This is his fault. All of it. I love him—he’s my brother, I have to—but I am one nosey-ass question away from kicking him in the nuts and ensuring I never have a niece or nephew.
    Damn, the thought of Rosie, swollen with Miles’ child, twists my gut. I wince. Little half-Miles/half-Rosies running around, calling me Uncle makes me want to puke a little. Even if I’d be an awesome uncle—which I would.
    And Em would be their aunt.
    I bet she’d be a good one, too. Not as cool as Uncle Coop, but she’d help teach them all the shit they shouldn’t do. All the things that would drive Rosie and Miles crazy. Give them drums for Christmas and paint sets for birthdays.
    I almost smile at that.
    “Coop, what’s going on? Em looked upset. What happened?”
    You. You happened, Miles. The story of my life. Why couldn’t he have been born a girl? Or gay? Or mute?
    I turn to face him and it’s difficult not to unleash the chaos I feel inside. Focus it all on him. But we’ve been there, done that, bought the t-shirt. “We’re friends,” I say, deliberately ignoring the other questions, but that doesn’t stop him from repeating them.
    “Was she okay? She looked—”
    “You noticed that too?” I ask, cutting him off. Funny, since he hasn’t noticed anything else about her in all this time. Maybe he has to now, part of his newfound role as brother-in-law.
    I wave him off, trudging into the kitchen. “I’ll call her later and check on her. After you leave,” I add pointedly. My fridge is full of Cherry Coke, purchased specifically for Em, and I have to search around for a moment to locate the six-pack of Corona I stowed in there. I don’t offer my brother one. He’s already overstayed his welcome.
    I pop the top and take a deep drink before I turn around and find Miles hovering just outside the doorway, lurking like a stalker.
    “Why are you here?”
    A flicker of sadness flashes in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with annoyance. “I was sent here.”
    Of course he was.
    “By who? Mom?” I walk straight toward him, not slowing on my way out of the room, forcing him to back up. “I’ll tell her you stopped by and we had a nice brotherly heart-to-heart, okay?”
    He follows after me, choosing to remain standing as I heave myself onto the couch. I grab the remote, dismissing him, but he doesn’t take the hint.
    “Not Mom,” he explains. “Rosie.”
    I freeze, arm in midair, controller pointed at the TV. “Why?”
    “She’s pissed at me.”
    Ha. Good.
    Wait.
    “Why?” I ask again, my voice low.
    “I never told her—about you, and apparently, I should have.”
    I shift my head slowly, narrowing my eyes as I meet his. My arm drops to my knee heavily. “You think?”
    He shakes his head, indifferent to the look I’m giving him. “No, I don’t. But Rosie does. So I’m here.”
    Seriously, why not mute, God? Why?
    A dry chuckle puffs my chest as it leaves my mouth. He has no remorse whatsoever. No regrets for what he did. And here’s the thing: The only part I feel that he should feel bad about is how he’s handled everything. Not for being with Rosie. Not even for being with Rosie when he knew how I felt about her. You can’t help who you love.
    And when you love someone, you should never allow anything or anyone to stand in the way. Not family, not friends, not time or distance or career. And definitely not fear. You get one life—you can’t fuck around waiting for it to begin or get better. You have to step the hell up and make it happen. Especially when it comes to love.
    Miles did what he needed to do for himself and there’s nothing wrong with that. But he should have been a man