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EAST
Lying in this hospital bed is killing me slowly. I feel like a giant waste of space, unable to help the guys search for V.
That might be what ends me, not the whole, bullet-to-the-heart-with potential-catastrophic-complications thing.
I’m losing my goddamn mind. She’s been gone for over a week. A whole eleven fucking days of not knowing who has her, or what’s happening to her… of knowing that the others had to ask the Knights for help.
None of it feels right.
Or good.
It’s all very much bad, but I’m practically tied to this stupid fucking hospital bed, unable to even walk the length of the fucking hall yet because, apparently, a bullet to the heart will fuck with your ability to do just about anything.
I hide behind a brave face when the boys come to visit because I need them focused on V rather than my shit right now
The last I heard from Luc was that they thought they had a location. But that was late last night and none of us have heard anything since. The ticking of the clock in this room is so loud that I want to throw it across the damn room, but that would require moving, which technically I’m not allowed to do alone yet.
Stupid fucking bullet wound.
I don’t regret taking the bullet for Lincoln. I’d take it again a thousand times over if it keeps him safe, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the recovery.
It’s only ten in the morning. It feels like eons have passed since my meds at seven, but that's the joy of three hours alone in a room with nothing to do and no one to talk to.
As if summoning someone with my very thoughts, the door to my room opens, and a guy I don’t recognize stands in the doorway.
“Hello?” It comes out as more of a question, and I grab my phone to dial Luc just in case. Living around the Knights has taught me to be safe rather than sorry, and suspicion is my go-to with people I don’t know.
“Easton?” he asks, almost warily as he steps into the room, letting the door close behind him. He looks very at odds with how unsure he seems. His at least five-thousand-dollar suit, shiny shoes, and styled hair scream money, confidence. He looks like a man who is typically sure of himself.
But he says my name like a bomb is about to detonate and my suspicion grows. So I nod, the weird tension in the room growing. There’s a pit in my stomach as I take in his appearance, but it doesn’t stop me from asking, “Who are you?”
He inches closer to the bed and motions toward the chair. “May I?”
I quirk a brow and say nothing, so he sits down and takes a deep breath. “My name is Chase Armstrong. I received a call from Fiona after she got a message from your brother.”
My ears heat and tingle at his words. I can’t breathe.
Holy fuck.
This isn’t how I expected this to go down.
“You’re my father?”
He nods in response and I let out a deep breath. “I haven’t heard from your mother in just over twenty years. I never knew…”
The air is thick, and it’s like I can’t breathe. My chest tightens, like a weight sits on it as I watch him struggle to think of what to say. What excuses to make. Who to blame. I already know the answers to all of that, but it doesn’t make any of this feel less stifling.
“You never knew she had your kid,” I finish, because he’s looking at the floor. Why am I not surprised that Fiona said nothing? Though, it’s very likely that was Harrison’s doing. He’s a giant fucking prick like that.
My stomach churns as he sits in silence, his eyes searching my face as if looking for the answers to the universe. He lets out a sigh and his shoulders drop a little. He takes a deep breath and straightens up again, squaring his shoulders and calling on that confidence I’d expected of him. “Exactly. She only called yesterday, otherwise I’d have been here sooner.”
“That sounds about right,” I mutter. Of course I nearly die, and she can’t be bothered to respond to Linc’s message for over a week. Typical Fiona.
I feel awkward as hell sitting across from the man who is essentially my sperm donor. What exactly am I supposed to say here? What does he want from me?
“Why are you here?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest carefully, trying to construct barriers between us. If he thinks he can just walk in here and everything’s going to be a love fest, he has another thing coming. He also has that air about him, the one that comes from a lifetime of being tangled up with the Knights, and my hackles are raised.
I am done with being a pawn for those fucking people.
