But God… I want to.
“Then, it sucks to be you, because you lost me,” I tell him and I leave before he can respond.
I leave before his words can form cracks around the ice he poured around my heart. He doesn’t get to do that.
I can’t let him.33Rory“What in the hell are you doing now?”
“Packing,” I mumble, not bothering to turn around and look at Diesel.
“Gorgeous, after our run in earlier in the office, I’ve gone through a fucking long workout in a therapy session. As much as I love being able to talk with you again, I don’t think I have the strength left in me to fight right now,” Diesel says and with a bone deep sigh, that tells me exactly how weary he is, he flops down in a chair that’s opposite the bed.
“Gunner says you’re pushing yourself too hard,” I murmur, letting my defenses down for a minute—a minute I’m sure to regret, but can’t seem to stop myself.
“You talk to Gunner a lot?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“You did not just ask me that question,” I respond, shaking my head.
He frowns before letting out a breath.
“Gunner needs to mind his own damn business. I’ve got things to do and I can’t do them like this.”
“You’re getting around great,” I correct him.
“I’m getting around on a cane and walking more than fifteen feet leaves me weak as a kitten. That is not great, Gorgeous.”
“You almost died, Diesel. Your body was shutting down. If you think about that and see you now, you’re doing beyond great,” I tell him. “And stop calling me that. I hate it,” I mutter. I’m lying. Even now, with everything between us, I still love to hear his deep voice call me gorgeous. I just have to remind myself that I can’t trust him or believe him anymore.
“What do I have to do get you to call me Noah again?”
I ignore the question and turn back around to my packing.
“Rory, you aren’t going anywhere,” he growls.
“I figured that, Diesel, since there are guards everywhere I go to keep me a prisoner.” I’m not exaggerating either. Everywhere I go, Rebel is like a freaking dog with a bone. I’m surprised I’m allowed to go to the restroom alone.
“They aren’t with you to keep you a prisoner, it’s just until I know where King is, I’m not leaving you unprotected. I did that once and…”
“You left me… You were in the hospital you fucking asshole.”
“I had almost forgotten how sweet you can be,” Diesel grins. “For some reason I had missed that nickname.”
“Because you’re an idiot,” I mumble.
“If you’re not leaving, then why are you packing?”
“I’m moving into the room down the hall. Gunner said it was empty.”
“That was nice of Gunner,” Diesel says in a way that clues me into the fact he doesn’t think it was nice at all.
“I’ll be gone in a bit and you can sleep. I know you’re tired.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” he responds.
“You’ve made that clear. It would be better if I left. Ryan would be safer.”
“I want you both safe. Gorgeous, I know you need time to heal, so I’m not pushing it. I probably don’t even have the right and I know that,” he says. His voice is earnest and there’s a note in it that I haven’t heard before. It makes me turn—almost against my will—and face him. “We’re going to have to talk about your brother and everything that went on,” he says solemnly.
“No, we don’t,” I tell him just as softly.
“We do, baby. I need to know.”
“Why? What possible good could come from it?”
“He took our child from us. I’m going to make him pay,” Diesel answers, his voice deadly.
His words slice through me like a deadly weapon. Once they hit their mark, I don’t know how I remain standing. My eyes dilate, my breath literally freezes in my chest, and my mouth is open.
“Our child?”
My words sound strangled and they are. It feels like I ripped my heart out of my chest and I’m just standing here like an idiot holding it out to him to finish destroying.
“Our child,” he says again. His voice is deep, but there’s nothing in it to make me think he has any idea the devastation he’s causing. He has no idea the wound he just plunged another knife into.
He has no idea that he is destroying me.
He gets up and for the first time I notice he’s leaning on a cane. He wasn’t earlier and if my world wasn’t shattered at the moment, I’d realize it’s because he’s pushed himself too hard in therapy. He walks over to the nightstand, where I sleep and pulls out a paper, handing it to me. I look at the folded, white paper like it was a snake. I’m afraid to open it. I don’t think I want to read it. So, I concentrate on something else—which seems to be a recurring theme with me lately.