Chapter 12

Hermes POV

The door clicks open, and a “Fuck” escapes my lips.

“Fuck this,” I mutter again, yanking off my tie like it offended me.

What kind of hospital defines progress as a stroke patient slightly lifting his damn hand?

For God’s sake — I dropped everything, raced down there like a fool when they called saying “he’s finally improving.”

Only to see that?

That was progress?

Progress is when he opens his fucking mouth and tells me who framed him.

Not a twitch or a fucking inch of movement can help right now.

Fuck.

Emotions — a whole fucking maelstrom of them — are swirling in my head, chewing through my brain like acid.

Shit. I can’t even untangle them without a goddamn drink.

I storm to my private bar, pour myself a full glass of vodka, and down it in one gulp. It burns, but I get no relief.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Am I angry at my father’s lack of progress? Or the fact that I spent