Page 30 of Life Or Death

“No, what?”

I know how Dread operates. He’s the fuck ‘em and leave ‘em type, and while I don’t know Tori all that well, something tells me that’s the last thing she needs. Besides, the two of them together—that would be a recipe for disaster. They’d fucking burn the entire world down.

“You’re not going there, Dread.”

He laughs at me. “I’m crazy, brother, but I’m not certifiable. I don’t care how skillful that pretty little mouth of hers is, a girl like that is too much work. Besides, she’s got a kid and I ain’t looking to be nobody’s daddy.” His shoulders tremble as he inwardly cringes. “God, just the thought of that gives me the fucking creeps. Imagine me at school drop-off? Although, teachers are kind of hot.”

I sigh. “Can we get back on track?”

“His brows draw together. “What track are we talking about exactly?” He juts his thumb toward his chest. “Stoned, remember?”

Losing my patience, I ball my fists. I might need to seek anger management because I’m two seconds away from breaking this guy’s nose. “The track where you tell me everything Tori said about Jess.”

“Jesus Christ, man. If you’re so concerned, why don’t you call and ask for an update? Hell, you don’t even have to call Tori, you can call the hospital and speak to one of her doctors.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Better yet, you could go visit your wife and see how she’s doing for yourself. Seems to me she could use the company.”

His words hit me square in the chest, and I stare into my empty glass, turning it between my fingers. Little does Dread know, I’ve made that drive a dozen times over the past month. Parked my bike in the hospital lot, sat there with my hands gripping the handlebars until my knuckles turned white, an unrelenting hunger to see my wife gnawing at my gut.

Each time, I told myself I’d go in, just for a minute.

Get my fix and go.

But every single time, I turned around, ignoring the selfish desire that consumes me every minute of every fucking day.

She doesn’t want me around. Allowing myself to be in her orbit when she’s made it clear she’s disgusted by me would just be selfish, and I’m trying to be better than that.

“You should go,” Dread says, his tone more serious now. “She’s alone, man. That’s got to be a lot on a person’s psyche, especially someone in her condition.” He pauses for a beat, turning in his stool to face me fully. “Tori said she had another graft done about a week or so after she was transferred to the new hospital. That prolonged therapy, but they got her out of bed a couple of days ago. It was a lot on her, and according to Tori, she didn’t handle it too well.”

Something hot and vicious coils in my gut. I think about her alone in that hospital room, with no one to console her. Dread is right. That’s gotta be torture to one’s mental health.

I push the glass away from me and rest my back against the stool.

“I thought you were too stoned to remember anything.”

“Yeah, well, you killed my high.” He claps his hand around my shoulder. “Go see your wife, man.”

She’s only my wife on paper. I don’t get to sit with her or care for her. There are no meaningful conversations where we get to know one another. No long rides on my bike where her arms wrap around me and I stroke her legs when we come to a red light. No time carved out for me to get her to smile or hear her laugh. I don’t get to hold her hand or taste her lips. I’ll never sleep next to her or worship her body. The sounds she makes when she comes will always be a mystery.

Those are privileges another man will get after I divorce her.

So, I really wish Dread would stop referring to her as mine.

“Trust me when I say she doesn’t want me there. My presence will only do more harm than good.”

He reaches for his glass but doesn’t bring it to his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Loneliness can kill, man. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? She asks you to leave? Stop being a pussy and man the fuck up.”

My head turns toward him, and I rip the glass out of his hand, knocking back the contents before I hand it back to him and push out of my stool.

His brow lifts. “Where are you going?”

“Where the fuck do you think I’m going?” I lean in close, my voice dropping low enough that only he can hear. “To see my wife.”

With that, I make my way toward the front door and exit the clubhouse. My boots crunch against the gravel as I cross the lot to where my Harley sits. I swing my leg over and settle into the seat. The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the compound, the wind whipping at my cut as I hit the open road.

It takes me a little over an hour to get to the hospital, and when I drop my kickstand, I realize I’m fucked. It’s after two in the morning. Visiting hours are long fucking over.

At the old hospital, I had the entire staff terrified of me. They’d let me in at any hour, no questions asked. But here? I’m nobody. Just an absentee husband, showing up after hours, demanding access to a patient.

I climb off the bike and make my way toward the entrance. The automatic doors slide open, and my eyes immediately land on a security guard.