Page 50 of Anchor

The anger in Art's voice is so suffocating evenIcan feel it.

“I made him, James. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. She didn’t have club protection, and the Killers were going afterthe prospect's significant others, knowing they had no club protection because there was no guarantee the prospect would make it as a brother, and at that point, Travis didn’t want to be a brother because of me and my actions. He didn’t want to become me, yet the day he gets his cut, he forgets it’s his first wedding anniversary, and he disregards the fact Heaven gave birth a few months prior. She didn’t want to celebrate with brothers smoking and fucking, and he got angry and drunk, before making the biggest mistake of his life. If you want to blame anyone, blame me.”

Wait, who are the Killers?

“He needs her, and we need him,” Art whispers and my heart hurts for him as blackness overcomes me. I go willingly, suddenly tired.

“Remember when we got stuck in the BFE of Jersey in the pouring rain?” Travis asks with a whisper.

I feel warmth pressed against me, and I am so comfortable. His heat envelopes me, and if I were awake, I’d probably melt….

What the hell happened to me?

“It was probably the best night of my life, despite the cheap motel we booked. It was just us, soaked to the bone, and fuck, we were happy, so goddamn fucking happy, Angel, but I ruined everything. One stupid moment, I ruined your trust, I ruined our marriage,” he rasps, gently rubbing my bottom lip, making it tingle.

“I’m struggling, Heaven. The longer you stay asleep, the less chance you’ll wake, and if you leave me, I’ll fucking follow,” he admits, and my heart cracks.

He can’t leave his family, our son, our?—

Oh God, my baby, what happened to my baby?

“I need you to wake up, Heaven; Micha needs you to wake because you are our world,” he says but not once mentions the baby, and a sinking feeling hits me hard as blackness takes over again, a blackness I beg to keep me for a little while longer because if I wake….

To save our son, I killed the baby….

20

Anchor – One Month Later

“Fuck, Anchor,” Viking, a Rebels brother, who runs their illegal fight club in Brooklyn, rasps as he looks over my bruised face and cut eyebrow, and don’t fucking get me started on my ribs.

I’m in their locker rooms, a room Perrie frequented a lot growing up, especially when her father had a heart attack, and she had to give him CPR. She couldn’t get over his death, and this was her outlet—fighting.

I understand it, the way someone hitting you takes away the emotional pain that’s drowning you. It fades for ten minutes, or however long you can last in the ring, meaning allowing someone to kick the shit outta you, before you drop them.

I’m black and blue, I can feel it, and I fucking relish in it. The pain is everywhere, and without it, I’m going to drown in my sorrow and grief, I just know it.

Viking runs his fingers through his long, dirty blonde hair.

“Your prez is going to kill me; you were supposed to end the fight and win after three rounds, not go all fucking ten, then knock him out after he’s done this to you, even if it was good fucking entertainment for the crowd!” he snaps, but I block him out as Cassidy gently tapes up my brow.

I can feel the sorrow radiating from her, the concern, but I just can’t seem to give two fucks.

I’m numb, so fucking numb.

A whole month without my wife’s beautiful eyes, a month without hearing her sweet, sultry voice.

“I’m worried about you,” Cassidy murmurs, but I don’t speak. What is there to say? My wife is still in a coma, and it is looking like her chances of waking up are diminishing by the day.

The swelling in her brain has gone down, and after her second fucking operation, she’s off the ventilator, but she’s not waking up, she’s not with me or with our son.

“Travis,” Cassidy whispers, and I lock eyes with my best friend’s woman. Her hazel eyes tear up as she says, “You, doing this to yourself, it’s not helping Heaven, it’s not helping Micha. He needs you right now….”

I grit my teeth and say, “This is the only way I can function, Cass; it’s the only way I can breathe without wanting to fucking end it all.”

Her eyes widen at my confession as Viking snaps, “You don’t fucking talk like that! Your son needs you to be strong right now.”

I growl with frustration and snap back, “Why do you think I keep fighting, huh? Why do you think I allow the fuckers to kickthe shit outta me before I put them down so you still get a big fucking payday?” I sigh, slouching, and admit, “This is the only way to keep me going right now. I see my son every single day, I take him to the hospital every single day to see his mom. There, I watch his heartbreak each time she doesn’t open her eyes, then I listen to his cries until he’s asleep, before I ask my dad to sit with him. He’s no longer in the home he’s grown up in, his mom’s in a coma and may never wake up,” I look at Cass, then Viking, “If I need to come here and have someone beat the shit outta me to keep me in check so I don’t do something fucking stupid, then what is the harm?”

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