Night Angels (Beast & Beauty) by Jessie M Page A

him.
    Until he remembered Stephanie Church.
    Chris didn't seem to be that sorry at all when he'd stolen her from him.
    “Chris, look, I'm sorry. I just don't feel that way about you. I tried. Really I did. But I want to be with Kyle,” Melanie said matter of factly, but kindly, giving Kyle a nervous look.
    “So you keep saying. But why? What's so special about him ?” he asked through gritted teeth.
    “We get on, we talk, we laugh...”
    “But so do we, don't we?” he implored.
    “No,” she said coldly.
    “I thought we did... Why didn't you talk to me Mel, instead of doing this...?” He looked confused and so saddened that Kyle really was sorry for him now. In fact he actually felt like shit, and not because of his hangover either. A real shit of a brother. Two wrongs didn't make it right, did it?
    “ Look, there's nothing more to say. Stop making it even more difficult, we're through, end of...” she said to him finally, with a hard edge to her voice.
    “ What time is it?” Kyle asked, trying to diffuse the bad vibes. It was very light outside. Looking at the light made his eyes hurt even more.
    “ Eight o'clock, why is the time so fucking important?” his brother snapped.
    “Shouldn't you two be at work?”
    “Strangely enough, I'm not feeling up to it,” Chris said in a woeful voice.
    “Tuesdays I start at ten,” Mel explained.
    “I'm gonna have to ask you both to leave. I don't feel at all well,” Kyle said, with the pain behind his eyes worsening. This wasn't like any headache he'd ever had before. He was clammy, and hot. And his shoulder hurt more than ever. He rubbed at it, trying to soothe it a little.
    Boy, oh boy... did it ache.... Like hell on earth...
    “I don't believe it!” Chris said, picking up one of the empties lying by the side of the bed. “I bought that bottle of vintage Lynch Bage for Dad's Fiftieth birthday. It was two hundred and eighty quid! You've drunk my present! What a prize bastard you are...”
    “Didn't know. I'll replace it. Sorry again. Please shut the door when you leave.” He was fighting back the urge to puke and couldn't care less if he'd just drunk the most expensive bottle of wine in the whole world. Perhaps expensive wine was the problem? Maybe it didn't agree with him? He'd make sure he picked cheap wine in the future. If he had a future, that was.
    He shot off the bed and just about made it into the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door behind himself in a rush, before he threw up into the toilet bowl. He hung there being violently sick, slumped on the floor. It seemed like his entire body was trying to come out of his mouth. He was so hot and feverish, and his head throbbed like murder. He'd never felt so bad in his whole damn life. After a lot of dry heaving, he managed to drag himself up and over to the sink and splashed his face with water. Mel's voice accompanied a timid knock at the en-suite door.
    “You okay in there?”
    “No. Really ill. Call you later babe,” he spluttered as another wave of vomiting began.
    It went on for hours. He was so weak and dehydrated. But finally it stopped and he left the bathroom. He lay on the bed drained and shivering. His headache was passing too. After resting a while, he got up and opened a can of coke he'd left on his desk for the past week. It was warm coke, but it'd have to do. He guzzled it down, needing the fluids and the sugar it provided inside him desperately. Then he noticed something else. Jeez, he needed a shower so bad, he stunk like a pig. Worse than a pig. All that alcohol sweating out of his system, probably.
    He returned to the en-suite and turned on the water, stripping off and scrubbing himself clean. His shoulder felt a little better now. It looked less red, inflamed, and angry. He finished and dried himself, and then he went to dress in clean clothes for the day. He had work to do. He was already two hours late logging on.
    He'd just signed in and sent a message of apology about his late