Chapter 20
ROOK
Hospital. I hated hospitals. The smell of antiseptic burned my nose and the whiteness of the walls seared my eyes.
Being in this prison threw me back to the fuzzy days when I lived here, in so much pain I barely knew my name.
They fed me morphine and woke me up every few hours to make sure I was still okay.
It was a nightmare I didn’t want to relive.
But my brain didn’t understand that concept. The scent was a trigger, and the beeps of machines a reminder. A throb echoed through my body, but I wasn’t sure if it was real or a familiar ghost haunting me.
King and Dallas had turned up an hour after us, their faces solemn. They didn’t tell me what happened with Loubeck and I didn’t ask. Not yet. PD was the priority.
Reaper and Grant had come with me, and Grant promised the people he knew were the best doctors for the job. I believed him. He’d never led us astray. But I was pacing in the waiting room as they operated on PD, trying to find the shattered pieces of a bullet.
“How long will it take?” I growled out, staring at the door PD had disappeared through as if I could make him walk through just by looking at it.
Grant let out a small, shuddery breath. “However long it takes to get the metal out of his leg and stabilize his femur.” He wasn’t mean, but he was firm. He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t try to make me feel better, either. Nothing but the sight of a healthy PD would do that.
Grant had been honest with his coworkers and told them he’d extracted the first bullet. He lied a little, telling them he felt it was necessary and using some medical jargon I didn’t understand. They all knew he was the brother of the Kings of Men president, so they didn’t question him too hard.
I’d told them I’d accidentally shot PD during target practice.
Whether they believed me or not, I didn’t care. Grant said they’d call the cops anyway. It was a requirement. But we’d come up with a plausible story, one they couldn’t refute easily. Grant had promised the bullet fragments they dug out of PD would go missing.
Without any evidence, it would be almost impossible to make liars out of us.
King leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sit down, Rook. Let the docs do their job. We’ll have River follow up on this bullshit. If they charge you with something, we’ll fight it.”
Dallas grunted. “Since PD isn’t dead, the worst they can do is a Class A misdemeanor, but they probably won’t bother.
Keep the story simple. The incident occurred on private property during an event you were both participating in.
Charges would be a hard sell to the DA. They don’t like to waste their time.
Plus, PD won’t cooperate. When it’s all said and done, they won’t have anything to work with. Make sure you stay calm.”
I scrubbed my palms over my face, panic and anger lodging deep in my chest until I thought my lungs would explode. “I can’t. I need to move.”
King fell back against his chair and kept his arguments to himself. He’d been here when I’d had my bike accident. Maybe he knew when not to fight. Had PD paced the way I was now? Had he been this distraught and felt like his world was going to implode?
I couldn’t imagine the hell he’d gone through before, but now I could. I hated the feeling. My heart was ready to rip itself from my chest.
The doors opened, and I stiffened when two police officers stepped through. They stood tall, eyes wary, and as they closed the distance between us, their fingers twitched. Their thumbs were hooked in their belts, close to their weapons in case this conversation went south.
“Are you William Gardner?” one asked. He had a brown crew cut and a scar across his chin. His tone was careful. “I’m Officer Irons. This is Officer Lewis. We’re here to take a statement on the gun-related injury to Mr. Paris Deiters.”
Officer Lewis was a blond with sharp blue eyes and a square jaw. He was taller than Irons and had broad shoulders that pulled at his navy blue uniform and tested the strength of his shirt buttons.
Grant sighed and stood. He held out his hand and shook with each of the officers, the expression on his face diplomatic. “Please be gentle with Will. His partner’s in surgery and he’s traumatized right now.”
“Of course.” Irons offered him a small smile as he pulled out an iPad. “Can I ask your name?”
“Grant Arthur. I’m a physician assistant here at the hospital and a good friend of Will and PD.”
Reaper hovered behind Grant, offering support, but his gaze was narrowed in warning at the police. If they started something, Reaper would end it, no matter who these men were. Grant came first to him and I understood that now. Lived it. PD was my partner, my forever, and my future.
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 he would be 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 his leg. 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 was punched and it burst an artery in his brain. You said the 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 my mom.
I didn’t know who’d told her about PD and I didn’t care. She was here.