Page 32 of Manic

As I pull her in for another kiss, I can't help but think about how much has changed in the span of a few hours.

This morning, I was alone, carrying the weight of a broken heart.

Now, I have a family—a woman I love more than life itself, and a daughter I can't wait to get to know.

It won't be easy.

We have years of hurt and misunderstandings to work through.

But as I hold Meghan in my arms, feeling her heartbeat against my chest, I know we'll make it work.

Because some things are worth fighting for, and this— us—is definitely one of them.

"Tell me about her," I say softly, running my fingers through Meghan's hair. "Tell me about our daughter."

Meghan's face lights up, and she launches into stories about Tindra—her first steps, her first words, her love of drawing, and her stubborn streak that's "all you, Tor".

As I listen, I can feel my heart swelling with a mixture of pride and regret for all the moments I've missed.

But Meghan's words trail off, and her expression darkens.

I know we're about to dive into the heavy stuff.

"Tor," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to tell you something."

My brow furrows. "Okay, what is it?"

Meghan inhales deeply, and I can see her struggling to keep her voice steady. "The attack... the one you thought was a robbery? It wasn't."

My stomach drops. "What do you mean, it wasn't?"

Her hands start to tremble. "It was my father, Tor. He found me after years of hiding in the shadows. He never knew I was with the club because I ran away."

"Your father? What the fuck?"

The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

My mind is reeling, trying to process this information.

Meghan swallows hard, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears. "Remember when we had food at the diner? We ran into my cousin Lily, and she mentioned my family was in town?"

I nod, the memory flooding back.

I'd thought nothing of it at the time.

"My father... he's not a good man, Tor." Her voice cracks, and I instinctively pull her closer. "He made me do horrible things when I was a child."

She doesn't go into detail, but she doesn't need to.

The pain in her eyes, the tremor in her voice—they paint a picture I understand all too well.

It was more than just abuse.

My jaw clenches as rage builds inside me.

I've seen enough shit in this life to know what she's implying, and it makes me want to tear her father limb from limb.

"Jesus, Meg," I breathe, running a hand through my hair. "Why didn't you tell me?"

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