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"Mister Whitlock, we would like you to speak to the police

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"Mister Whitlock, we would like you to speak to the police."

I groan, asking the universe why my nurse has the goddamn habit to wake me up with stupid questions.  My hand hides my face from the strong light in my hospital room. Daisy's told me I have to stay here for about two more weeks, something I'm not happy with.

All because of a fucking crazy parent. I still can't believe he actually shot me. He could've hit Camilla and if that happened, I would've lost it. I'm barely keeping my mind now, knowing the drugs still make her dizzy sometimes. It hasn't fully disappeared out of her system. I hate that.

Yet, I endure all of this. The worrying looks of my wife, who just wants me to get better as soon as I can. I'll try for her. I endure Camilla bumping against my bed every time she comes to visit me, because I know her balance is fucked up. Normally, I would curl a hand around the sharp edge so she doesn't get hurt, but I can't reach that far without pain exploding in my body.

Easton is my biggest help, if I'm being honest. He's gone through all of this before I did and knows exactly what I'm feeling. Even if the doctors don't understand why I'm gasping for breath the second I move, Easton does and immediately handles with me.

He gives me tips on how to do things differently. That works for me. I don't want to be seen as some pathetic victim, and he doesn't see me as one. In his eyes, I'm still Dominic, his strong brother, and I could collapse with relief because of that.

"Mister Whitlock, we know you are awake." I blink slowly and open my eyes. Three officers are in my hospital room, together with my nurse. She looks pissed off, which surely has to do with me not opening my eyes sooner. "I never said I wasn't."

She rolls her eyes and leaves. When the door slams shut, one officer steps closer to me. "Will you stay calm, mister Whitlock?"

Confusion goes in waves over me. Why wouldn't I? "It's not like I can move much now do I?"

His eyes scan my aching body before he nods at his friends. One of them takes his handcuffs out of his uniform. "We're arresting you for child abuse against Camilla Whitlock."

It takes me several seconds to process what I'm hearing. When I finally understand, I frown and head to sit up straighter a little. "What—"

Immediately, the three of them aim their gun at me. I raise my hand slowly, uncertainty still present in my mind. "Woah. I'm just sitting up a little. What do you mean child abuse against Camilla Whitlock? She's my daughter."

The one closest to me nods, not moving his gun an inch. "You've drugged her and beaten her."

I frown. "Me? You truly think I did those things? I would never even lay a hand on her! Fucking hell, man, I got shot! Why would I do that to my own fucking daughter?"

The second man makes a reassuring hand signs, which doesn't help one tiny bit. "Mister Whitlock, you told us you were going to stay calm."

"I am calm!"

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