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Shit.
Damn.
Damn.
Dammit.
Using both fists, I rub blurring wetness from my eyes as I navigate a long stretch of sidewalk, careful not to trip and fall on my behind.
I left him. I left Gunz in his time of need. I’m the world’s biggest bitch.
Racing to the hospital in the literal middle of the night, the doors retract. Just beyond is the brotherhood, pacing the halls in leather. Hot on my tail, a tired Jade and Loretta enter alongside White Boy and Blimp, our babysitters tonight.
They escorted Bink and the rest of the sisters home, to keep an eye on the kids. Don’t worry, they’re not alone. Deke and three others were left to protect the compound. I didn’t ask. Adam told me when he called to make sure I was doing okay, after Big called in the middle of girl time to explain Gunz’s in surgery for bullet fragments, an infection, and as if the first two weren’t bad enough, internal bleeding.
It’s been quite the evening.
Three conjoined hotel rooms at the nicest place in town and girl talk. Hours and hours of it. We had a bar of chips and dip to pair with our hours of chatter. We were just finished dressing for bed when the call came through. First to me, then the rest of the sisters.
Every moment since the news broke has been a blur. My focus singular. On him and getting to the hospital as fast as possible. Not that it does much good. His family is already here for support.
Adam breaks through the crowd, heading straight for me. We don’t speak as he leads me by the arm through a throng of men, into a nearby waiting room, teeming with even more males—a stark contrast of denim and leather versus the sterile white walls and tan chairs. In the center of the space, there’s a cart full of snacks and coffee. One brother gets up and offers me their seat. Swallowing down my ball of nerves, I offer him a tight, grateful smile before I take it, my hands trembling.
Acting far beyond his years, Adam kneels in front of me and rubs his palms up and down my thighs. His smile’s watery, his eyes rimmed in red, when I meet them with my own.
“He’s in good hands, Mom.” He attempts to comfort, his voice hoarser than usual.
Scratching my nail along the chair arm, I bob my head, so he knows I’m paying attention.
In good hands.
Right.
A surgeon’s hands in the middle of the night. It doesn’t take a genius to know they don’t operate at three in the morning unless it’s life-threatening.
Like Moses parted the sea, if the sea was bursting with testosterone, Big lumbers into the space. Somehow, he swallows most of the air before he stops close to my chair, his attention on us. I tilt my head way back to look at him at this angle. If he reached up, I bet his fingertips would graze the ceiling.
“Just so you know, he asked me not to call you.” Their president rocks back on his boot heels as if this conversation is just as uncomfortable for him as it is for me.
Wind fully knocked out of my sails, my shoulders deflate. “I understand.” I left Gunz. He has a right to feel betrayed. Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to call me either if I were in his shoes.
“Fuck. Don’t look at me like that,” the giant rumbles. “It’s not ’cause you left. He doesn’t want you to worry. Here.” Big shoves his phone into my hands and strides away. On the screen, looking straight at me, is the familiar face of Bonez, drinking from an actual dick-shaped mug. Caught off guard, I try my best to suppress a smile and fail. The size of that ‘ah-hem’thingand the crinkle of exhausted humor in his gaze, as he sips from it, draws a tiny giggle to the surface. One I didn’t know I needed until this very second. It lightens the mood a smidge, and for that, I’m thankful.
I adore this man.
“Sooo…” Bonez drawls, then grins, despite the terrible circumstances. “I guess this is the part where I get to betray my exceptionally stubborn brother in favor of his woman.”
Oh.
“It is?... I mean…Right.It is,” I fumble.
Sipping from his mug, Bonez winks over the rim. “Good girl… Hey, Adam, why don’t you get Mom somethin’ to drink while we talk?”
Without a word, Adam pats my thigh twice, then sets off to find me something to drink as his uncle fills me in on what the hell’s going on. The last I knew, Gunz was healing. Then again, the last I knew, we were in a good spot. That was before the funeral. Before the alcohol and tension. Before we stopped communicating.
When Bonez is through explaining the Niki suicide, guilt sex, infection, drinking, hallucinations combination, I’m full-on sobbing. Adam sets a box of tissues in my lap. I collect a wad and wipe the snot from my face, not caring who sees this hot mess.
“Thank you,” I croak, dabbing my swollen eyes.
