Beyond the Stix (Warrior Black #2)

Chapter 2

TWO

John

The entire flight was tense, a dark cloud of gloom hanging over each band member’s head during the drive from the Chicago Executive Airport to the hospital. They are just as quiet in the stretch SUV that Dean procured for us, as they had been on the jet.

As Tobias slides into the driver’s seat, he passes a worried glance to me as I get in the front passenger side. I know that look, and nod in acknowledgement. This is going to be a hard day for all the band members, but especially for Connor. His world is about to be upended and I need to stay by his side in case he falls.

I look over my shoulder and spot the same looks of concern on the faces of my teammates Dom, Pen, and Cal, who are each watching their charges with total intent.

My eyes drift to Connor, who’s sitting in the very back seat, his attention fixed to the world passing outside his window. Despite the quiet, I can detect the unease surrounding him, like he’s preparing himself for the worst. And maybe he should be, especially after getting another call from his mother, telling him what actually happened to his father.

Cerebral aneurysm that led to a hemorrhage in his brain. But add that to him falling off the ladder at work and hitting his head, and I fear there isn’t much time left for the man.

I wish I could do something to ease the pain Connor is trying so hard to hide away, but there’s nothing to be done, except to wait and see if his father survives and what the doctors will do next.

The horde of us storm inside the hospital around six that evening, with Connor and Danny leading the charge. At the entrance, we are stopped by security, but Tobias takes care of that situation right away.

When we reach the critical care floor, an angry nurse won’t let us pass until we promise that most of us will remain in the waiting room while Connor—with me as his protection—heads into his father’s room.

“Mom.” Connor steps inside the room.

“Con.” His mother, Amanda Wild, turns her puffy red eyes toward her son and rushes into his arms with a choked-out sob. “I’m so glad you got here quickly.”

From her frail complexion, she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. But I see where Connor got the shape of his eyes, his chestnut brown hair and his olive skin tone. He must get his brilliant green eyes from his father.

A quick glance at the man on the bed shows that Markus Wild isn’t an average size man. He’s big, around six-five, judging by how his feet partly hang over the end of the bed. His wide shoulders span the entirety of the twin bed. His short, wooly, grayish-red hair matches the unruly, thick beard that has equal amounts of red and silver.

“Your father would be glad to see you.” Her tear-filled vow hits me right in the chest, especially when anguish flashes across Connor’s face then blinks into an emotion I can’t decipher. Her breath hitches before she continues. “We need to be prepared.”

“Be prepared for what?” Connor pulls back and stares down at his mother. “Explain it to me, Mom.”

Without having her utter a word, I know the outcome for Markus. The man doesn’t have long to live. He’s hooked up to several machines, including a ventilator that’s keeping Markus breathing.

Connor’s mother sits in the chair adjacent to the bed and quickly explains what the doctor said. “Talk to your father. Maybe he’ll listen to you and wake up.” There’s hope in her words that her son can bring about this miracle. The solemnity in the drummer’s eyes says he has no confidence in his father’s waking from the coma. But he agrees to do anything to appease his mother’s request.

He releases her hand, and turns to his father. Connor leans in and kisses his father’s forehead. “Hey, Dad. I’m here. Open your eyes for me, please. I got things to say and I can’t say them while you’re lying there with your eyes closed. Come on, wake up for me.” The desperation inching into his voice slices at my heart even more.

Connor might appear composed, but under that stoic veil, he is protecting himself. To me, I see his fear bright like a beacon in a typhoon of emotions while he’s trying to hold on to some semblance of control.

For a long beat, Connor hovers over his father, waiting for the man to rouse, but there’s no chance of that. With each passing second, Connor’s shoulders hunch further in defeat.

“Connor.” Amanda tugs on her son’s hand. “Grab a chair and sit with me.”

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 on the 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.

“Who in the hell do you think you are? I’m Markus’s brother, Jessup Wild. I have every right to be in there,” he hisses in my face.

I don’t want to cause an incident in the hallway, but I’ll do whatever I need to ensure this man remains outside the room until Connor’s done. “Sir?—”

“I don’t give a?—”

“John,” Connor growls. His voice is taut like an overdrawn bow. I realize immediately that his fingers are gripping the back of my shirt like a life line. “Get me the fuck out of here, right now.”

“Connor,” Jessup’s tone changes from aggressive to gentle wonderment. “Oh, man, I’m so glad to see you. Let’s talk.”

“Stay the fuck away from me, asshole,” Connor snarls. “Now, John.”

My name is a command I can’t ignore and so I place my body between Connor and this Jessup. “Step back, sir.” Using my hand to stop him from touching the drummer, I guide us away from the room.

“Connor, wait. Don’t ignore me, damn it,” Jessup calls out, following us. “You can’t hide from me anymore.”

“Stay away from me,” Connor shouts, but his steps falter as he glances over his shoulder. “I never told him the truth.”

“I know,” Jessup replies, stops in his tracks, and then retreats back the way he came.

Connor’s comment gives me pause, but that doesn’t stop me from wrapping my left arm around his waist, quickly leading him down the hall, toward the waiting room, where the rest of Warrior Black and their bodyguards have convened each day.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask as he leads us past the waiting room, and every pair of eyes in that little group homes in on us.

“Connor,” Danny calls, rushing out of the room and reaching for his friend. “Where are you going?” Deep concern furrows the singer’s brows.

“Danny, Jessup’s here.” Connor grates out between clenched teeth.

The singer’s eyes go wide and he quickly looks around us. “Tobias,” Danny barks and his partner is at his side in seconds.

“Yes?” he responds with swift urgency.

“We need to get out of here like now,” Danny demands before refocusing on Connor, and adding with conviction, “He won’t get near you.”

More so than ever, I want to know what Jessup did to Connor. Whatever that guy did—it had to be bad. This has to be the guy Connor’s father wanted the concert tickets for.

Now, the other band members crowd around Connor and Danny like a shield.

Tobias turns to me, Cal, Pen, and Dom. “Pen, you’re with me. Rest of you meet me in front of the hospital.” Then they take off.

“Where’s he going?” Callum asks.

I keep looking over my shoulder to make sure Jessup’s retreat wasn’t some tactic to come barreling in and get to Connor. But I don’t see him around us. Good . Because the last thing any of us wants is a problem or a physical altercation in the hospital.

Cal, Dom, and I take a protective stance around the band the best we can, all the while keeping an eye out for Jessup.

As much as my curiosity is piqued about what happened between Connor and his uncle, I need to get Connor out of here. But if it seems that word travels fast in the rock world, apparently the same is true of the hospital. Right as we step out of the elevator, we can see the paparazzi that have converged at the entrance and block our exit.