Page 15 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)
Calm, composed, but there’s something in his expression that isn’t just clinical. It’s personal. His eyes meet mine across the corridor, and there’s no need for words.
He steps up to me, placing out his hand for me to shake. “Lock, what are you doing here this time of morning? This isn’t even your section of the hospital, right?”
“Alpha sent me,” he says quietly once he reaches me. “He knew you’d need someone here. Said if he couldn’t be by your side himself, he wanted someone he trusted to be.”
My throat tightens so fast I have to swallow twice just to speak. “Thank you, I appreciate you being here,” I manage, the two words barely more than air.
Lachlan nods once. He understands the weight behind them, especially because he has just been through this with Livvy, and he walks with me back into Bella’s room, staying silent and solid, like a wall at my back. And somehow, that matters more than I ever thought it would.
I’m beyond glad that Ingrid has her support here, and I knew that my club couldn’t be here because of the shit with Javier, but this one small gesture from Alpha—sending Lock to make sure I have someone here for me—means more than Alpha will ever truly understand.
When I return to the room, everyone senses my somber mood. Ingrid immediately moves to my side, and Hurricane stands, his usual commanding presence somehow both comforting and protective.
“How long?” Hurricane asks quietly.
Shaking my head, I feel like I might shatter from the inside out. “Not long,” I somehow manage.
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. Too hollow. Too broken.
We all gather around Bella’s bed. Ingrid is holding Louis, who has thankfully fallen asleep through all of this.
Hurricane stands behind Ingrid’s chair like a protective guard.
Bayou has his arm around Novah, who’s softly crying.
Nash stands at the end like a sentinel. Lock takes a quiet place near the door, his presence steady but unobtrusive.
Just here.
Just supportive.
Each of them forms a shield around Bella.
If we stay close enough, surround her with love, maybe we can keep death at bay a little longer.
But death doesn’t listen.
Not even to love.
We found that out the hard way with Livvy.
Bella’s eyes move between all of us, fighting to stay present for these final moments.
But I don’t want her to keep fighting.
I don’t want her to hang on.
I don’t want her in any more pain.
Even if it kills me in the process.
So, I lean close to my sister’s ear, mustering all the strength I have inside me, and whisper, “We’re all here, Bells. All of us. Your family is here.”
Her eyes find mine, and I see so much in them. Love, gratitude, peace, and something that looks like a final goodbye. It breaks something deep inside me, watching her try to be strong even now.
Always the big sister.
Always the one looking after me.
Right to the end.
“I love you, my beautiful sister,” I whisper. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for being the best big sister a guy could ever ask for.”
Her eyes flutter, and for a moment I think she’s gone, but then they open again, and she looks at each person in the room. A silent roll call. An ‘I love you’ spoken in a way only Bella could say, without needing words.
When her gaze returns to me, I watch her lips try to move, though no sound comes out.
But I know what she’s saying.
I love you too.
Then her eyes close, and this time they don’t open again.
The air thickens.
Stills.
The silence isn’t just quiet, it’s a presence. It presses down on us like a weight we can’t see.
No one moves. No one breathes. Because somewhere, deep down, we’re all still waiting for one more miracle.
Just one more breath.
Just one more moment.
Then, just as the first light of dawn begins to filter through the hospice windows, the machines begin to alarm.
Dr. Patterson appears as if from nowhere, checking her vitals, but we all know. The way his shoulders slump, the gentle way he turns off the alarms, the careful respect in his movements as he documents the time. “6:47 a.m.,” he says quietly. “I’m so terribly sorry for your loss.”
And just like that, Bella is gone.
But time doesn’t move. It doesn’t rush forward the way I expect it to. Instead, everything stands still, like the whole world pauses to mourn her.
The silence that follows is devastating.
Ingrid starts crying silently, pressing her face against Louis to muffle the sound.
Hurricane’s jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles jumping.
Bayou pulls Novah closer as she sobs into his chest. Nash wipes his eyes roughly, trying to stay strong.
Lock lowers his head and closes his eyes briefly, respectful, reverent.
I don’t cry.
Not yet.
My body won’t let me.
There’s a hollow ache spreading in my chest as if something is rotting from the inside out. This, this is what it feels like to lose part of your heart. Like you’re still alive—but barely.
I reach out and take Bella’s still hand in mine. It’s cool now, not cold. Not yet. But enough that the truth settles in like ice through my bloodstream.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything. For loving me, for accepting my family, for giving me permission to fight. I promise, Bells, I’ll make you proud.”
We sit in silence for a long time, each of us saying our private goodbyes. The sun rises higher, painting the room in soft gold light, and I’m struck by how peaceful Bella looks.
Too peaceful.
Too quiet.
Too gone.
I want to scream.
To rage.
To undo time.
To trade places with her.
Anything but this.
But all I can do is sit here, hand in hers, and wonder how I’m supposed to walk out of this room without her.
For the first time in months, she doesn’t look like she’s fighting anymore.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t know who I am without her.
But I’ve never wanted her to fight more than I do right now.
And I hate myself for that.
Eventually, though, the staff need to begin their procedures, and we’re gently asked to step out, and as we move into the hallway, Hurricane immediately pulls me into a fierce hug.
“I’m sorry, brother,” he says, his voice thick. “She was a good woman.”
“She really, really was,” I agree, my voice barely working.
Ingrid is beside me instantly, Louis still in her arms. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
One by one, the NOLA family offers their condolences, their support, their love. Lock makes his way over, doing the rounds, making sure everyone is okay, and handing out food and drinks.
Always the caregiver.
Standing here in this sterile hospice hallway, surrounded by people who drove through the night and stayed past their shift just to be here for me, I realize something.
Bella was right.
Family isn’t just about blood.
It’s about the people who show up when you need them most.
But I also realize something else, something that’s been eating at me all evening…
My heart is divided between two cities, two families.
Los Angeles, where I have brothers who are about to go to war.
And New Orleans, where Ingrid is surrounded by the children who love her like she’s their whole world.
We say our goodbyes to Lock, and he takes off into the maze of halls, hopefully heading home to get some rest, but knowing him, he’ll catch twenty minutes of shuteye and start a new shift.
The rest of us walk out into the morning sun, and Hurricane falls into step beside me.
“South,” he says quietly, his voice unusually serious.
“I know you’ve got your duty to LA, and I respect that.
But brother, when this war’s over, when you’ve kept your promise to Bella, you think ’bout comin’ home. Really think about it.”
I look at him, then at Ingrid walking ahead of us with Louis, surrounded by Novah, Nash, and Bayou. She’s smiling at something Nash said, and for the first time since we got the call about Bella, she looks at peace.
“I will,” I promise Hurricane, and I mean it. “I’ll think about it.”
But even as I say the words, I feel the pull in two directions.
Behind me lies my sister’s body, the promise I made to her, and a war that needs fighting. Ahead of me walks the woman I love, surrounded by the family that makes her whole.
My heart belongs in two cities.
And somehow, I’m going to have to figure out how to honor both halves.