Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

There were so many emotions sparking that I was unable to react. My stomach churned and my pulse raced as every single memory of her pushed to the forefront of my mind.

Fuck, I’d missed her so damn much. Every single day I sat in Moreno’s cell, I thought about her. Worried about her. Wondered if she was okay. Prayed she was okay.

And then the drug erased her, too.

I walked across the polished hardwood floors, the thud of my motorcycle boots like tribal drums. The customer she’d been helping took his coffee and moved away and I stopped in front of Georgie.

She held the edge of the counter as her chest rose and fell erratically, tears pooling in her eyes.

“I should’ve come sooner.” My words came out ragged and hoarse and I cleared my throat.

She reached across the space between us and touched my arm. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters, Connor.”

Ah, fuck. My head dropped and I briefly closed my eyes as my sister’s voice seeped into me. It was the same, but different. More mature and self-assured.

I was wrong. I fuckin’ cared.

“Can we, ah, maybe, go for a walk or something?” Shit, I was nervous of my sister. But it sucked toppling off that pedestal and facing her disappointment in me.

“I’d love that,” she said. A tear spilled down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away with the back of her hand. She tentatively smiled. “Give me a sec.”

She rushed into the back, but before the door swung closed she glanced over her shoulder at me as if to check that I hadn’t disappeared or to be sure I was real.

As I waited for her, I fidgeted, shifting my weight and peering out the window. The heaviness in my chest made breathing difficult and my head was one big fucked-up mess of emotions, but the rage wasn’t there. It was smothered by the pain of leaving Alina.

Georgie came around the counter and approached me. I stiffened, uncertain what to do, whether to hug her or kiss her cheek or nothing.

She made it easy for me though as if sensing my uncertainty and softly brushed her fingers across my arm then headed for the door. I inhaled a long drawn in breath and followed, grabbing the door for her before instinctively protecting her with my body and positioning myself on the street side of the sidewalk.

It was something I’d always done, that protective part of me needing to make certain I was the one closest to the passing cars.

“There’s a park a couple blocks over,” Georgie offered and I nodded.

Now that I was here with her, I had no idea what I’d say to her.

We walked in silence, but it wasn’t exactly awkward. It was cathartic and with each step, the tension in my muscles released.

“You look different,” I said as we walked. “A good different. I like the hair.”

“Thanks. My hair colors drive Deck crazy because he never knows what he’s coming home to, but I think secretly he likes it.”

My step faltered. It wasn’t so much that Georgie was with Deck. It was the mention of them having a home. Of what I would never have.

She rested her hand on my forearm. “Sorry. I don’t know yet what you’re comfortable talking about.”

“I’m okay with you and Deck, Georgie-girl.” Her breath hitched and I hadn’t even realized what I’d said until after I said it.

“I haven’t heard you call me that since I was sixteen,” she murmured, her hand falling away and her head tilting in the opposite direction.

“Sorry, I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to. It just came out.”

She stopped and faced me. There were tears in her eyes and her lower lip quivered as she spoke. “No. No. It’s okay. It just surprised me. And I don’t want you to be sorry for anything.” She hesitated then added, “I have a feeling we don’t have enough time to be sorry for things that aren’t our fault. Do we?”

Fuck. I sighed, nodding. “How did you know?”

She pointed to a paved narrow path that weaved through the park. “Let’s go over there.”

We crossed the street and she was a little ahead of me and I noticed that she had a bit of a seductive sway to her step. She looked really good and I wondered if that had to do with Deck.

“It’s all over your face,” she said. Her hair swept across her face when the breeze picked up and with one finger, she tucked the strands behind her ear. “You used to get the same look before you went on tour. A worried sadness with your brows low, not a lot but a bit, and your lips firmly pressed together with glassiness in your eyes. But today, it’s more than that. Haunting. Final, I guess.”