Hyde's Absolution (Sydney Storm MC 4)

I shook my head and placed my hand on his forearm. “No you’re not,” I said softly. “She doesn’t think you are.”

“She fucking should.” He inhaled sharply and looked up to the ceiling. “Fuck, I may not even be her fucking father.”

The despair blazing from him was unlike any I’d seen in my life. I really was out of my depth here, but I persisted.

“So you’ll get a paternity test and find out.”

My words triggered his temper. “You say that as if it’ll fix everything,” he snapped. “It fucking won’t.” He reached for the glass of whisky, gripping it hard, but not lifting it. All the while, staring at it like it was his long-lost saviour.

Being on the end of Hyde’s temper wasn’t a fun place to be. I cut him some slack, though, because he had good reason to be angry.

As I watched him with that glass, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He often tasted like whisky, but I hadn’t seen him drink it often, so I hadn’t put two and two together.

“You going to drink that?”

He glanced at me but didn’t give me an answer. Instead, he looked back at the glass, still gripping it hard.

“I asked you a question, Hyde.”

He scowled at me. “You can go.”

I swallowed my hurt.

He’s in pain.

Let it go.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

His chest rose as he sucked in a harsh breath. Exhaling it, he muttered, “Your choice, but I’m not in the mood for twenty-fucking-questions. You stay, don’t ask me shit.”

My face heated as his words hurt me again. “I’m not here to ask twenty questions.”

He stared at me with eyes that were dead. His brokenness killed me. “What do you want from me, Monroe? I don’t have anything to give you tonight.”

I placed my hand against his cheek and nodded. “I know. Just let me be here with you.”

He watched me for another few moments before turning back to look at his drink. We went back to sitting in silence, for much longer this time.

I wished he would let his drink go, but he didn’t. He kept his hand around the glass the entire time, and I felt every bit of his silent battle. I also felt completely useless, not knowing how to help him through this fight.

So I waited.

I remained quiet.

And I prayed that my presence would be enough for him to win this round.

Finally, he asked, “What the fuck am I gonna do if she’s not mine?”

I closed my eyes, forcing my tears away. Now was not the time to cry. Now was the time for strength. When he couldn’t be strong enough to get himself through, I’d be strong for him.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “You’ll do what you’ve always done. You’ll get through it.”

He lifted the glass. “She’s the reason I fucking got through.”

I stared at the whisky, feeling like he was slipping through my fingers. “So you’re gonna empty that bottle, then? Make yourself feel better with all that whisky in you?”

He scowled again. “You got a problem with that?”