Page 12 of Daddy

Struggling to carry his heavy ass, I breathlessly grit, “If my old ass can make it, so can you.”

Your life is worth living. You have two beautiful women who love you and a family that would be distraught if you died.

We shove him into the back of Finn’s Bronco, and I shut that hatch after Finn climbs in with him. Sliding behind the wheel, I listen to Conor’s pained cries and gurgles as I race toward the club. Ivan calls Tristan to let him know we’re on our way.

As I weave through traffic, my mind races between Conor and thoughts of how easily that could’ve been me again. How fleeting life is. And how fucking stupid I am for letting one of the only good things in my life walk out of it.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

JORGE

Faking an emergency, we force the last of the members from the club. The place is filled with an unsettling silence, the only sounds coming from the bustle of Tristan, Liam, and the doctor setting up a makeshift surgical suite in one of the viewing rooms.

While my thoughts should be on Conor and hoping that he’s okay, they keep drifting to one thing. One person.Rory.Assuming he’d be there, I picked up an extra shift as an excuse to miss family dinner—only to have Layla text me and let me know he didn’t show either. Both of us are apparently trying to avoid the other. In my gut, I know he was there with Conor and Finn. And I can’t shake the worry that something happened to him too.

A commotion at the back of the club grows substantially louder, and I realize they’re here with Conor. I hesitantly walk toward the viewing hall, stopping in my tracks when Finn and Rory step from into the hall from the room. Rory’s clothes are soaked in blood, and splatters of the dried crimson liquid mar his face—matching the crusted, dried blood staining his hands. He looks like he’s been through hell.

His eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops. He looks exhausted, like he’s struggling to hold it all together.Struggling not to lose it over Conor. The pain in his eyes is so deep that it pangs in my chest. I want to reach out and hug him—but he isn’t mine to comfort.He doesn’t want me to save him.Doesn’t want to know that I think I love him.

I can’t be here.

Backing away from the hall, I walk toward the empty bar to grab my jacket and find a teary-eyed Layla sitting on a barstool. I wrap my arms around her and pull her petite body against mine. “I’m really sorry,” I mutter, my throat tight. “I know I should stay. For you. For Conor. But I can’t.”

She squeezes me tightly, her embrace providing a small bit of comfort. Placing a chaste kiss on my lips, she struggles to maintain her composure. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I know. I’ll be okay. And Elena and Vic will understand.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. My voice thick with gratitude for her understanding, I whisper, “Thank you.” After slipping from her embrace, I walk toward the door, pausing briefly to glance over my shoulder for one final look at Rory.

The walk home is a blur—my mind reeling about everything. My heart is breaking over how broken and distant Rory looked. Closing my apartment door, I drop my things in the entryway and collapse onto the couch as a loud thud on the door echoes through my apartment.

“Wrong apartment,” I shout, knowing that everyone in my life is currently at Club Triskelion. The obnoxious knocker pounds on the door again, and I push myself from the couch. Yanking open the door, I grunt, “I said, wrong apart—” I choke on my own words when I see Rory in the hallway, still covered in the dark scarlet stains of Conor’s blood.

I contemplate slamming the door in his face—shutting him out the way he did me. But I can’t. He looks so weary and dejected that the other part of me—the part that still caresfartoo much—wants to pull him inside to make sure he’s okay.

Rory’s eyes meet mine, and any chance I had of shoving him away is gone. “I wasn’t sure you’d open the door,” he confesses quietly. He stares at me like he has something more to say, and I wait for what feels like an eternity. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Now?” I exclaim. “With you… likethat?”

“I’m fine,mo rúnsearc,” he insists, though his demeanor and the exhaustion in his tone tell a different story.“I’ve been a fucking idiot. I don’t want to lose you, Jorge.”

My heart stops, and for a second, I can’t breathe. I don’t know how to respond. How to believe that he’s going to just tear down all the walls he’s built and let me in.

“Please,” he adds. “I’m sorry. I want you in my life. Ineedyou.”

Without thinking, I take a step forward and wrap my arms around his neck. His arms snake around my waist, and he pulls me into him—so tightly there isn’t room for air between us.

“I’m so sorry,mo rúnsearc.”

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

RORY

The moment Jorge’s body touches mine, a warm comfort washes over me—a calmness I only ever feel when I’m with him.

“I am so sorry,” I whisper against the side of his neck. “But I know my words aren’t enough. I was a fucking asshole, and I don’t deserve a second chance.”

“I don’t forgive you.” His voice sounds pained as he loosens his hold on me and steps back from our embrace. My heart breaks a little when he looks up at me; the hurt in his eyes is unmistakable. “Words are great,” he gruffly announces. “But actions speak a whole lot louder than words.”

Staring back at him, I swallow hard and nod.He’s right.

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