“Then what is it?”
He frowns, and his eyes bleed sadness. “Normally, you’d be the one I turn to in a situation that I have no fucking clue howto handle. I’m, uh, not sure what to do here, and I can’t turn to you.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” he growls. “You never,ever, have to apologize to me for something that is out of your control.”
“Okay.”
Heath opens his mouth to speak, but his cell rings, and he pulls it from a pocket in his cut.
“Yeah,” he says after putting the phone to his ear. “In Mellie’s room, why?” I can only hear his side of the conversation, but when his expression darkens, I know he’s not getting good news. “What? I, um… Yeah, I’ll be right there. Can you come sit with Mel?”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I gripe, but my protest goes unacknowledged.
“Thanks, brother.”
Heath disconnects the call as he walks to the door. “I’m so damn sorry, Mel, but I have to go. Zombie’ll be here soon.”
With that, he disappears into the hall, and I’m left wondering who the fuck Zombie is. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I don’t have to wait long to find out.
“Hey, Mellie,” a man says as he enters the room.
Glancing at him, I’m shocked to realize I recognize him. “I know you.”
His eyes widen. “You do?”
“Well, you look familiar. I didn’t recognize the name Zombie when Heath said it, but…” I shrug.
“Goddamn, he’s gonna be so fucking jealous,” Zombie says, a grin on his face, as he walks to the side of the bed and sits in one of the two chairs.
“Why?”
“Aw, sweet cheeks, Lyric is the man you’re marrying, but you don’t know him from Adam. I’m the man who feels about you like I would a sister, and you sorta know me. It’s gonna make him green. And I, for one, can’t wait to rub it in his face.”
“Isn’t that kinda mean? He said you two were brothers.”
“Not by blood.” He waves a hand dismissively. “And yeah, it’s probably a little mean, but it’s what we do. He’ll get over it.”
I’m not sure he will get over it, but what the hell do I know?
“If you say so.”
8
LYRIC
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jenkins. We did everything we could.”
I stare at the blood-soaked floor under the hospital bed in my dad’s room, unable to look at his still form. My brain tries to refute the doctor’s words despite the evidence right in front of me.
Rowdy’s gone.
My fucking dad is dead.
Suddenly, my knees buckle, and I drop to the floor, ignoring the pain as I hit the hard surface. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional agony threatening to consume me.
“Mr. Jenkins, let me help you.”
