Page 9 of Oblivion
“Where are you going?” Kieran asked when I turned toward the house.
“None of your fucking business, K.”
* * *
The familiarityof Santa Monica hit me as soon as I crossed the border into the city driving toward the hospital, feeling as if it had been years since I last stepped in here, when in reality, it was only three days.
Sons of Hades needed a break from me, and I needed a break from the constant anxiety that was crippling me every time I sat next to Storm’s bed, begging some invisible force to wake him up. But the stubborn bastard kept his eyes closed even after the doctor removed him from life support, deciding that it was time for him to breathe on his own.
His vitals were good, his body was healing, but his mind was far out of our reach. I wanted to blame the doctors for putting him in an induced coma to help his body heal, but it’s been a month and a half since they did that. I just wanted him to wake up.
It didn’t even matter anymore that he would probably want nothing to do with me, or that these were the last moments I would ever have with him. If I knew that he was alright, I could disappear from his life.
I would because there was no other way.
Kieran thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to run back into his arms, as if he didn’t know that my heart didn’t belong to me anymore.
It was there, right in this hospital, standing in front of me, with the person that wanted to set me free. And I fucked it up—as usual.
I’d spent half of my life, blaming other people for the mess of my own creation. It was much easier putting blame on others because then you didn’t have to look in the mirror to see the real monster standing in front of you.
I was taught very well by Nikolai and his goons. The master of manipulation taught me everything he knew, but he never taught me how to stop loving when it was useless hoping for the other person to love you.
I had no idea how my mother stayed with him all these years. I had no idea what it was that Storm saw in me, when it was clear to everyone that could see us that I wasn’t worthy of his time or his kindness. I was extremely good at running, at destroying the lives of other people, and they all had every right to hate me.
I wasn’t going to apologize for who I was. Not to them.
Only one person deserved to hear my apologies, and he lay still on the sixth floor of UCLA Santa Monica, unmoving, unconscious, and it was all because of me.
Deep inside, I always knew that there was a connection between us, a wicked hand of fate, but I never imagined that my father was the one who destroyed Storm’s innocence. And I regretted pulling him back into that world of darkness.
It was no wonder he didn’t want to open his eyes. There was nothing worthy in this world.
But here, he has you.
He didn’t want me, not anymore. Not after what I did and what I said. I always did the same thing to those I loved—I pushed and pushed and pushed until they stopped coming back. The devastation in his eyes as I uttered those disgusting words just before we were brought in front of my father would haunt me forever.
I often wished that there was a machine that could help me turn back time, if only to fix the mess I’d made. Or at least this one. If I knew what would have happened, I never would have let him come inside the clubhouse with me. I would have told him to stay far, far away, until I’d dealt with Nikolai.
Those were all silly, little dreams of a woman who wanted to change things that were unchangeable, and I needed to face the results of my actions.
Unmounting the bike in the parking lot in front of the hospital, I took off my helmet and brushed through my hair with my fingers. The reflection in the mirror on the bike showed how tired I was. The dark circles around my eyes were indication enough of how far I’d pushed myself this time.
People usually went to Malibu to relax and chill. I went to kidnap Vincent Brown.
Three days with little to no sleep turned me into a cranky bitch, and I just hoped that it wasn’t Indigo’s turn tonight to stay in the hospital. They all watched over Storm like hawks. If it wasn’t for me threatening Indigo and Creed with my knife on that first day when we brought him into hospital, I would’ve been blacklisted as well.
I understood that they wanted to protect him, even from me—especially from me—but at this point, I didn’t give a fuck what any of them wanted. They tried to kick me out, threatening me with violence, while the pain of almost losing him still shone in their eyes. But I wasn’t budging. I wasn’t leaving before I knew that he was alright. That I didn’t destroy his life.
I was torn between the need to stay next to Storm and care for him and yelling at him even though he couldn’t hear me. My anger was still there, still brewing in the pit of my stomach every time I saw the faces of the members of Sons of Hades. Forgiveness came hard to me, and the environment I grew up in wasn’t filled with forgiving people. No, you paid with your life, for the mistakes you made.
You screamed into the night, begging for death if they even thought that you could betray them. And Sons of Hades—they betrayed my trust. They kept their secrets close to their hearts, never really letting me in.
But I had to admit that there were no saints in this game, and each of us had something we were guilty of. We all fucked up, one way or another. If I wanted to move on with my life, I had to stop holding on to the anger over stupid little things that didn’t even matter anymore.
Hospitals and nightclubs were the only two places that were busy this late at night. When I looked down at the watch on my arm, one in the morning shone on the fancy gadget, telling me I was way beyond late. Atlas was going to give me that worried look of his, but he knew that even he couldn’t stop me from doing this.
For me.
