Page 122 of Manic

Flora and Rio should be planning for their baby's arrival, not facing this nightmare.

The wail of sirens grows louder, and I feel a surge of hope. "Help is almost here," I say, trying to infuse my voice with a confidence I don't feel. "Just hold on a little longer, Flora."

But as the ambulance pulls up, Flora's eyes begin to close.

Rio's desperate pleas fade into the background as my vision narrows, the world seeming to dim around the edges.

The last thing I see is the EMTs rushing toward us before Tindra’s screams are calling for me.

I have to get to my little girl, to make sure she’s okay, and maybe I can find Florencia at the same time.

EPILOGUE

Two Months Later…

Tor

The neon sign of Bubba's flickers like a dying heartbeat as I push through the heavy wooden door.

The familiar scent of stale beer and fried food hits me, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.

My eyes immediately scan the dimly lit room, settling on a lone figure hunched over the bar.

Rio.

His broad shoulders are slumped, defeat etched into every line of his body.

An empty shot glass sits in front of him, his fingers absently tracing its rim.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation I’m about to have with him.

This isn't going to be easy, but I can't stand by and watch my brother destroy himself any longer.

I make my way across the worn floorboards, each step echoing in the near-empty bar.

A few regulars glance up as I pass, but quickly return to their drinks.

They know better than to get involved in club business.

Sliding onto the stool next to Rio, I signal the bartender for a beer.

He nods, popping the cap off a cold one and sliding it my way.

I take a long pull, gathering my thoughts as the bitter liquid slides down my throat.

Rio doesn't acknowledge my presence, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in the fresh shot glass before him.

The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain.

Finally, I clear my throat. "Rio, man," I begin, my voice low and gentle. "You have two little girls who need you. Why don't we head back inside the clubhouse?"

He doesn't respond immediately, and I wonder if he's even heard me.

Just as I'm about to repeat myself, he speaks, his voice rough with emotion and alcohol.

"What for?" he mutters, still not looking at me. "So I can watch everyone else play happy families while mine is broken beyond repair?"

I wince at the bitterness in his tone. "That's not fair, brother. We're all hurting too, you know that."

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