He grunted. It was none of her business what he had or hadn't done with the few moments he had alone with his daughter.
"You're going to break her heart."
He whipped his gaze to her and glared. "Janelle broke her heart. Janelle nearly killed her."
His throat spasmed. He coughed, trying to stop the constriction, and he only ended up hacking to catch his breath.
His temples throbbed with the pain associated with talking. He had a lot more to say, but he wasn't going to fucking ruin his voice for longer. The prison doctor's outlook for a full recovery was dismal. Rest his voice and hope to find ways around the condition that would be with him for the rest of his life.
He was lucky he could talk at all.
Muscle Tension Dysphonia from the toxic chemical inhalation of the meth lab that was inside Skye's mother's house caused the damage. If he talked, his vocal cords tightened and spasmed, causing pain.
His voice was rough, as if he'd smoked three packs a day since he was Skye's age. There was nothing he could do about it—there was no cure. All he could do was rest his voice in hopes that the pain lessened.
After four years, he still sounded like shit, and the pain was still there.
But it was better than the first year after the fire.
He wasn't asking for much in recovery. He was never a talker, even before the explosion. His job within Havlin made him an outcast. He wasn't there to make friends. He needed security. A family that understood.
His MC brothers never required him to talk. He got along fine with them. He knew what he needed to know, and that was it.
"Y-you almost killed Skye." Brooke's voice broke. "You killed my sister."
That was the crime that was thrown at him because the real suspect was dead. But the jury couldn't prove anything. He was found guilty of manufacturing an illegal drug but was not nailed with the death of those who had died.
He refused to explain what happened. Hell, the conversation would cost him too much.
Brooke's opinion of him never mattered. The only one who mattered was Skye.
He pointed at his daughter and then pointed into the house. When Brooke continued to look at him, he made the motions again.
She pursed her lips and inhaled deeply before calling Skye to the house and telling her to park the bike. He stayed outside until they were both inside.
Then, he stayed out longer to cool off. He couldn't explain how one small woman could get him so pissed off.
She could believe what she wanted. Soon, she wouldn't even be here.
Chapter Nine
Brooke sat in the dining room on the table's far side to keep an eye on Skye in the living room. Her niece sat on the couch beside Maverick. They weren't touching. Skye was on one end, and Maverick was at the other end.
It wasn't the distance of their seating arrangement that concerned her.
Maverick had his hands latched behind his head, watching Frozen on the television.
Skye had her hands latched behind her head, watching her father.
When Maverick stretched his legs out in front of him, Skye slithered down on the cushions and stuck her feet out in front of her. When Maverick yawned, Skye yawned.
A significant game of copycat was played, and Brooke was afraid Skye was starting to idolize the man who had ruined their lives. All because Maverick spent time with her. He bought her gifts. He kept her entertained.
Over the last several weeks, Maverick had replaced Brooke in Skye's life. More than jealousy reared its ugly head in her. Her heart was breaking. Every minute, she watched Maverick gain a foothold in Skye's daily living, driving the point home she wasn't needed. And she could do nothing to stop Maverick from taking over.
During the month they'd been held hostage to the house, Skye stopped asking about finding friends to play with or going to the beach.
What was happening wasn't healthy. Children needed socialization. They needed to experience new things.