“Trust me, under that mellow front is the heart of a fucking lion that eats his prey still breathing,” Shooter said.
“You are not coming in with me.” Evonne shook her head.
“I’ll wait just outside the door. That’s all I can give you and that’s only if you agree to stay away from the window,” Shooter said.
“Wait, what?” Her stomach lurched.
“Just being cautious. If he did this, a line has been crossed. I can only anticipate it’ll get worse from here on out,” Shooter said solemnly. She could see his training in his eyes. They were wide and he seemed hyper-alert of his surroundings as he peered around the hospital.
“Worse?” Evonne gave a strangled laugh. “What’s worse than this?”
“I hope you never know firsthand,” Shooter said.
The haunted look in his brown eyes and the husky tone of his voice made her blood run cold. This was a man who’d been through some shit and had the best training the government could buy. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she knew better than him. “I’ll take it.”
He stared at her and the stunned expression made her snort. “I’m distraught and a little mentally fucked in the head right now, but I didn’t turn stupid. I trust your judgment. I’ll do everything on your terms.”
Shooter nodded. “You trying to play me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m too tired to even attempt that and I wouldn’t anyways.”
“Shooter, you know Evonne,” Juliette said.
“People do a lot of crazy shit when they’re hurt,” Shooter said.
“Not me,” Evonne said.
“All right.” He nodded. “Go do what you need to do.”
“You want me to come too?” Juliette offered.
“No. I need to go this alone.” Evonne pulled down the handle and opened up the door. The dim light and the beeps along with the flashing lights in the private room made her stomach drop. The strong scent of antiseptic assaulted her nose like a boxer hell-bent on knocking her out. She held her breath and slowly exhaled. Her mother lifted her head, drawing Evonne’s gaze to the opposite side of the room.
Her mother looked tiny and defeated. She sat in the chair beside Paul, clutching his hand like a lifeline. Her perfectly pressed khakis had taken on wrinkles and her white blouse looked askew on her slender shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” her father asked.
Her dad’s hateful hiss made her flinch. “Daddy. I just heard what happened. I wanted to see if Paul was okay.”
“What?” he huffed. “Now you care?”
“Michael, please,” her mother whispered.
“Look, Dad, I’m sorry things went down the way they did earlier, but a fist is a hell of a lot different than a car,” Evonne said.
“I imagine this is what I can come to expect from you, disrespect and foul language? Should’ve known you could never change your stripes,” her father said, clearly disgusted.
The words carved a deep cavern in her heart, breaking open the precariously sealed scar tissue on old wounds. “I’m not—”
“You talking back? Acting like I didn’t put food on your table, clothes on your back and pay your bills for over eighteen years?” her father said.
He rubbed salt in the wounds and the burn brought tears to her eyes. Unable to look at the face twisted into an angry snarl, she glanced at the floor. “I never said you didn’t.”
“You keep pushing me, girl, and I’ll take it somewhere you don’t want it to go,” he said.
Her head popped up. “You can’t be this upset by Rocky.”
“Michael…now is not the time.”