Page 4 of Bolt (Iron Thunder MC 1)
He said he was doing important work, that he was on the brink of making a lot of money and I should just leave him alone.
I cried with relief that night; my brother was still alive.
In the mornings, no matter how rough the night before had been, Chip would always be in a great mood. It was always the best part of the day because I had a slice of my brother. The true him. The guy I’d grown up with. The guy who liked to bake chocolate chip cookies and make snowmen out of dough balls and bring a tray of breakfast in bed for Mom and me.
He had his good side and the mornings were what showed it best.
Chip was sweet then, full of laughter and concern. Then the evenings would come around and along with the blackness of the night, a dark and sinister mood took hold of Chip too.
I knew I’d lose my brother to the night again.
It was an endless cycle.
You’d think I’d have been used to it by now, but I wasn’t.
I had my own business to think about, but the only thing that occupied my mind was my brother’s welfare.
Four years ago, just before Mom fell sick, she gave me some money to invest in a business of my own. I opened up a small cafe at a place I rented cheaply. Using Chip’s cookie recipe, I baked fresh cakes every morning; the cafe was doing well, and I managed a small income from it.
I’d lost track of how many times I begged Chip to give up all his other ideas and to come work with me, offering him a shared ownership of the cafe, a chance to bake all the cookies he wanted to feed people. Sometimes, he’d claim he loved the idea, but he was always on the brink of some major ‘breakthrough’. There was always another promise to join me in the business as soon as he’d made his big money. Next time, next time.
That wasn’t going to happen. I knew it, and maybe he did as well but just didn’t want to admit it to himself.
And now, since Mom’s death, things had gotten even worse. He barely even woke up in the mornings for me to experience that other happy side of him. He slept till midday and left the house as soon as he woke. He had no time for me, no interest in his sister.
So, tonight I was glad I’d been able to convince him to stay for dinner.
“I have shit to do, sis,” he argued when I stood blocking his door.
“Yeah, I’m sure you do, but I’ve made roast beef, exactly the way you like it and we should sit down and eat together. Talk over a few things. You know?”
But it seemed he didn’t know.
Chip looked shiftily around his room. I could sense his mind was elsewhere. He even looked a bit nervous.
“Hey, is something going on?” I asked. Now, he was refusing to meet my gaze. It didn’t take me long to figure out he was hiding something.
“I need to go!” he snapped, pushing past.
“You can go once you’ve eaten with me. Chip, please, will you do that for me? Just tonight? Just a quick meal. Please…”
I followed him around the house as he collected up all his things—jacket, wallet, shoes. He was sullen and silent.
When he realized I wasn’t letting up, he finally faced me with a big sigh. “Okay, a quick bite, then I’m out.”
I was beaming when I set the table for us, tried to involve him in conversation about the cafe, even though he wasn’t really listening.
“Chip!” I startled him out of his thoughts at one point. He gave me an annoyed look, and I thought he almost looked concerned. “You can tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can help. Are you in trouble?”
He shrugged. “Can take care of myself,” he claimed.
Unfortunately, I’d seen that look on his face before, usually when he returned with a wound or a broken jaw or bruised knuckles from a fight. Chip wasn’t very good at hiding his worries from me, especially not when they came with multi-colored bruises and broken bones. I was sure I knew when he had something troubling on his mind.
And tonight, I was determined to not let him get hurt.
He said he was done with dinner abruptly and got up to leave.
“Don’t stay up for me, Cassie,” he said when I followed him to the door, more like an order than a request—as if he knew something already, something he wasn’t telling. He was putting on his jacket and avoiding my eyes. Another sign that something was up.
“I know you only think of me as a silly young girl, but Chip, really, I want to help,” I said. He faced me then, his eyes stormy and dark with anger. Or was he scared?
