Chapter 18

Rig

Istare at the TV hanging on the wall in the corner, the news station about to start its live coverage of tonight's six o'clock news. I reach for the remote attached to my bedside and mute the TV just before I weakly sink into the hospital bed while closing my eyes. It's been a blur ever since last night.

I take that back; it's been a blur for a few years. Ever since that little fucking shit, Cruz, has drugged me and left me at a psychiatric hospital. Some days, I'm not sure if what I'm seeing in front of me is real or not. I am still drugged up and stuck in a wheelchair in front of my patient bedroom with only a view of the forest, or did Cruz really pull me out? Did he take me away from the horrible place he threw me in, or did he stop those god-awful drugs only to torture me once I was lucid with the knowledge my daughter was raped by the club? I used to call those men my brothers, and they did the most horrendous thing a father never wants to hear about his own kid. My memory is foggy most days. At times, I thought I was hallucinating Cruz coming for a visit and telling stories about my Tillie. It felt like an endless nightmare that just kept coming back to haunt me. Since the moment I was weaned off the pharmaceutical drugs, the side effects haven't been pleasant, but it's the least I deserve. I've failed my Tillie as a father, the one person who was supposed to protect her. I wake up with a fever most days, shivering but running hot. My skin feels extra sensitive, and the hospital bedsheets feel itchy. The full-body jerks out of nowhere will probably never go away; the muscle spasms wake me up in the middle of the night, though sometimes that's a good thing. I shut my eyes and only see her sweet, sixteen-year-old face—so innocent to the world around her.

God. I've failed so much. I should have gotten her out sooner.

I inhale a shaky breath, licking my dry lips, and open my eyes to reach weakly for my water on the bedside table. My hand pauses midair as my gaze locks on the brown eyes staring at me from the open doorway. I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest. The wires hooked up to the hospital machines tell their own story of what I'm feeling as the heart monitor starts to go crazy.

"Rig," she whispers, her bottom lip trembling as she slowly steps into the room warily but freezes when she sees me trying to sit up in my bed but keep failing.

I'm weak, only skin and bones from years of starving and living off drugs. I fall back on the hospital bed with a shaky exhale and a small coughing fit. She stares at me like a deer in headlights, hardly blinking as she stands halfway in the door and one foot out. My eyes fill with tears as I raise one arm hesitantly, not knowing if she will want to be hugged by me after I've abandoned her.

"Dad," she chokes out with a sob leaving her lips and quickly crosses the room, which feels like miles away, until my Tillie is in my arms, finally.

"I'm sorry, Til. So sorry." I feel my throat close as tears fill my eyes. My little girl is hugging me back as if she'll never let go.

She climbs onto the bed and curls up to my side, squeezing me so tight as if afraid to let go. I return the feeling. I'm so scared this is a dream, and I'm going to wake up with my arms empty and Tillie far, far away.

"No. I knew you didn't just leave me. I knew it," she sobs into my chest, her shoulders shaking as I hold her with my head resting on top of hers while tears trail down my cheeks.

"I'll never leave you again, pumpkin," I rasp out and just hold my daughter as she cries years of pain.

We don't say anything for a while; just absorbing this is real. I can hear nurses and the machines of other patients out in the hall, and I can hear the sound of my Tillie's wrecking sobs dying down after a while. I can only blink slowly at the TV, not really seeing the news, but my attention is pulled away from a male throat clearing from the doorway. Tillie sniffles and leans up to sit up on the edge of the bed but refuses to let go of my hand.

"Hey. I have coffee," a man says, holding up crappy hospital coffee, and steps inside as Tillie smiles at him and holds out her hand.

I watch him warily, squeezing Tillie's hand as he reaches my bedside, and it clicks why he looks so familiar as his light brown eyes connect with mine. He was there last night, even though it's all fuzzy around the edges for me, but I remember his fear for my daughter as he lost his shit and threw a chair out a window.

Logan. That's his name.

"Dad." Tillie looks at me, watching me watch her boyfriend with narrowed eyes. It's something I can't help.

My daughter has been hurt too much in life in such a short time. I'm about to open my mouth to tell him to give us a few minutes of privacy so I can ask her if she's safe, but that one word stops me.

Dad.

My heart rate picks up as my eyes burn. I refuse to cry in front of this punk boyfriend of hers, but damn if hearing that come out of her mouth doesn't cause me to melt in warmth. I've always wanted her to call me dad, to know that my blood runs through hers, but fear held me back for a long time. The unknown of what Payne would do if he found out scared me more than anything. Where would we go? Would she want to leave? I had those questions and held off until I felt it was the right time, but I was too late.

"Rig. Dad." Tillie scoots closer, setting her coffee on my bedside table, and grabs my hands in both of hers. "I want you to know I don't blame you for anything. I knew you wouldn't leave me behind. For a while, I thought you were dead. I want you to know that I'm happy to call you Dad. It's all I've ever wanted."

"Fuck, Til," I rasp out and cover her hands with mine with a squeeze. "I wish I could have gotten you out sooner. I thought I had time; I should have run away with you, kid, and never looked back, just like your mother did." I shake my head in regret and side-eye her boyfriend as he remains quiet but watches everything like a hawk.

"I know. I wouldn't have gone, I don't think. I thought the club would always be my home. I thought they were family, so I would have fought with you to stay. I know this. I can't turn back time, but I don't think I would if I could. I'm meant to be here." My strong daughter says with a hand squeeze before she releases me and gestures with a smile to Logan.

"I know who he is. The man who likes throwing chairs out of windows and losing his damn mind over my daughter," I rasp out, reaching shakily for my water again, and take a sip as I watch Logan shuffle on his feet and place his hands in his pants pockets in a nervous habit. "Thank you."

He freezes, not expecting that, but narrows his gaze with suspicion until he sees how sincere I am. He nods and rocks on his heels before turning his attention to the TV.

A silent man with haunted eyes has seen shit in life; I recognize that look. I don't care what he's done in life. So long as he treats my daughter right, then I don't care about anything else. The same goes for the rest of her men; I won't ask just yet. I don't think I'm ready for that answer. Maybe after all the side effects of drugs leave my body, I can gain some of my strength back so I can kick some ass if need be.

"Can you turn up the volume?" Logan asks, pointing at the TV with scrunched brows as he reads the headlines.

I grab the remote and unmute the TV as Tillie turns on the edge of the bed to see the TV as well.

"This is five o'clock news. Reporter Elle Jones here, covering tonight's devastating yet heroic story of our city's beloved Captain Russo. I think it's going to go down in history that Franco Russo was a hero to this city. He helped uncover a drug bust, the biggest we have ever seen in Los Angeles, but unfortunately, it led to his death. Captain Russo was shot by Jin Hino, none other than the supplier of cocaine and heroin. This has been an investigation for years, and it has finally come to an end. Luckily, Jin Hino has passed away, was shot on the scene in a shootout, and ended up being the biggest drug lord in our city. Today, we will honor Captain Russo for saving our city. His funeral will be held this Friday at Welderington Cemetery," Elle Jones drones on and on about Franco Russo's great accomplishment, but I'm hardly paying attention as Tillie and Logan make eye contact with some emotion I can't place.

He looks sad but relieved, I think.

Logan clears his throat and glances away before turning his gaze back to me with a determined glint.

"Sir. If you are looking for a place to stay—I mean, if you would want to stay—" Logan rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning red as he struggles for words, and he looks at Tillie, who is trying really hard not to smile.

"Well, spit it out. How are you supposed to date my daughter if you can't even ask me to stay with you guys?" I grunt out, crossing my arms over my chest and raising an eyebrow in challenge, which only has his eyes hardening into a glare.

"I insist you stay with us. There is plenty of room at Dom's home. We won't take no for an answer, but we can't make you stay if you don't want to. The offer stands." Logan shrugs and tries to look like he doesn't care one way or another, but he keeps looking at my daughter, searching for approval from her.

That's the look of a man in love.

"I think I'll take you up on that. I want to be near my daughter. We have a lot to catch up on." I smile at Tillie as she shakes her head with a chuckle but blinks rapidly to hold back tears.

Like I said before, she's so fucking strong. That's my girl.

"I'd love that, Dad," she says, wiping at a tear, and smiles happily up at Logan.

"Me too, but I do have a question," I say slowly, pretending to be confused as I furrow my brows together.

"What is it?" she replies, her smile dropping slightly in worry.

"Who's Dom?" I hold back a chuckle as her eyes widen, and a blush stains her cheeks as she looks everywhere but at me.

I don't need to worry about her anymore, I think. She looks like she's in good hands, and that is enough for me to see her happy. I'll take my time getting to know the woman before me. I'm just getting to know my daughter.

We'll need to have that talk about our pasts one day, all the pain and happiness that came along the way to here and now.

One step at a time.

It's all I have now... time.

I can't wait to learn who my daughter is.

My daughter.