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I blow out a fucking breath as my shoulders relax and a smile tugs at my lips.
“Fuck no, you’re not. I told you, you weren’t gonna die.” I manage to tease, and he snickers a little, but then winces in pain.
Cara moves forward to try to fix his pillow, but he stills her hand with his in a lazy fashion and shakes his head at her.
“Killer, stop fussing over me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll fuss over you all I damn well like. I’m still your wife and the only way to get rid of me is to divorce me, so until you grow big enough balls to do that, I’ll fuss over you every minute of every day as I see fit.”
“My balls will never grow that big.” He grins, and Cara returns it.
“I know.”
Fuck. It’s nice to see them like this. Back together after he banished her. I’m sure she’ll make him pay for that, eventually.
After Cara presses a kiss to his forehead, she excuses herself to leave us alone.
“I thought you were better at following instructions.” Rocco grumbles, frowning at me, and my brows shoot up in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“I was very fucking specific when I was lying on the ground with my gut blown open. I told you to take my wedding ring and give it to Cara. I told you to tell her that I was sorry and never stopped loving her, yet she never got that message.”
I shrug. “And I told you, old man, that you can tell her yourself, because you weren’t gonna fucking die.”
He grunts, rolling his head on the pillow like he’s trying to get comfy. “You know your problem? You always have to be right.”
I snicker. “I’m Grayson Black. No more needs to be said.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He whines, rolling his eyes at me, and for the first time in days, I start to relax a little.
I’ll never admit this to him, but I wasn’t so fucking sure he was going to wake up. The notion of him not being in this world was too unbearable to even consider, yet it kept hounding my thoughts along with the possibility that I’ll never see my princess again.
I have Rocco back now, so that’s a start, but my princess…
“I take it your bloody knuckles are a result of your subtle search for Zoe?” Rocco asks, eyeing my busted-up knuckles, and I nod.
“There’s nothing subtle about it.” I admit.
“No, I don’t suppose there is.”
Rocco sounds disappointed. Is he unhappy with my methods?
“What’s bugging you? Should I not be kicking down doors?” I ask him, and he stares at me, his face a little thinner than it was this time last week.
“You should, but you have a club to run now, so you need to remember that you and Zoe aren’t the only people that matter.”
Anger heats my face and I ball my fists at his words, and I keep my mouth shut until I know I’m not going to go off the fucking rails like an obsessed maniac.
“The club is always my priority. The Reapers need to pay. We need to wipe those fuckers off the face of this earth for what they’ve been doing to us for years. Not just the stuff they’ve been doing since Zoe’s family got dragged into it. Enough is fucking enough.”
Rocco nods. “I agree. But remember the club needs money to survive. The men need a reason to stay devoted to us, and seeking vengeance on the Reapers isn’t enough. For now, it will keep their anger fuelled, but eventually, they’ll need more. The clubhouse needs to be restored. The runs need to keep happening. The Cunts need to keep their beds warm. As weird as it sounds for a bunch of brutes, they need stability. A home.”
I understand everything Rocco is saying. It’s not new to me. I know how the club operates and I know what the men need. What I don’t know is why he’s reminding me.
“You know I know all of this, man. What are you really trying to say?”
I watch as emotion battles to contort his expression, and his lips thin as he stares up at the ceiling for a long beat.
