They asked Grant questions, but I zoned out, focusing on the door. Waiting. When would the doctors come in and tell me PD was okay? Because hewouldbe okay. There was no other alternative. Whatever the cost, I’d pay it so I had PD at my side again.
“Mr. Gardner?” Irons stepped in front of me, and I snapped my gaze to him. “Can I ask you some questions?”
No.
But I nodded because I had no choice. The sooner we got the cops out of the way, the sooner I could go back to waiting for the doctors.
“You and Mr. Deiters were target shooting?” Irons asked, fingers suspended over his iPad, ready to type my answers.
“Yeah. At the clubhouse.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was scratchy, detached from any emotion that raged inside me. I was cold, then hot, then cold again. The pain expanded in intensity, and I laid a hand against my ribs, where it resonated from. Always my fucking ribs and spine. “It was an accident. I was swinging the gun, didn’t know I had the safety off. Hit the trigger and—” I gasped. My knees wobbled. Despite the lies, the truth of how hurt PD was slammed into me again.
King was at my side in seconds, a strong grip curling across my upper arm.
“Is he okay? He’ll be okay, right?” I begged King with my eyes. “He needs to be okay. Fuck, I can’t do this without him. I fucking won’t.”
King was a tough man. He was brash and dangerous and very rarely let his emotions show, but he cared about his brothers,both club and blood. So, I wasn’t surprised when he hauled me into a firm hug, his arms tight around my back. And even though the hold came with pain, it was the kind I could handle because I needed the reassurance so bad.
And I broke. My knees gave out, and King came to the floor with me, hugging me the entire time as tears flooded my eyes and streaked down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold back even if I wanted to. Since the bike crash, since the brain injury, my emotions had become a motorcycle I couldn’t control. I was riding with no handlebars. All I could do was hope for the best.
Irons cleared his throat gently. “We have everything we need. If we have any questions, I have Mr. Arthur’s number. Thank you for your time. I hope all goes well with the surgery.”
There was movement, a shuffle and some quiet words, but I buried myself against King. Into a man who was essentially my older brother. Then, the sounds of the doors had me jerking my head up, only to be disappointed when I realized it was the cops leaving.
“Hey, he’s gonna be okay, all right? It’s PD. He’s a fighter. It’s one bullet. In hisleg. He can handle that shit. You survived a smashed everything, he can survive this. It’s nothing.” King tightened his hold, and I leaned into his warmth.
“The smallest things can kill a man. You told me that once, remember?” I grunted out, not willing to be ashamed of the comfort I was getting from another man. A biker. My president.
We were family. If we didn’t let our brothers see us break, then who could we let in?
King chuffed out a laugh. “Fuck, that was years ago.”
“PD and I had just joined the club.” I snorted as I sat back on my ass. I didn’t care that I was still on the floor. It was better than sitting in a chair, even if my body ached in protest. “You were telling us stories about injuries guys had survived, then ones that had killed them. You mentioned a dude who waspunched and it burst an artery in his brain. You saidthe smallest thing can kill a man.I never forgot it.”
“Yeah.” King hummed. “But did you remember the entire conversation? I said the smallest thing can kill a man, but a King never dies. We’re invincible.” He winked.
Yeah. His words were seared into my brain. We’d looked up to him. He was a hero to me and PD. Some things never changed. I was older and knew better now, but the words were still good to hear.
“PD is a King. He’ll get through this. Whatever this is.”
I believed him. If King said PD would do it, then he would, because PD never let King down. He was stubborn and beautiful and an artist in every way. I loved him and he wouldn’t leave me behind.
We sat for what felt like hours, though I had no real sense of time. We waited. When the door opened again, I jumped to my feet, only to freeze at the sight of my mother.
She wasn’t a bad mom, but she’d clung too tight after my accident. She’d begged me to sell my bike, asked that I give up the Kings every time we’d talked, until I couldn’t handle it anymore. Now, seeing her distraught face pulled tight with concern and streaked with tears, and her red curls a frizzy mess, I cracked. Because I loved my mom. She always brought out the weak parts of me. She was mymom.
I didn’t know who’d told her about PD and I didn’t care. She was here.
“Mom...he’s in surgery. I love him. I will set this world on fire without him,” I whispered, as though she didn’t know. She had to understand because she was standing at the door of the waiting room, her emotions fracturing. Then, she moved, eating up the distance between us with her arms open. I fell into them, face buried against her shoulder. She was so much shorter than me, and I nearly bent in half, but I felt like a child again, seekingcomfort in a hug that told me it was all going to be okay, she’d make sure of it.
The entire situation was out of her hands, but somehow, she’d make it better. She was a mom.
“Shh, I know. Grant called me. Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Paris is strong. He loves you back, always has. He’ll make it out alive, I promise.” There was a fierceness in her voice that said if he didn’t, she’d go to the depths of hell to drag him back to the land of the living to make sure she didn’t lie to me. Her embrace was warmth and home, and her rose-tinged scent enveloped me.
How had I ignored her for so long? What kind of son was I?
“I’m sorry,” I murmured into her shoulder. “For being a bad son.”
“Oh bullshit,” she hissed, rubbing my back sternly. “You are not a bad son. You are a hurt man who’s trying to deal with life.” She stepped back then, eyeing me carefully. “I was a worried mom who asked too much of you. I shouldn’t have pushed. Oh, Billy.” She cupped my cheek, thumb stroking my skin. I hated that nickname, and she knew I did, but that never stopped her. Any other time, it wouldn’t have stopped my brothers from giving me shit about it, either. “You’re all I have left. I was scared of losing you. But Paris’s good for you. He cares. And if you love him, so do I. Have you eaten?”
