He kissed the top of my head and tucked it under his chin. Combing his fingers through my hair as my body began to tremble, he sighed, “It’s okay, baby, let it out.”
I didn’t have a choice by that point, I couldn’t have held the emotions back if I’d tried. Whimpers turned into soft cries, which only intensified until I was clinging to his cut and sobbing uncontrollably in his chest.
I had no idea why I was falling apart. Was it sadness? Rage? Jealousy maybe? There was no way to sort through it all, no way to compartmentalize any of it; my brain felt like it was about to short circuit from everything coming together in one big fiesta of fuckery. I clung to Torch, wishing I’d had someone like him to cling to as a kid and letting myself be rocked and soothed until the tears ran dry on their own.
It was only when my brain’s defense mechanisms kicked in and replaced the recollection of where I’d come from with an awareness of where I was now, that my wounded psyche ran out of steam.
Eventually, my senses returned and I managed to regain my composure, leaving a symbolic wet spot on Torch’s gray t-shirt where my tears had soaked in.
“I’m gonna take care of him,” he promised.
“I don’t get a say?” I asked, not quite sure what my say was yet.
“Are you having an attack of empathy here? The piece of shit deserves a slow and painful death for what he did to you. And I’m more than happy to make it happen. Fuck him.”
“Nothing happens until after the transplant.”
“Babe—”
“Torch, I’m not talking about this right now,” I cut him off. “It’s not that little girl’s fault she got the same shitty half of our genetics. Like you said, one thing at a time. I know there’s an honor thing in play, but what my father did happened long before you were ever in the picture. I think that gives me a right to decide for myself.”
“The only decision you should be making is whether he dies by bullet, knife, or rope,” he argued. “The motherfucker gave away his fifteen-year-old daughter in a goddamn poker game.”
“I know what he did, Torch,” I snapped. “And you have a right to your opinion, but it should be my choice. How many times are we gonna keep having the same argument? If it doesn’t affect you or the club, let me figure it out for myself. I thought we were past this with everything that’s happened the past few weeks. What are you worried about? That I’ll go running back to him like a child desperate for a family? Thanks to you, I have a family, that’s not even on the table. No matter what, I want nothing to do with Graham.”
“Alright,” he conceded. “You’re right, it’s your call. I just hope you use your head instead of your heart, we both know there’s a big one behind that cold wall and I don’t want you wasting it on a man who’s not worthy of so much as breathing the same air as you. I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Liv, for once I just want you to let me help carry the load. Killing your blood isn’t easy, no matter how much you hate them. Can you just give me that inch? Can you let me take care of it if that’s what you decide?”
I touched his cheek and gave him a kiss. “Yeah, I can do that. You know, sometimes I have these dreams of my time on the run and I wake up in a panic thinking I’m still on my own—”
“Sweetheart, you’ll never be on your own again, that’s the only reason I keep caving on things no other man in my position would. I’m not just trying to keep you around because I’m a selfish motherfucker who’d rather die than give you up, I’m trying to make sure your stubborn ass doesn’t walk away from the people who love you almost as much as I do. If anything happens to me, I can rest in peace knowing my brothers are gonna be there to step up for my old lady. Nobody’s ever gonna abandon you again. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” Pausing, I couldn’t help but smirk. “Look at us and our daddy issues. What the fuck?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Right? This is why it’s better to choose your own damn family.”