AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"What the fucking fuck?" I gasp.
Covered in soot, in burns, with a bullet wound and a gasping cough, Owen comes through the hole. He locks eyes with me, reaches for me, and, with a smile on his face, he says, "I'm not losing you, Dani. I'd rather die than live in a world without you in it."
Together, Morgan and I stand while Moose enters the room and throws Riley over his shoulder like she weighs less than nothing.
"What fucking took you so long, Owen?" Morgan gasps.
Owen's grin goes sideways. "Had to get a couple of tools from Moose's truck. Running stairs in this heat is no joke. Now, do you want to stand here jabbering, or do you want to get out of here?"
Hand in hand, Morgan and I limp to him.
On this edge of dying, I've never felt so alive.
Or in love.
Epilogue - Striker
Striker
I hate hospitals.
Not because they smell like death warmed over or are so sanitized and medicinal that it feels like I've dunked my face in rubbing alcohol, not because the doctors and nurses prod and poke you in places that definitely don't seem necessary, and not even because being in the hospital reminds me of other times in my life where I've been laid up and those are definitely not memories that I want to revisit.
It's because every visitor I have looks at me and talks to me like I'm Tiny fucking Tim fromA Christmas Carol. If I even drag my ass out of bed to use the can, they talk like I'm the bravest, strongest hero alive. I don’t want a medal for taking a piss. I just want some peace and quiet. And those days where I talk about even a tenth of the pain that I'm going through — knife wounds, bullet wounds, second-degree burns — they talk and whisper among themselves like I'm dying and it makes me feel like the most pitiable man alive.
Everyone except Rook, that is.
The first time he came to visit me, he told me he was sick of picking up my slack at the MC's shop and that I needed to stop faking it and get my ass out of bed or else he'd drag me out himself and put me back to work where I belong. It was the best visit.
But now I have my discharge papers, now I have my freedom back and a body that doesn't hurt like hell every time I try to move it. Things are looking up.
"Do you have someone to come pick you up?" My nurse says as she stops the wheelchair at the foot of my bed. I don't need the damn thing — I can walk — but it's hospital regulation that they take me out the front door in one. When I found out about it, no amount of protesting on my part could change their minds, even though that means Smokey will soon be pushing me around in a wheelchair and that seems tailor-made to be a special hell. I can only imagine he'll try pushing me down the stairs.
"He'll be here any minute," I say.
"It's not the big grumpy one, is it?" The nurse says.
I shake my head.
"What about the other big one? He’s nice."
"No, he's not coming, either. It's Dixon Green," I say.
"Oh. Him," she says, voice falling. "Not his sister?"
I shake my head. I haven't heard from Dani since the day at the Vertucci compound, other than a 'Get well' card that explained she needed to take time to sort her feelings out, to rest, to recover from all the pain and trauma that was inflicted on her.
"Not her."
"For as much as she's been in here, I would've thought it'd be her."
I sit up, suddenly alert. "She's been here?"
"All the time. She comes in most mornings, usually, and sometimes at night. Always asks about you at the front desk to see how you're doing. Does she not come in your room?"
I let the question lie. I don't want to think about what it means that Dani doesn't want to see me. Maybe she's changed her mind about us. Maybe she can't get over how I broke my word to her. Whatever it is, it's done, and she's clearly made a decision.
"Would you like me to wheel you down to the lobby so you can wait there for your friend?"
