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“Looks like he’s struggled a lot.”
“You don’t have to come with me. Seriously, Doug. I’m fine.”
“A drunk guy comes here looking for you, saying all kinds of weird things, yeah, I’m with you.”
“Totally not necessary. He’s—”
“Drunk off his ass!” Bill said as he pointed into a conference room.
Bill was a huge guy. Muscular, but not all muscles. Graying brown hair, which made him appear way older than early fifties, and arms filled with tattoos. Not to mention the scar along his left temple.
He’d live life hard. Despite his rough exterior, though, he really was a teddy bear. Sweet, protective, and loyal.
Especially to his club family, Drey and Hunter. Which evidently included me, along with Angelina and Sarah.
I stepped into the room and a wave of alcohol hit me.
Man, it really did reek in here.
“I’m calling Drey,” Bill said.
“Wait. Give me a minute, first.” I held my hand up for both Doug and Bill to back off. Damon was screwed up right now. Anyone would be if they’d found out they would never see anything else ever again.
And to think, the last thing he’d seen was his mom dying on the sidewalk! And then someone attacking him. The fact that he wasn’t completely crazy just because of that was a freaking miracle.
I straightened my T-shirt a few more times. Okay, three, specifically.
Damon groped the windows on the far side of the room, working his way to his left. In a few steps he was going to ram into the table that held all the water glasses. The corners were sharp, and it was going to hurt.
Then again, he needed to feel the effects of his choices, right? I’d spent so many years in therapy,Icould be a therapist.
Didn’t make watching him struggle any easier, though.
Doug stepped beside me. “Lizzie, are you sure you—”
“Yep.” Twirling my ring and taking a deep breath, I stepped farther into the room. It was like walking into another world.
Not only because of the smell of alcohol, but the sense of anger. It wafted off him in tangible waves.
And they nearly plowed me over.
I could do this, though. He needed me. I’d help him. Like I helped him every single day sitting with him while he slept. Cuddling. Talking.
“Hey Damon,” I said, slowing my approach.
The glasses on the table clanked. “Shit!”
His hand went out to the side, clipping a couple of glasses. The thin carpet slightly muted the shattering glass.
“Son of a bitch.” He held out his hand.
And that’s when I saw blood. A glass had cracked on the table. He must have nicked it. I hustled across the room to the other end of the table and snagged some napkins. “Here.”
He swayed to the side, his eyes unfocused but bobbing in my direction. His lids hung heavy, nearly covering the pretty blue I loved seeing.
“Isssthat my LizBelle?” He slurred his speech and wobbled on his feet.
“Don’t move!” He was about to step on glass.
