Page 7 of Beyond the Stix

He straightens, but keeps his attention on his father. “Mom…”

“I know, son.” She releases his hand, and folds her arms across herself. “The doctors are right. And I have to be real about this. Even though I hope that your father beats the odds and wakes up. But I know.” Amanda stands, tears dripping from her chin. “I need a minute.” And then she rushes out of the room.

“I’ll give you time alone?—”

“Don’t leave me,” Connor quickly says. Even though the timing is inappropriate, my heart jumps for joy at his admission, but then it plummets at his next words. “I don’t…” he chokes out. “How can I make peace with him when I couldn’t tell him I was sorry while he was awake?”

Sorry for what?

Connor can be a jokester and a total flirt. He’s never one to be serious about things especially around the security team. But I’m coming to realize that the Warrior Black’s drummer has secrets, and he keeps his private matters close to the vest.

Except, it’s nearly breaking me to hear turmoil in his usual steady voice.

“You know what’s the last thing I told my father?” he confesses in a whisper.

“What?” I ask, while stomping on the overwhelming need to wrap him up in my arms. The way his body is stiff, comfort is the last thing he wants from me. So, I keep my distance.

“After lying to my father for years, I stopped talking to him. Seven months ago. Over fucking concert tickets. How fucking childish was that? A twenty-seven-year-old ignoring all his father’s calls, text messages. At one time, I even blocked him. For what? Over concert tickets I gave him and my mom. All because of his asshole brother.” Connor’s head dips down, he shakes it, and then he turns to me. But I don’t see a single tear. “What kind of son am I to treat a wonderful man like that? A man who gave so much of himself to me.”

I don’t know what to say to ease Connor’s burden. Only that I fully understand his grief.

Even though my relationship with my own father was tumultuous at best, I had still loved the drunken bastard. We had several knock-down, drag-out fights, and the last one was over my sexuality. I stormed out of the house with a black eye and busted up lip, and I never went back. That was twenty some years ago.

The difference is, Markus loved his kid. He’d done so much for Connor. The man doesn’t look the type to put his hands on his kid, like my old man had done.

I never got to say goodbye to my father. He died three years after I left, but I didn’t find out about the tragic car accident that killed him until a year after that. To this day, I have never regretted my decision to leave.

Connor, though, wears his guilt like a three-piece suit, two sizes too small. But he won’t have that burden long, not if I can help it.

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” Connor’s words pierce my rumination.

“Then say your peace to your father now. He’ll understand.”

“What if he can’t hear me?”

“He can.” Then I turn around and walk out the door, giving Connor the privacy he needs and myself the space I require to breathe out the ache from my lungs.

Stepping over the threshold, the weight on my chest eases back some. But what Connor confessed has me thinking.

Seven months.

Shit. That’s the night at the Independent. I should have stayed away from him, but something inside me demanded that I check on him. I didn’t expect to see him naked in the shower.

I never intended to claim his mouth and jack him off like I had every right to touch his beautiful cock. I like to blame it onthe scent of that damn body wash of his, which has been toying with my libido since I was first assigned to protect him.

I never knew until now how vulnerable he was that night. And what did I do? I used Connor and then walked away without uttering a single word to him. Regret never tasted as foul as it does now.

Two days go by,and no changes occur with Markus Wild. But Connor and Amanda remain vigilant by the man’s bedside.

Amanda finally leaves to get something to eat while Connor sits silently in the room.

I stand in the hallway with my back to the door and watch the nurses and doctors do their rotations. As I study the visitors walking by, with balloons and flowers, I realize there won’t be any of those well wishes for the Wild family.

Right before I turn to see if Connor’s okay, a man, so similar in looks to Connor’s father, strides up in a riled state.

“Fucking move, I need to get in there.” The man’s acerbic words make my hackles rise, and I plant my feet firmly in place.

“I don’t think so, sir.” I glare at him, and brace myself for any verbal or physical fight.