Nothing.
Tyrell let out a hard laugh. “Man, you’re really about to do this, huh?”
I clenched my jaw.
“She’s been blowing up my phone since the ambulance left. The staff wouldn’t tell her anything. She’s worried as hell about you.”
I swallowed hard, staring at the floor. “She doesn’t need this shit.”
“She doesn’t need you shutting her out either.”
My head snapped up, a glare fixing on him. “Back the fuck off, Ty.”
He shook his head, lips pressed thin. “Fine. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go. Just say the word. I ain’t gonna fight you. You know what you’re doing. You know what you’re throwing away. You prayed for this chance with Jordin. You gonna fuck it up pulling away now?”
My fists tightened in my lap.
“Fuck you still sitting here for? You want to leave, get up. It smells like piss and bleach in here.”
I couldn’t look at him. I could barely breathe past the weight on my chest. But I got up and followed him out.
The moment we stepped outside, my day went from bad to catastrophic. Microphones were shoved in my face.
My head pounded. The cameras. The voices. It made it hard to breathe.
“Ciarán! Can you comment on your father’s death?”
“Ciarán, are you suicidal?”
“Did you try to kill yourself?”
My hands clenched. My breath turned shallow. The static in my head roared so loud I thought my skull would split.
And then—
I swung.
I didn’t think. My fist connected with a camera, the crunch of metal and glass vibrating up my arm. It hit the pavement with a sickening crack. The guy holding it stumbled back, eyes wide.
Gasps. The press recoiled like I was a rabid animal.
Tyrell’s hand was on me before I could swing again, his grip vise-tight on my arm, his voice a harsh whisper in my ear. "Nigga, what the fuck? Get your ass in the car."
I barely heard him. My chest was a battlefield. My jaw ached. My fingers curled, ready for more.
Tyrell snatched me by the shirt, forcing our way through the crowd, past the flashing lights and judgmental stares. I was a headline waiting to happen.
He shoved me into the car and slammed the door. My body jerked as he peeled out of the parking lot.
Fourty four- Jordan
I saw his release on the news. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t called me.
It was shocking, seeing Ciarán outside the hospital, looking wrecked. Cameras flashed. Reporters barked questions. The way his body coiled, I knew he was about to snap. When his fist connected and the camera hit the ground, shattering, I had to look away.
The headline scrolling at the bottom of the screen said it all:Ciarán James, Fresh Out of the Hospital’s Mental Ward, Spirals in Violent Outburst.
Some CNA had sold his information to the press. She was out of a job, but I doubt she cared after pocketing six figures for the story.
