He shook his head and tugged out of my grip. “I can take care of it! Fuck off!”
“Fucking fine! Call Grant,” I roared at him. I made it to the stairs before I turned and pointed at him. “I’ve only ever tried to do right by you.”
“Sure you have. Go to hell,” he snapped, then slammed the bedroom door.
I didn’t meet anyone’s eye as I fled outside, a fucking coward. I had to do something, but if I went back in there, all we would do was go in circles. I needed a fucking plan, but what was I after?
Right now, I needed him home. That was step one. I could worry about everything else later. He was going to be back in our house soon—or else.
I wasn’t sure what theelsemight be, but I knew it might half kill both of us and it was probably best to avoid it. I was done playing around.
5
ROOK
I threw my leg over my bike to slide off it when a wave of dizziness hit me, and I wobbled, nearly falling to the ground with my Harley’s handlebars still clutched in my hands. Scar grabbed my shoulder and kept the worst from happening. I shook off his hold but gave him a short nod of thanks as embarrassment struck me deep in my gut.
“You okay?” Scar asked, the clear concern in his eyes driving a sharpness into my chest. He was a tall, rough man with short brown hair that was catching silver at his temples, like a lot of the members who’d been around for a while. I didn’tneedany of my club brothers to feel sorry for me or worry about me, but here we were, and it was a given every day. There was always someone looking at me, worry lingering in their gaze as they tracked my movements.
“Fine,” I bit out, then winced. Softening my tone, I said, “I’m fine. Thanks, buddy.”
Scar grunted, his obvious disbelief another reminder of how much they didn’t trust me. It was easy for them to sit there,all healthy and shit, and cast donuts over me, but—I froze as I frowned at my thoughts.
Donuts? No. That wasn’t what I meant. Doubt. It was doubt, not donut. Fuck, my brain was a mess, and it got harder all the time to keep my mind on track. Some days were worse than others, and I’d been having one of those weeks where I couldn’t keep things together. Normally, PD was there to help, but now he wasn’t and I lived in the clubhouse. Everything seemed a hundred times worse than it usually was since I’d left the hospital.
He’d brought me my meds, something I hadn’t even thought about. How stupid was I?
While I’d tried to get out of physical therapy, King had picked up on something—or PD had told him—because he’d ordered Scar to take me to my appointments. When I’d tried to argue, King had cut me off. I didn’t fight because, in the end, he was still the president of our club. I refused to take the crash van, though. No. If I was going to therapy, it would be on my bike, and Scar hadn’t argued that point. He’d also waited outside while I went in for the therapy.
We were back at the clubhouse. I was sore and fucking annoyed, every part of my body aching, from my ribs to my collarbones to my spine. I was ready to reach out to someone and get stronger pain meds.
“You going to hang out here?” I asked Scar, looking around the junkyard.
He shook his head. “Nah, I’m going to head out. Charley wants me home and I have a day off, so I’m going to get laid.” He grinned, all white teeth and excitement, and I didn’t blame the motherfucker. I couldn’t remember the last time I got dick.
I held out my fist, and he bumped it with a wink. “See you later, brother.”
“Be good, man.” He slid back onto his bike and started her up again.
I walked through the door of the clubhouse, rubbing my ribs as I sighed. Inside was quiet, unusual for the barroom, except it was a weekday and everyone was at their day job. I was the only idiot who didn’t have a life, but after the accident, working had become harder. My job as a welder wasput on holduntil I was better, but I wasn’t sure how I’d ever be able to do anything but make it through the day. Fucked if I knew what that would even look like.
I rubbed a hand over my face as I made my way toward the bar. Josh wasn’t there, but he had a place outside of this room, too. He had Rogue.
Falling onto a barstool, I fixated on the booze shelves, not truly seeing the mirror that showed my reflection. My brain moved slower than molasses, and everything was on fire inside me. If I could sit here forever, the world racing on around me, I would. Maybe I’d grow old here, time eating away at my skin until I was nothing but bones.
“What are you doing?” The familiar voice had me screwing my eyes shut.
Fuck.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I forced myself to turn and stare at PD as he ate up the distance of the barroom until he was standing in front of me. The smudges under his eyes, along with his sagging shoulders and grim expression, made me pause.
“Jake is there. He can handle it.” PD took a seat on the stool beside me. I pressed my lips together to keep from snapping at him, but it took every ounce of my self-control, and I didn’t have much of that lately.
“What aboutyourclients? They don’t book appointments to see Jake.”
He rolled his eyes. “I canceled them, told them I was puking.”
“You lied,” I drawled.
