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He shrinks back. “But, of course, studies do suggest it might help. Some even suggest it encourages them out of comas. But there’s no—”
I turn back to Rory but direct my words at him. “Stop talking.”
“Of course, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse. In fact, how about I give you both a moment of privacy.”
“That would be a very good idea,” I say.
He leaves, and I kneel beside the hospital bed. Rory looks so small and vulnerable, and Christ, it fucking hurts to know it’s my fault. If I had only checked the psychopath for a second gun before I threw him overboard, she wouldn’t be in this bed.
I take her hand in mine and press my lips to her cool skin. “Don’t leave me, baby. Don’t you do that to me. I didn’t know what fucking love was until I met you, and if you don’t wake up and tell me to take a chill pill and lighten the fuck up, I don’t know how I’m going to fucking survive it.”
Another wave of fear rolls through me, and I drop my head.
This is pure fucking hell.
But I have to do something to make it right.
The doctor said the best thing I can do for Rory is make sure things are in order when she wakes up so she doesn’t have anything but her recuperation to think about.
I think about everything that’s happened in the last five weeks since she walked into my life and stole my heart. About the hit. About the lies. About the mess we’ve made. And it makes me fight the tears forming behind my eyes. My jaw hurts from gritting my teeth, and there’s an iceberg in my throat.
“Wake up, little one, and I promise I’ll make things right.”
I stand and lean down to kiss her forehead before I leave.
Then I storm out of the room to find Jack.
An hour later, we’re on our way to the airport.
By the time we land, Paw has gotten us all the information we need to know.
We take a hire car to Dorchester. Rory’s mom, who according to Paw’s information, is called Ariana, opens the door. Dressed in a satin jumpsuit and enough gold to sink a ship, she’s smoking a cigarette and smells like beer.
Her eyes light up when she sees Jack.
But when she sees me, her appreciation turns to horror.
She doesn’t slam the door in our face, she’s too busy running for the hills.
No doubt, going for a gun.
Which would be good since Jack and I are unarmed. Airports don’t like you carrying a couple of handguns stashed on your body, and we didn’t have time to sort an alternative. If she gets a gun, I’ll take it from her.
As soon as we enter the house, a fat man with a receding hairline steps out from the kitchen to the left, blocking our path. He’s wearing nothing but a white tank top and pants. He gleams with gold jewelry, a gold watch, gold bracelets, and a thick gold chain around his neck sitting on a bed of wiry white and ginger chest hair.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks me.
Ariana runs at us, yelling and pointing a gun like she’s Ma Baker.
But it’s nothing for me to take it off her.
One second, she’s holding it, the next it’s in my hand, and she’s staring at me like I’ve performed a magic trick.
“Do your worst, you motherfucking murderer. You killed our Joey. You’re a cocksucker, a goddamn motherfucking cocksucker.”
Jack glares at her. “Shut up.”
But she ignores him and lunges at me. I sidestep, and she loses her balance, and I have to grab her arm to stop her from falling.
