CHAPTER 48
The kindest souls offer forgiveness before it’s earned.
We sit in the waiting room, Mateo and I, side by side. Time seems to stretch on endlessly. From where we sit, we hear someone alert the staff to a code blue, and it nearly gives me heart failure. The idea that Finn’s heart could flatline has emotions bursting out of me that I cannot contain.
As tears spill down my face, I pray. Pray to a God I don’t believe in, and like I never have before. I used to think that if God existed, he’d sure as fuck written me off ages ago.
Now, though, I need him to hear every word echoing out from the deepest parts of my soul.
Please. Please. Please. Not him. Not him. Give us more time. Please. I’ll do anything for more time.
I pray harder, gripping the chair beneath me as if holding on will keep him here.
The yearning for this wish to be granted has me holding my stomach, which is twisted with worry, and rocking forward.
When a sob tears from me, arms encircle me.
Mateo’s. His arms are so much slimmer than Finn’s, but it’s a comfort as he holds me while I break down.
I brush and brush the tears away, but more take their place. A never-ending torrent. All for him. Only ever for him.
And still we wait.
The sound of boots pounding down the hallway eventually shakes me out of the anxious grief.
I look up, blinking through the blur of tears.
An army of HOCs marches into the room—Bodie, Dozer, Cap, Griz, Maverick, and Taz.
Their dark presence fills the small space, a stark contrast to the sterile waiting room.
Mateo and I stand abruptly, stepping forward as they approach.
The sight of them is a comfort until Bodie’s face crumples in an instant, misunderstanding my expression and tears.
He shakes his head, grabs his stomach like he’s been punched.
“No,” he practically shouts, his voice strangled.
He bends over, clutching himself like he’s bracing for the worst.
“We don’t know. He’s not gone, or at least we’re not sure. We’re still waiting to hear.”
Bodie exhales, long and shaky, his hands moving to the back of his head as he straightens up, relief crashing through him like a wave. “Oh, thank fuck.” He starts pacing, once, twice, then stops, his boots heavy on the linoleum as he tries to steady himself, sucking in deep breaths.
Dozer moves to stand beside him, his large hand resting on Bodie’s shoulder, murmuring something low enough that I can’t catch what he says. I focus on the way Bodie’s face tightens, eyebrows drawn together, and the emotional storm he’s struggling to contain.
Cap approaches Mateo and me. His massive body dwarfs mine. His face is pinched with concern, and his mouth is set into a hard line. “What do you know?” His gruff and no-nonsense demeanor is something I’ve become accustomed to.
“The ambulance brought him in around two fifteen. I was at his house because Mateo called me, and we had just enough time to get him to puke up most of what he’d taken.” I glance at Mateo, standing stoically and silently next to me.
His voice betrays how shaken he is. “He collapsed, and he wasn’t making much sense.
He’s been bad for a while, but this…” Mateo shakes his head.
“This is the worst I’ve ever seen him. He was high, drunk—I don’t fucking know—but he was slurring his words and murmuring about Lily.
That’s why I called her. He told me…” His voice falters as his eyes dart to mine.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him, soft but firm. “I know.”
Mateo’s shoulders roll forward before he continues. “He said, ‘It’s Lily’. The girl, the one he’s been looking for. He made me say her name. Made me promise not to let him forget.”
Bodie freezes. His eyes narrow on me, searching my face as if it will reveal the truth.
I don’t really care what he sees. This is me—messy bun, tear-streaked face, the oversized shirt, and black stretch pants. His gaze falls to my shirt— Finn’s shirt —the one I changed into when I realized mine had puke on it.
Reaching behind me, I grab Finn’s cut that’s draped over the back of my chair, and I walk it over to him. He takes it from me when I pass it to him.
His piercing gaze stays locked with mine. I’m not sure if the others know what this means, but by the look in Bodie’s eyes, he sure the hell does.
The room feels like it’s holding its breath as the other HOC members exchange glances, their gazes ping-ponging between me and Bodie.
I expect him to yell at me, to lay into me with all the blame I deserve.
The thundering beat in my chest picks up rhythm as I brace myself for a fight.
It never comes. Instead, he motions me to follow him down the hallway until we’re out of sight and earshot of the others.
There he shakes his head and grumbles, “Fuckin’ forget-me-nots.
” He chuckles sardonically. “When he first told me about you, he said. “They’re goddamn beautiful, but fuck… sad too… like they’ve seen some shit, you know?
’” He gets choked up and places a fist over his mouth, then clears his throat and drops his hand after he’s gathered himself together.
It tears me the fuck apart to see tears brim in his eyes, and my tears make a reappearance.
I swipe at each one, but still they fall.
Bodie tilts his head toward the ceiling as if to will his tears away.
“He knew,” he whispers huskily. “From the moment he saw you again… something in him knew . I all but told him he was crazy.”
“I didn’t want him to know,” I say, shakily. “I tried so hard to hide it from him. I lied every time he got close to the truth.”
“Why?” His question is gentle.
“Because the past hurt too fucking much to revisit. And I lost him once… I couldn’t let him in and go through that all over again.”
Bodie laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “How’s that working out for ya?”
More tears tumble down my face. “Fuck you. It’s not, okay.”
He nods, says, “Fuck you, too. Now let’s stop fighting and get him the help he needs, yeah?
” His smile builds and, without warning, pulls me into a fierce hug.
The smell of him—a mixture of weed, smoke, grease, and leather—fills my senses.
Somewhat similar to Finn’s, and it sort of wrecks me, because what if I never again get to experience Finn’s hugs, his arms around me, and take in his scent.
I bury my face in his chest, and the tears come faster, sobs wracking my body as I cling to him.
He holds me through every second of it and murmurs that it’ll be okay, that he’ll be okay.
The other bikers are speaking in low whispers behind us.
But I can’t focus on what they’re discussing.
It’s just me and Bodie in a sterile hallway.
The world is spinning around us as he tries to fill me with hope instead of dread.
It feels like hours pass, though it’s likely no more than another hour before the doctor comes to inform us of Finn’s condition. “McCown Family?”
I’m sitting in an uncomfortable waiting chair between Mateo and Raven, who just barely arrived.
We all stand and move toward him—me, Mateo, Raven, Bodie, and the rest of the HOC crew behind us.
Every one of us responds because, yeah, we’re his family .
He has no living blood relatives except his mother, and he doesn’t consider her family.
This is the family he would claim if he was well enough to do so.
We solemnly listen to every word the doctor says. My knees go weak at one point. Raven links arms with mine to hold me steady.
Six times over the legal limit repeats over and over in my head.
They had to pump his stomach and give him Naloxone.
The doctor is concerned about the nosebleeds and wants to run additional tests.
Bodie explains his head injury and the surgeries he’s already undergone.
They discuss the next steps, tests, and possible options.
All the while, the idea that this happened because he pushed himself, his brain, to its limit, replays in my mind.
The guilt I feel is insurmountable. The pressure sets in, and without warning, I step away as I struggle to suck air into my lungs.
I press a hand to my chest and fight it, but the burn builds behind my ribcage, and my breaths shorten, my gasps for oxygen come quicker and quicker.
I rest my back against the wall and tilt my head up as my vision swims. It feels as if my lungs aren’t expanding.
Like they’re paralyzed or frozen in place.
Raven helps me to the floor and coaches me to breathe through it. I gasp out the word “inhaler” and point towards my purse. Mateo grabs it and searches through it. He finds the inhaler and rushes it over to me.
I take two quick puffs from it, and then I continue to fight for air as I wait.
When the attack finally tapers off, I explain to the men standing over us with stricken faces that I have asthma and get panic attacks sometimes, mostly due to shock or stress, and that they started when I was young.
Raven sweeps my hair from my face. “My father gets panic attacks, too. But he doesn’t have asthma. I wondered about it because I’ve noticed some of the signs, and I’ve seen you use your inhaler a few times.”
“The two don’t always go hand in hand, asthma and panic attacks. I’m just one of the unlucky ones plagued by both.”
Afterwards, as we sit and wait while Bodie and Cap check on Finn.
In the silence, my thoughts tunnel down a darker road, to all Finn went through over the years.
How hard he’s searched for answers, and fought through so much pain to do so, to the point it was fucking killing him.
But he kept doing it because he couldn’t let me go.
Look at me! Look at my fucking chest and tell me you didn’t mean shit to me! Christ, Little Bird. Can’t you see you meant everything to me?
God, Finn.
The tattoo on his chest is a black silhouette of a woman standing by a tree, and parts of her are transforming into dozens of birds that take flight up and over the other side of his chest and neck. I’ve been in denial. Altering the meaning to fit my version of our story.
It feels like I’ve spent half my life searching for you.
He had, and I won’t let him hurt himself searching for answers anymore. I’ll give him whatever answers he needs, anything I have in my power to give.
It’s a promise I intended to keep. To myself and him. I’ll fight for him, with him, and I won’t tell him one more fucking lie to save myself from the fallout. I’ll help him through this in any way I can. Take care of him, like he once took care of me.