Page 83 of Whiskey Throttle
With only Diego and me there, we mumbled some excuses and then sank into our chairs. Not talking again until Massi got back. Then we all sat in silence. Processing everything is weighing us down.
Emilio’s hurt.
Barbara’s gone.
Dom wants to kill me.
I stare at the wall across from me and replay it all. Over and over. The moment Dom spewed accusations at her. The snarl that came with it. The complete and utter disrespect for her as his mother and a beautiful woman overall. The look on his face when he realized that she and I were together.
The way his eyes stayed on me. He knew. Punched me for it, and I let him. I deserved it.
A part of me didn’t want to fight. Not him. Not for me. I deserved everything he was bringing. Everything he wanted to do flashed over this face. He was out for blood, and I gave it to him. Only wiped it with my fingers when it was about to drip into my eye.
Yet I did a terrible job defending us. Didn’t have my shit together to defend her properly. That bothers me. I should have done more and said more. I didn’t know how to put it into words. Didn’t know what to say.
She wasn’t supposed to mean this much to me, but she does. Why can’t he see her as the remarkable woman she is? There’s so much pain between them. I’m a lot of things in this world, but I’ve never raised my voice to my mom. Nor would I want to. Not to mention my dad would kick my ass.
But in the Barrett house, that’s the norm from what I’ve seen from him to her. Pain and hurt run on both sides. One yelling awful shit. The other is quiet and alone.
A soft knock.
The door cracks open, and Diego slips in.
He’s clean-shaven, hair damp still, wearing fresh clothes, ready to conquer the day. All I want to do is conquer the pain radiating from my eye to my entire skull. From there, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.
“Massi called,” he says quietly, leaning against the door frame. The strong scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts in. “Em’s out of surgery. Recovering.”
My throat clenches. Every breath tastes like relief and dread. Relief that my reckless brother-in-arms survived. Dread for the price paid and for the next one I have to face.
Diego folds his hands over his chest. “He’s concussed and a bunch of other shit, but Mas said he’ll recover.”
I remember Em’s battered body in that bed. It’s the worst nightmare for any rider. Made worse when it’s your best friend, wild and free, lying too still and fucking pale in a goddamn hospital bed.
“Thank God, he’ll be okay.”
“Yeah.”
Diego’s gaze softens.
“He’s reckless as hell. But I love that guy.”
“Yeah,” I nod, the single movement enough.
We all love Em.
He doesn’t have an enemy in this world. The closest is Dom, and even then, it’s just bickering at best. But Dom? Yeah, I’m enemy number one in his book.
“Anyway, Massi’s crashing, so I’m going to head up there.” He shifts, his boots squeak against the hardwood floor as he makes to leave. “You coming with?”
I look at my shirt, wrinkled, bloody, and completely ruined.
“I need a shower and some clothes. I don’t want Em to see me like this. Massi too, for that matter. Yesterday was . . .” I trail off when a wave of guilt hits me.
Everything about last night was a complete shitshow. The focus should have been on Em. Instead, it was Babs and me.
“Bullshit.”
I lock eyes with him. Met with a dark scowl. I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
