Page 125 of Manic

"Let me know if you need anything," I say, my voice low and sincere. "Meghan, Starla, and Dasha are watching the girls."

His eyes are filled with unshed tears, but there's a spark of something there that I haven't seen in weeks.

Determination, maybe. Or hope.

"How do I do this?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I be strong for them when I feel like I'm falling apart?"

I reach out, clasping his shoulder firmly. "One day at a time, brother. And you lean on us when you need to. That's what family is for."

He nods slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I… I think I need some time to cope with all of this."

I nod, offering him a semblance of understanding.

I'm not here to judge him.

I'm here to support him.

"I'll be here whenever you need me, brother." I squeeze his shoulder and head toward the door that leads into the clubhouse.

Rio looks up at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The sight of it twists something in my gut.

"Thank you," he manages to choke out, his voice rough with emotion.

The door beeps open and the electronic lock allows me entry.

I spot Meghan, Starla, and Dasha huddled together near one of the pool tables.

Their conversation dies as I approach, and I can feel the weight of their expectant gazes.

Meghan’s eyes search my face for answers. "How is he?"

I shake my head, running a hand through my hair.

"Not good," I admit. "He's getting sucked deeper into depression and the bottle. I don't know how to pull him out of this."

The words taste bitter in my mouth.

As president's son, I'm supposed to have answers, to be able to fix things.

But right now, I feel utterly powerless.

Dasha's face takes on a determined look. "I'm going to try talking to him," she announces, already moving toward the door.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say quickly, my hand shooting out to stop her. "He's in a dark place right now. It might not be safe."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

The last thing we need is more fear, more isolation.

But the memory of Rio's haunted eyes, the way his hand trembled as he reached for the bottle... it's all too fresh in my mind.

Dasha opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. "Just... give him some time. Please."

She nods reluctantly, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

It's a small victory, but right now, I'll take what I can get.

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