“Did I hurt ye?” I began to pull out, and her free leg was suddenly wrapped around my ass.
“Don’t stop,” she groaned. “Keep going.”
I was beginning to sweat, and for a split second I hoped I’d remembered to put on deodorant that morning. Then I cursed myself silently for acting like an idiot. Who the fuck cared what I smelled like? I was inside the love of my life—there was no room for anything else in my head.
I felt like a kid with his first woman as I thrust in and out of her, watching her face so I could relearn what she liked and what she didn’t. I wanted it to last forever. I never wanted to leave her body, but eventually whatever I was doing must have pushed her over the edge, because she went completely still beneath me and then shuddered over and over again.
I came only a few thrusts behind her, my arms shaking from holding myself above her, and my heart beating as if it was trying to escape my chest.
I fell beside her and pulled her against my chest, wrapping my arms and legs around her.
That’s when everything came back to me.
“You okay?” she asked as I went stiff.
“Fuck knows,” I answered honestly.
“You will be,” she assured me, laying her head against my shoulder.
Her hands soothed me as I thought about what the hell I was doing.
I hadn’t been able to focus on anything but getting to Amy, but I hadn’t thought of what I’d do when I’d actually reached her. I hadn’t planned on fucking her. It honestly hadn’t even crossed my mind during the long ride from Oregon. I’d just needed to be near her, however that played out. I’d needed the comfort of her presence, the assurance that she was still out there in the world, happy and healthy and whole.
“I’m a right bastard, aren’t I?” I sighed, kissing the side of her head.
“You’re not so bad,” she replied, running her fingers over my side. “Sometimes, the things we need don’t make sense to anyone else. That doesn’t mean that you’re wrong to need them.”
“Why did ye let me in?”
“Because you needed me.”
“Because I needed to fuck ye?” I asked harshly, immediately regretting my words. I was angry at myself, not her.
“No,” she answered seriously, leaning up to look at me. “Because you needed me. You could have fucked anyone. Don’t try to make this about something it wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. You’ve had a hard time of it,” her American accent had slipped a little since we’d began talking, and I couldn’t help the small sense of satisfaction it brought me. She was an American, she always had been, but occasionally I could hear Mum’s odd mix of Scottish and Irish in her voice.
“I’m not sure what to do now,” I confessed, reaching down to pull the sheet over us.
“You keep living and you take care of your girl.”
“What about ye? How can I—”
“Patrick, no,” she said, shaking her head. “We had our time, and I’d give anything to go back… but that’s not possible.”
“Of course it is.”
“No, no it’s not. I have a child. A son. And our life is here. Your life is with that club, and with your daughter.”
My chest began to ache in a way that I’d become familiar with. I didn’t want to hear what she was saying. I didn’t want to think about anything else but the fact that she was right there with me, in my arms for the first time in so long.
I interrupted her words with my mouth, and proceeded to distract her.
I knew it wouldn’t change anything, but I needed to stop thinking, if only for a little while.
I knew I’d be leaving the next morning without her.
I also knew I wouldn’t be welcome again.
Chapter 45
Amy
My hands were shaking as I watched out the window, waiting for Patrick to arrive.
I hated it. I hated that I was so anxious to see him, even though I had more important things to worry about. I hated that he was driving to the small, two-story house I’d saved and scrimped for until I could afford the down payment, but still looked as beaten down and weathered as it had three years ago when I’d been full of dreams to repaint the walls and refinish the floors. I hated that I’d made Nix go to his best friend’s house so he wouldn’t have to endure the same agony I was in.
I hated most of all that Peg was dying in the small, downstairs bedroom in my house, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it but wait.
It had been eight years since the day Patrick had come to my house, hurting and confused after Moira’s death. I’d seen him occasionally in passing after I’d made him leave the next morning, and even more often after Peg had gotten sick, but I’d still never met his daughter.
According to Patrick, she’d been too upset after her mother’s death to go very far from home, and by the time she seemed to be healing, Peg had refused to see her because she was so sick. She’d didn’t want to be the cause of more pain, the crazy old broad. I couldn’t understand how she could ever believe that knowing her and losing her would be worse than not knowing her at all.
Mum. She was Mum to me now, and my chest ached as I thought about how she’d taken care of me for half my life. I’d never heard from my parents again after they’d left me, and looking back, I’d barely missed them. How could I when I’d been pulled under a wing so kind and full of love as Peg’s?
Tires crunched outside and I was brought back to the present. A truck was coming down the road, but I couldn’t see who was inside it. I placed Mum’s hand on the quilt she was wrapped in, and stepped quietly out of the room. There was no need to wake her if it was just someone who’d taken a wrong turn. None of the roads near my house were marked, so it happened more often than I liked.
The door was open, letting in a cool breeze, and I pushed the screen out of my way as I stepped onto the porch… and felt my legs buckle beneath me.
Memories flew through my head as my stomach lurched and I anxiously reminded myself of every technique I’d learned to calm my breathing.
What in the fucking hell was that man doing standing in my driveway?
“Amy?” Patrick asked, racing toward me from the driver’s side door of the truck.
I waved him back as I caught my breath, gripping the post that held up my porch railing.
“Get the fuck off my property,” I growled, looking at the second man.
“I’m just here to—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you were doing. Leave.”
The white clerical collar at his throat made me want to vomit—it was a response I’d had to train myself for years to get over. It wasn’t socially acceptable to puke every time your mother brought you to Mass.
“What de fuck?” Patrick asked in confusion, stepping forward once before stopping himself. “He’s just here for Mum’s last rites. I thought she’d like to see a familiar face.”
“I can guarantee your mother would do something to land her an extended stay in purgatory if she got one look at him,” I retorted, feeling stronger with Patrick standing between me and the priest.
“Kevie?” Patrick asked, looking back toward the truck. His expression was a mask of absolute confusion, and in that moment I hated that I’d never told him the whole story about my attack. Watching Peg deteriorate was already breaking my heart, and I was afraid that seeing Kevie again was going to push me over the edge.
Kevie stepped forward, his face a mask of pious calm, and I wanted nothing more than to string him up in the nearest tree. I knew how to tie a fucking noose, I’d learned it for a history presentation in college. I still couldn’t move past the fear, though. If Kevie knew where we were, then Malcolm might know, too.
It was too much.
“I’m sorry me presence offends ye, Amy,” Kevie said calmly, “Very sorry. I did not realize dat after all dis time…”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I hissed, hiding my shaking hands in my a
rmpits as I crossed my arms. “After all these years? Look at my hand!”
I raised up the fingers that had bent and twisted from arthritis and poorly set bones. It was gnarly looking, and when I pressed both hands together, they looked like they belonged to two different people. While Phoenix was growing, I’d made it into a game—‘the claw.’ No matter how sore the joints felt, I’d tickle him with my left hand until he was practically peeing his pants.
I’d turned the disfigurement into something joyful, but standing just feet from Kevie had me looking at it in disgust once again.
“Your presence will offend me until it’s buried six feet under,” I announced flatly. “Even then, I hope you rot in hell.”
Patrick’s face was like stone and his fingers began tapping his leg as he turned to Kevie, “What’s goin’ on, Kevin?”
“Ye don’t—” Kevie asked before turning to me. “Ye never told him?” He swallowed hard and turned scared eyes back to Patrick.
“No,” I replied flatly, his frightened expression like a balm over the resentment I’d felt for years. “I didn’t tell him that you’re the one who found me after your brother tortured and raped me. I didn’t tell him that you told me no one would believe me, and if they did, they wouldn’t care.”
Kevie’s face fell, his remorseful eyes refusing to leave me even as Patrick spoke.
“Ye knew?” Patrick asked, meeting his oldest friend’s eyes. “Ye fuckin’ knew and ye never said anyt’in’? I’ve spoken to ye hundreds of times in de past fifteen years. Malcolm?”
I noticed then, while listening to them talk, that Patrick had lost a lot of his accent while we’d been in America. It wasn’t something that I’d ever thought about, but hearing both of them at once made it clear how much thicker Kevie’s accent was. Patrick still sounded like Ireland, but his inflections and pronunciation had become more and more Americanized. He also sounded more and more like Peg as we got older. I guess a mother’s voice really is the most important sound a child hears as they grow.
The thought made my stomach clench as I glanced toward the window to Mum’s room.
“How close are yer neighbors?” Patrick asked menacingly.
“We don’t have time for this, Patrick,” I replied softly. “Just make him leave, okay?”
He stared at me silently for a long time, taking in my long dreadlocks and the summer dress I was wearing, before nodding and turning back to Kevie.
“Yer already a dead man,” Patrick said calmly, before swinging his arm out. Kevie’s body bounced as he hit the hard-packed dirt.
“Are you just going to leave him there?”
“No, I’m gonna tie his arse up and let him lay in de fuckin’ sun all day in de back of me pickup. De fuckin’ prick.” He spit on Kevie’s unconscious form then raised his eyes to me. “Ye got a rope?”
“What did you just do?” I asked, stepping backward as he moved toward me.
His eyes met mine, and he wrapped his fingers around my hips as he stopped on the bottom step of the porch. “I just slayed a dragon,” he said seriously.
I sobbed once, and my shoulders relaxed as he reached up to brush his thumb across my cheek. “My hero,” I whispered back.
“Always,” he replied, squeezing my hip before stepping around me.
He called someone from his cell phone as soon as he’d led me into the house, and I walked away as he spoke to whoever was on the other line. It made me nervous, having Kevie passed out and tied up in my front yard, but I wasn’t stupid.
Patrick wasn’t an accountant. He’d been a part of an outlaw motorcycle club for the past fifteen years. I knew he would take care of everything, and I was willing to let him do it.
As I sat back down next to Mum’s sleeping form, I tried to decide how I felt about the scene I’d just witnessed outside. Patrick was going to kill him—I knew that with absolute certainty. The way he’d moved, the tone of his voice, the way his eyes had met mine afterward… I knew that Kevie would never make it back to Ireland. The fact that I had no overwhelming feelings of horror or fear made me pause in my chair, considering the scene in my mind once more.
No, I still didn’t feel anything.
I’m not sure if it was because I had no room for anything outside of the fear I had about Peg’s death, or if it was because I trusted Patrick to handle it… but I felt nothing about Kevie’s impending demise, or even the matter in which he died.
The man had gone on to reside over his own parish, for God’s sake. He’d ignored his psychopath brother torturing me and had gone on to live as if he was without sin, as if he was worthy of the trust his parishioners placed in him. It made me sick to think of all the women Malcolm may have hurt, while their priest advised them to say nothing. No, I didn’t feel anything but relief that Kevie was going to die, and if that was wrong, I didn’t care.
Because Kevie never returning to Ireland meant that there was no way he could tell Malcolm where I was.
And Patrick…well, obviously nothing would end my love for him. After all the things he’d done, killing the man outside seemed insignificant.
“Dere will be men here soon to pick him up,” he whispered in my ear as he stopped behind my chair. “Ignore dere presence—dey’ll not come into de house.”
I nodded, “Are—are you sure he won’t wake up?” My hands were shaking slightly from the altercation, and I breathed deeply in order to get control of my emotions. I wasn’t in Ireland and Malcolm wasn’t in Texas. I knew there was nothing to be afraid of, even as my stomach twisted.
“Yer safe, me love,” Patrick whispered back, making me jolt. He leaned his face into mine until our cheeks were touching. “I’ll never let anot’er t’ing happen to ye. But, know dis—we will be discussin’ de t’ings ye left out all dose years ago.”
That wasn’t a conversation I was prepared to have, but I wasn’t about to argue. I nodded again, and let him kiss my cheek before reaching out to brush Peg’s wispy hair from her face.
“Mum, it’s time to wake up,” I called gently. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Patrick was silent as Peg gradually woke from her drug-induced nap, but his hand reached out to grip the back of my shirt as she opened her eyes and turned toward my voice.
She was so much worse than the last time he’d seen her—and I wished I had told him before he got there that the tumor in her brain had completely taken her vision.
“Amy?” She asked, gripping my hand.
“Hey, Mum. I brought you a surprise.”
“My handsome grandson?”
I smiled as tears filled my eyes, “Nope, your handsome son.”
“Patrick?” her hand reached out in front of her, and I covered my mouth with my palm as Patrick stepped around me so she could reach him.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said softly, raising her hand to his lips to kiss it.
“Oh, I’m so glad yer here.” Her accent had gotten deeper after the first week without her sight, and I wondered if it was because without seeing where she was, she simply forgot.
“I missed ye,” he said, his eyes shut tight in pain.
“Ach, I missed ye, too. Always too busy for yer mum.”
“Never.” He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and I dropped my face into my hands, unable to watch any longer.
“Amy?”
“Yeah, Mum?” I wiped at my face frantically even though she couldn’t see me, and cleared my throat.
“Where’s Patrick’s gift?”
“Me gift?”
“Yes,” I groaned playfully, making Mum snicker. “She insisted on buying all of our Christmas presents before she couldn’t see anymore. The only problem with that is she has absolutely no patience, so she won’t wait until Christmas to give them out.”
“No patience? Ha! No time, more like,” Mum commented, making Patrick take in a sharp breath.
“Oh, none of that,” Mum scolded, squeezing Patrick’s hand in her frail one. “We both know that I’ll be gone soon
, no use pretendin’ otherwise.”
“You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” I scolded, standing from my chair angrily.
I hated when she acted like dying was no big deal, absolutely hated it. It was the cause of all of our fights for the past five years. How could she act as if we’d all just go on without her? How could she act as if I could just go on without her? She was my best friend, my confidant, occasionally my co-parent and always the mother I’d never had.
There would be no moving on from her death. Not for me.
I was stopped short on my way to the door, as Patrick wrapped one hand around my waist and pulled me into his chest. His light kiss on my forehead had my whole body relaxing once again, and I took a few moments to get my emotions under control.
With that one gesture, he’d cautioned me that this was not the time to be angry. He’d assured me that he knew exactly how I felt. He reminded me that I wasn’t alone in my grief.
“I’ll go get Patrick’s present,” I said calmly to Mum.
“Thank ye,” she replied, all evidence of her cantankerous mood gone.
Patrick and Mum were talking quietly as I came back in with the wrapped gift, but both went silent as I got close enough to hear them.
“Here you go, prodigal son,” I said drolly, tossing him the package I’d wrapped two weeks before.
“Did ye just throw his gift?” Peg asked indignantly.
“No, Mum,” Patrick and I said at the same time, making all three of us burst into laughter.
“Eejits,” she grumbled.
Patrick tore the paper slowly, and a small smile lifted his lips as he realized what he was holding.
“T’anks, Mum,” he said softly, leaning over to kiss her on the lips. “Dis is a wonderful gift.”
“For my wonderful boy,” she said back, patting his cheeks. They both had tears in their eyes as she rubbed her fingers over his cheek and down his nose, moving them up again to smooth his eyebrows and run softly over his lashes and the wetness there. “Read to me?”
“Sure.”
He sat back in his chair, and I stood to give them some time alone.
“Amy, lie with me for a bit, my girl,” Peg called out before I could leave the room. “Let’s listen to my boy remind me of home.”