Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(2)

Knowing me better than anyone ever had, Deuce seemed to understand my unspoken fears. He stepped toward me, reaching for my hand. Threading his fingers through mine, he placed our joined hands on his chest, over his heart.

"Still beatin' strong, darlin'," he said quietly.

And as his heart continued beating steadily, mine skipped a beat. Even advancing in years, he was still the most fearsomely beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes upon. His shoulder-length hair, blond and heavily graying, and his beard, also gray and trimmed short and neat, framed a face full of innately masculine, ruggedly cut features that one both feared and yet was inexplicably drawn to.

Ours had been a connection that defied the laws of man, a bond that formed for me at the tender age of five and Deuce at twenty-three. Kindred spirits, a timeless friendship that, as the years continued to pass, had turned into something so much more. And now here we were, nearly half a lifetime later, with two children and still together. Still going strong.

And it was that very strength I needed now to face the pain of losing my father.

"I love you," I whispered.

Deuce didn't answer-he'd never been one to verbalize his feelings publicly-but he didn't have to. His eyes said it all. Icy blue, piercing in their intensity, they stared back at me, right through to my very core. Protecting me. Loving me. Always.

With a deep breath and a full-body shiver, I reluctantly pulled away from Deuce. Then I looked over the men in the hallway, pausing to look at each of them before turning toward the door.



       
         
       
        

I found my father lying asleep in a railed bed, IV stands and machines surrounding him, periodically beeping and flashing. I didn't know what any of it was for, only that the sight of it scared me, chilled me straight through to my bones.

Slowly approaching the bed, I nearly gasped in shock at the sight of him. It hadn't been that long since I'd last seen him, maybe a year, and yet he looked like a shriveled-up shell of his former self. His gray hair, what was left of it, had turned white. His skin, a mass of wrinkles, seemed to be barely hanging on to his body, a body that had lost nearly all its muscle and fat.

It was the first time in my life that my father actually seemed "old." Never before would I have ever described the once handsome, tall and lanky, yet packed-with-muscle president of the Silver Demons Motorcycle Club as fragile. Not when this particular man had headed a worldwide criminal organization comprised of men who made a living by making other men shit themselves.

But that was exactly what he appeared to be-fragile and breaking. Just like my heart.

"Daddy," I whispered, reaching out to place my hand over his. Resting on his stomach, his hands felt small beneath mine.

Holding my breath, I watched as my hand rose and fell with the rise and fall of his stomach, and my eyes filled with fresh tears.

It didn't matter that I was a grown woman with children of my own. It didn't matter that I had strands of gray in my brown hair and fine lines around my gray eyes. This man was my father, my daddy, and no matter his age or mine, losing him made me feel like a child all over again. A child who was losing the only parent she'd ever had.

Even as accustomed to tragedy as I was, as anyone who lived in the world I'd grown up in was, I couldn't imagine ever being truly prepared for this loss. My father was my rock, my foundation, and everyone else's. And if he were gone …  well, it would feel like my once unbreakable house came crumbling down around me.

"Baby …  girl … "

My head jerked up, and I immediately wiped away my tears. Sniffling, I tried to smile. "Daddy," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "You are such an incredible asshole."

The corner of Preacher's mouth turned up, his brown eyes shining with adoration. He'd never looked at me with anything but love, even when I'd disappointed him.

He loved me regardless of my mistakes and transgressions, and in return, I gave him the same unconditional love. No matter what my father had done, and I knew his sins were many, he would always be the first man I'd ever loved, and the man I still measured every other man against.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, my expression crumbling. How could I be strong when I was losing him? How could I be strong when he had always been the strong one? 

"Why should I?" Preacher asked, sounding indignant and more like himself than he looked. "You've got a life out there in the middle of fuckin' nowhere." He made a face. "And you got people dependin' on you, babies you're raisin'. Didn't need you rushin' home only to sit around and watch me die."