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fact that there is a great big lump of hulking muscle in my home that shouldn’t be.
    Ditching the keys on the hall unit, I face him.  He looks beautiful; it’s a shitty way to describe a rugged guy but it’s not often I get the chance to focus on just him, I’m usually staring from far away or stealing glances across the dining table at Barbara’s.  His lilac/blue eyes can move through a range of color and intensity depending on his mood, unfortunately the one he’s displaying now is one I’m familiar with, anger.  His plain v-neck t-shirt is strained because his arms are crossed over his chest, but it also gives me a hint of the powerful muscles in his arms, not forgetting that the v-neck also gives me another glimpse of that body hair I spied last night.  His t-shirt is partially tucked into his distressed old jeans at the front and it reveals a simple black webbed fabric belt with a silver buckle.  Daring to look just a bit lower confirms what I’ve always suspected, he’s PACKING.  I flash back to that day when I caught Tits’s head bobbing him and I wonder if she could take him whole in her mouth now.  I’d give it a good go but this however reminds me I AM PISSED.
                  “You’re here because?” No answer comes back.  “Well whatever the reason, I’ll take my key back, that’s for emergencies.  Can’t have you just letting yourself in, I could have been up to anything.”  The inference is implied, I don’t need to spell it out.  No answer comes to that either.  “Seriously, what do you want?” 
    He leans away from the wall, stands straight and speaks “What the fuck gives?”
    “I...”
    “I do not want my business being a topic of conversation between you and your bitches in Mudjoes.”  He’s talking quietly and I was right, he’s angry.
    “Now hang on...”
    “No. You hang on. Stay out of my space; I don’t appreciate you giving me fuckin’ shit in public.  I’m back and the reasons for what I’m doing and why I’m doing it have shit to do with anyone until I say it does.”
    “If I could get a FUCKING word in, or were you planning on this being a monologue?  I’m not in your business.  I didn’t know you were back.  I’m not passing opinions on shit because I don’t know SHIT!  I will repeat, I didn’t know you were back.”  He begins to take exception to my tirade and its escalating intensity. 
    “Who the hell do you think you are letting yourself into my place and giving me shit, isn’t it bad enough that you made me look like a fool last night by throwing me out of a club?  Let’s not forget the fact that I’ve been in contact with you via text and never once did you mention that you were coming home and coming home for good...” I hiss in his direction.
    He leans in, “Dalton, don’t...”
    “Don’t fucking interrupt me.  So, seeing as I’m clearly the only person who isn’t someone important enough to know you’re back, yet you think you’re someone who feels they can threaten to drag me out of a nightclub, I will remind you.  I KNOW FUCK ALL.  NOW GIVE ME MY MOTHERFUCKING KEY BACK AND GO AND HELP YOUR SLOPPY ASS PIECE OF PUSSY FIND HER APRON,” I shriek in his face.
    At this he stalls and opens his mouth to speak, but thinks again.  This is first time he has seen me flip from reasonable to nuclear in a long time so he takes the key to my apartment off his key ring and puts it on the hall unit and walks out.  I don’t even turn around to watch him.  As soon as I hear the door slam shut and his engine revving I breathe again.  Making my way to my fridge I grab a bottle of beer, pop it open and mumble “What the fuck was that?”   I seriously don’t understand why he needs time to settle in without me knowing, it’s not like I wouldn’t help, we’re fucking family.  Thinking through lots of permutations the only sensible answer I can come up with is he actually doesn’t like me, in any way, even as