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Authors: Simone Scarlet MMA
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Kristen knew he was having similar feelings about his homecoming – probably hurt at the behavior of his, angry bitter mom - or the scathing messages from a father who hadn’t even bothered making time to see him yet.
“T-to your career?” Kristen offered a third toast, and then winced almost immediately as she remembered that Hannibal had only come home because he was suspended from the MMA league.
“Wow, I’m shitty at making toasts, aren’t I?
Hannibal snorted. Fortunately, he rescued her from her embarrassment.
“Tell you what,” he smiled bitterly, and chinked glasses. “How about we just toast to needing a fucking drink .”
Kristen allowed herself to smile.
“I’ll drink to that .” And they chinked glasses.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kristen
One margarita turned to two. And then a third. And by that stage, Hannibal started talking.
“Wow,” Kristen snorted, as she listened to her brother in law slur his words. “For a big, tough guy, you can’t hold your liquor.”
Hannibal snorted, and slurped his drink.
“I never normally drink this much,” he admitted – pronouncing that last word ‘mush’. “But shit, Kristen. I needed it tonight.”
Kristen sipped her drink.
Hannibal had been growling and intimidating from the moment he’d come back – the same confident, swaggering asshole she’d come to know and loathe, but now with a new and unpleasant bitter streak to his personality.
But after those drinks, he was easing up, and it was easy to remember the Hannibal she used to know – all those years ago, before the crazy shit between her mom and his dad had torn their lives apart.
Bouyed perhaps by her drink, she leaned into one of Hannibal’s big, burly arms and admitted: “I missed you, Baller.”
For a moment, Hannibal let his defenses down. He reached his arm around his stepsister and squeezed. It was like old times. She closed her eyes and drank in the heavy, comforting bulk around her shoulders.
And then she ruined it.
“Why did you have to leave us?”
The arm was pulled back quicker than a striking rattlesnake.
“Dammit, Krissie. Don’t say it like that. I didn’t leave you.” The ice cubes rattled in his drink. “I had my own shit to do, that was all.”
Kristen said nothing, and that was worse than saying anything at all.
“You were twenty ,” Hannibal continued defensively. “You didn’t need my stupid ass around anymore.” He slurped his drink. “You and Jules were old enough to look after yourselves.”
“Yeah,” Kristen sniffed. “And just look what a great job we’re doing of that. Your brother lives in a fucking crack den, and I’m serving mozzarella sticks for two dollars an hour, plus tips.”
Hannibal snorted.
“Don’t lay that shit on me. Don’t make it like it was my fault. I’m not your goddamn daddy.” He ran a big hand over his shaved head. “Fuck, the problem in our lives isn’t the lack of parental involvement. Quite the fucking opposite. If our parents acted like grown-ups, maybe we wouldn’t be in this shit.”
Again, Kristen said nothing, and that led Hannibal to keep talking.
Turning to his stepsister, he glowered down at her with his intense, brown eyes, and hissed: “And you think shit’s so rosy with me, anyway? Fuck – you expect me to look after you and Jules, but it should be plain and fucking obvious I can’t even look after my own sorry ass.”
That was when Kristen snapped.
“It looks like you’re doing just fine, Baller,” she hissed. “With your two hundred grand Bentley sitting outside in the parking lot. I’ve seen the clips on TMZ. You blowing fat wads of cash in strip clubs and casinos. Did you ever even stop to think of us?”
Hannibal had taken hundreds of punches over the years, but her words hit him harder than any of them.
It took a moment for the big man to sum up the breath to speak, but when he did his voice was low, soft and even.
“If my life’s so fucking rosy, Kristen,
“T-to your career?” Kristen offered a third toast, and then winced almost immediately as she remembered that Hannibal had only come home because he was suspended from the MMA league.
“Wow, I’m shitty at making toasts, aren’t I?
Hannibal snorted. Fortunately, he rescued her from her embarrassment.
“Tell you what,” he smiled bitterly, and chinked glasses. “How about we just toast to needing a fucking drink .”
Kristen allowed herself to smile.
“I’ll drink to that .” And they chinked glasses.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kristen
One margarita turned to two. And then a third. And by that stage, Hannibal started talking.
“Wow,” Kristen snorted, as she listened to her brother in law slur his words. “For a big, tough guy, you can’t hold your liquor.”
Hannibal snorted, and slurped his drink.
“I never normally drink this much,” he admitted – pronouncing that last word ‘mush’. “But shit, Kristen. I needed it tonight.”
Kristen sipped her drink.
Hannibal had been growling and intimidating from the moment he’d come back – the same confident, swaggering asshole she’d come to know and loathe, but now with a new and unpleasant bitter streak to his personality.
But after those drinks, he was easing up, and it was easy to remember the Hannibal she used to know – all those years ago, before the crazy shit between her mom and his dad had torn their lives apart.
Bouyed perhaps by her drink, she leaned into one of Hannibal’s big, burly arms and admitted: “I missed you, Baller.”
For a moment, Hannibal let his defenses down. He reached his arm around his stepsister and squeezed. It was like old times. She closed her eyes and drank in the heavy, comforting bulk around her shoulders.
And then she ruined it.
“Why did you have to leave us?”
The arm was pulled back quicker than a striking rattlesnake.
“Dammit, Krissie. Don’t say it like that. I didn’t leave you.” The ice cubes rattled in his drink. “I had my own shit to do, that was all.”
Kristen said nothing, and that was worse than saying anything at all.
“You were twenty ,” Hannibal continued defensively. “You didn’t need my stupid ass around anymore.” He slurped his drink. “You and Jules were old enough to look after yourselves.”
“Yeah,” Kristen sniffed. “And just look what a great job we’re doing of that. Your brother lives in a fucking crack den, and I’m serving mozzarella sticks for two dollars an hour, plus tips.”
Hannibal snorted.
“Don’t lay that shit on me. Don’t make it like it was my fault. I’m not your goddamn daddy.” He ran a big hand over his shaved head. “Fuck, the problem in our lives isn’t the lack of parental involvement. Quite the fucking opposite. If our parents acted like grown-ups, maybe we wouldn’t be in this shit.”
Again, Kristen said nothing, and that led Hannibal to keep talking.
Turning to his stepsister, he glowered down at her with his intense, brown eyes, and hissed: “And you think shit’s so rosy with me, anyway? Fuck – you expect me to look after you and Jules, but it should be plain and fucking obvious I can’t even look after my own sorry ass.”
That was when Kristen snapped.
“It looks like you’re doing just fine, Baller,” she hissed. “With your two hundred grand Bentley sitting outside in the parking lot. I’ve seen the clips on TMZ. You blowing fat wads of cash in strip clubs and casinos. Did you ever even stop to think of us?”
Hannibal had taken hundreds of punches over the years, but her words hit him harder than any of them.
It took a moment for the big man to sum up the breath to speak, but when he did his voice was low, soft and even.
“If my life’s so fucking rosy, Kristen,
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