Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(79)
NOMAD KIND OF LOVE
SAVAGE KIND OF LOVE
WICKED KIND OF LOVE
BITTER KIND OF LOVE
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OUTLAW'S KISS (Kindle Unlimited!)
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SEXY SAMPLES: OUTLAW'S KISS
I: Cursed Bones (Missy)
“It won't be long now,” the nurse said, checking dad's IV bag. “Breathing getting shallower...pulse is slowing...don't worry, girls. He won't feel a thing. That's what the morphine's for.”
I had to squeeze his hand to make sure he wasn't dead yet. Jesus, he was so cold. I swore there was a ten degree difference between dad's fingers in one hand, and my little sister's in the other. I blinked back tears, trying to be brave for Jackie, who watched helplessly, trembling and shaking at my side.
We'd already said our goodbyes. We'd been doing that for the last hour, right before he slipped into unconsciousness for what I guessed was the last time.
I turned to my sister. “It'll be okay. He's going to a better place. No more suffering. The cancer, all the pain...it dies with him. Dad's finally getting better.”
“Missy...” Jackie squeaked, ripping her hand away from me and covering her face.
The nurse gave me a sympathetic look. It took so much effort to push down the lump in my throat without cracking up. I choked on my grief, holding it in, cold and sharp as death looming large.
I threw an arm around my sister, pulling her close. Lying like this was a bitch.
I wasn't really sure what I believed anymore, but I had to say something. Jackie was the one who needed all my support now. Dad's long, painful dying days were about to be over.
Not that it made anything easy. But I was grown up, and I could handle it. Losing him at twenty-one was hard, but if I was fourteen, like the small trembling girl next to me?
“Melissa.” Thin, weak fingers tightened on my wrist with surprising strength.
I jumped, drawing my arm off Jackie, looking at the sick man in the bed. His eyes were wide open and his lips were moving. The sickly sheen on his forehead glowed, one last light before it burned out forever.
“Daddy? What is it?” I leaned in close, wondering if I'd imagined him saying my name.
“Forgive me,” he hissed. “I...I f*cked up bad. But I did it for a good reason. I just wish I could've done it different, baby...”
His eyelids fluttered. I squeezed his fingers as tight as I could, moving closer to his gray lips. What the hell was he saying? Was this about Mom again?
She'd been gone for ten years in a car accident, waiting for him on the other side. “Daddy? Hey!”
I grabbed his bony shoulder and gently shook him. He was still there, fighting the black wave pulling him lower, insistent and overpowering.
“It's the only way...I couldn't do it with hard work. Honest work. That never paid shit.” He blinked, running his tongue over his lips. “Just look in the basement, baby. There's a palate...roofing tiles. Everything I ever wanted to leave my girls is there. It was worth it...I promised her I'd do anything for you and Jackie...and I did. I did it, Carol. Our girls are set. I'm ready to burn if I need to...”
Hearing him say mom's name, and then talk about burning? I blinked back tears and shook my head.
What the hell was this? Some kinda death fever making him talk nonsense?
Dad started to slump into the mattress, a harsh rattle in his throat, the tiny splash of color left in his face becoming pale ash. I backed away as the machines howled. The nurse looked at me and nodded. She rushed to his free side, intently watching his heartbeat jerk on the monitor.
The machine released an earsplitting wail as the line went flat.
Jackie completely lost it. I grabbed her tight, holding onto her, turning away until the mechanical screaming stopped. I wanted to cover my ears, but I wanted hers closed more.
I held my little sister and rocked her to my chest. We didn't move until the nurse finally touched my shoulder, nudging us into the waiting room outside.
We sat and waited for all the official business of death to finish up. My brain couldn't stop going back to his last words, the best distraction I had to keep my sanity.
What was he talking about? His last words sounded so strange, so sure. So repentant, and that truly frightened me.
I didn't dare get my hopes up, as much as I wanted to believe we wouldn't lose everything and end up living in the car next week. The medical bills snatched up the last few pennies left over from his pension and disability – the same fate waiting for our house as soon as his funeral was done.
Delirious, I thought. His dying wish was for us, hoping and praying we'd be okay. He went out selflessly, just like a good father should.
That was it. Had to be.
He was dying, after all...pumped full of drugs, driven crazy in his last moments. But I couldn't let go of what he said about the basement.
We'd have to scour the house anyway before the state kicked us out. If there was anything more to his words besides crazy talk, we'd find out soon enough, right?