17. The Kiss
Chapter seventeen
The Kiss
Kira
“ M y mom used to talk to me about handfasting,” he said, as he wrapped the bandage around my palm. “You cut the palm like this, join your hands, and make vows. Back when she was in Ireland.”
Aaron had gingerly moved my son from the couch into the bedroom, so that he could turn on the overhead light without waking him. I offered to do it myself, but he had told me to sit down at the breakfast table because I was still sick. He didn’t trust me on my feet, and he didn’t want to have to choose between catching me or catching my son, in the event of a fall.
My fever had broken, but the exhaustion of fighting off a basic cold was… well, I was no spring chicken. I might have a cold for three days, but it would take ten business days to feel like myself again.
“You’re Irish?” I tried not to bristle at that.
A lot of people around here were of Irish or Scottish descent. The number of Clancys, Flanagans, and O’Brians was high. Not every Irishman would have ties to the Greens. But that didn’t stop me from pulling my hand from his.
Aaron shook his head, then grabbed my wrist, so he could finish wrapping it.
“Distant,” he said, with a wink. “I just liked my mom’s stories. She was a bit of a romantic.”
“Something about being near a little kid made me think about her, I guess.”
“Is she still… alive?”
The question lingered in the air, but he had no idea why that would be significant to me. The death of Isla Green had an effect on me but her tragedy was interwoven in my life, even without knowing her.
“No,” he said, and as an afterthought added, “God rest her soul.”
“Catholic?”
Why was I looking for similarities between him and the man I had abandoned? Like he was some kind of replacement? As if I could switch one man for another, when the last man was…
Was…
Irreplaceable.
“Yes, I’m Catholic,” he finally answered.
And that sprinkle of hope lit up in my chest. This… didn’t feel wrong.
I had tried to date, yes. When Magda kept insisting that a mom needed time for herself, and pushed me out the door, I had tried. I had gone for drinks, went to dinner, but nothing ever felt right. Even being there made me feel slimy,and disgusting, as if I was cheating.
So I stopped. Instead, I just went out to a movie by myself and pretended I was on another failed date.
It kept Magda from trying to set me up.
Maybe… just maybe…
Aaron was looking at me with those eyes that looked more brown now than green.
I reached out to touch his cheek with my fingertip. Just to see if they were as chiseled as I thought. They were. Sharp. So was his jaw line, even as it was obscured by the shorn beard. He leaned into my touch, up until the moment I moved to touch the beak of his nose.
He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm and tight, and I winced.
“Sorry,” he said, letting go. “It’s a bit…”
“It looks broken,” I said, gazing at the crooked bump.
“It never healed right. It hurts a bit.”
He spoke so fast that it made those suspicious hairs raise on the back of my neck again. If I was Blink, I would know if he was lying. But, I also knew I would be blinded if he was too handsome, too good, too… too much like Eoghan.
I would have forgiven anything.
I pulled my hand away from him, and placed it on my lap.
“You’ve been really kind,” I whispered. “I haven’t had a ton of help with Cillian, outside of Magda.”
I pulled a short, violet curl from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“Having someone to fall back on today was… was nice.” I laughed a little, as I felt his gaze on my skin. But I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t need to. I could feel him.
He was attracted to me. He liked me.
He told me about his mother, and that was kind. That was trust.
“I wish I could pay you or something,” I said, wondering if I had any cash in my purse.
I wanted to date someone. I really did.
Maybe I could give this a chance.
Or maybe I was taking his life in my hands, because I knew what my husband would do if he found out anything. What unimaginable pain would this man go through if he found himself on the wrong side of my monster?
“No payment necessary,” Aaron said, quietly, looking almost offended by the offer. “May I ask a question?”
I looked at my hand, the cut now dried and closed. It wouldn’t need a bandaid.
“Sure.”
“Why did you leave his dad?” Aaron asked, barreling through my defenses to poke at my pain point. “Didn’t you love him?”
“No!” I said, shocked and almost appalled at the idea that I did not love my husband. “Of course, I loved him… it’s just…”
I thought he’d drop it, when I let the silence linger between us. But then he asked. “It’s just… what?”
I bit my lower lip, feeling the sadness of it coursing through me.
“Was he not good to you? Did he hurt you?”
“Yes, he hurt me,” I said, feeling a sad tear spill down my cheek. “But not the way you’d think. He never hit me, or anything. But…”
He stared, unblinking, just waiting for me to finish. But how could I?
What was there to say?
“But he didn’t live a good life.” I let out a sigh. “I didn’t want my son to grow up that way.”
Another tear. I watched it fall off the edge of my chin, darkening the ground as it fell.
“I loved him very, very much.” Why was I confessing to this strange man? To this person I barely knew? “I left him before he was born. Before he knew I was pregnant.”
But I couldn’t stop myself now.
I looked up, expecting him to look irritated or annoyed with me in some way. But he wasn’t. He just looked sad.
Probably sorry for me.
I wiped at the tears on my cheek, smearing my mascara, until I just felt like a mess.
“I don’t want you to cry, Anna,” he said, slowly. “I’m sorry I asked.”
And he looked genuinely remorseful.
“It’s okay. I guess you should know what you’re signing up for.” I bit my lips, sucking them between my teeth as if I could take the words back. Then I looked down at the ground, embarrassed for a whole different reason.
I watched as his boots stepped closer to me. My bare feet looked tiny in front of his massive shoes.
He placed his index finger under my chin, lifted my face to his.
“I’ll sign up for it again and again,” he whispered.
The heat in his gaze made me melt. He wasn’t threatening or demanding. He was… testing.
He was feeling the connection between us, as he leaned down towards me. He moved by fractions of millimeters. Slow, his eyes assessing, looking for any sign of protest. And I felt it. The electricity crackling between us.
I parted my lips, feeling the tilt of my lips, as I almost smiled. Almost.
I longed to have his lips on mine. To fall into bed with the satisfaction of sex, and primal urges. To feel like myself again. To be cherished, as I had been. To regain even a fraction of the thing that had made me fall into matrimony without a second thought.
I could feel his breath over my skin. What did he taste like? How would it feel to have his skin against mine? To satisfy myself on his body?
He smelled like smoke and comfort, mixed with the thickness of flannel and wool. Of beard gel, pomade, and… it was all wrong!
That was enough to snap me from it. I jolted away, creating space between us.
A fresh batch of tears came. I let out a small wail, as the patheticness of me came to the surface, and I pulled at the shorn locks of hair that I’d cut myself in an attempt to change who I was. To become someone else. To be unrecognizable.
I covered my mouth to silence the sorrow that wanted to come out of my mouth. The pathetic blubbering that made me want to fall to my knees and cry out to the heavens.
“I can’t,” I whispered, after I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“What happened?” he asked, his eyes afraid, as if he had done something wrong. But he hadn’t.
“Nothing!” I whimpered.
I turned away from him, because I couldn’t stand the shame I felt. Like I was an adulterer. Like I was a cheater. As though I had defied fate and the gods by even thinking about being with another man.
“Anna…” he said, his voice so low and pained that it made me want to shatter.
But I had to be strong. He deserved more of an explanation. He hadn’t made me cry.
It was Eoghan. It was all Eoghan. Even from miles away, even when he probably warmed his bed with all the women who had wanted to take my place, it didn’t fucking matter.
He had me in a chokehold that would never, ever, go away.
“It’s not you,” I said as I turned around, feeling my sobs leaking through. “It’s me. It’s… it’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” He reached out to me with open hands, as if he would cup my face, and I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to lean into his hands and take comfort from him. But I stepped away.
I didn’t do it because I wanted to. I didn’t even do it of my own accord.
It was that invisible thread that tied me to the man I had run from. I might have run, but I would never sever the line that fastened us together.
“I am sorry,” I said, because I meant it. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I lifted my hands again to wipe the insipid tears away, but they were just replaced with even more.
“You’ve done so much for me, and I’ve just… I can’t even… I thought I could, but I can’t.” I had no idea what I was trying to say. I could barely think past the anguish that wrecked my heart.
I looked at him, the sullenness of his face, and I couldn’t help but blubber more. He looked so hurt by my actions.
“God!” I wailed, then covered my mouth, remembering that my son was asleep.
My son. His son. Eoghan’s son.
Fuck!
If I got involved with this man… the man who had been so kind… and Eoghan found us, then he’d be dead. He’d be in that basement, strung up and tortured for years until he didn’t know his own name.
Aaron didn’t deserve that! No one did.
I wasn’t worth that risk.
“I hate him so much. I hate him!”
Aaron stood stalk straight, his eyes hardening.
“He cursed me, you know.” I explained, shrugging my shoulders.
I remembered Aoibheann and the wind. The curses and witches. The talks of fairies and folklore, and I laughed at how stupid it all was. Of all the hours Eoghan had spoken about fate and tragedy. Of how we were destined to be together. How those vows had pierced my heart until it made a home there, nesting in my soul.
“He cursed me,” I said again. “I hate him so much sometimes, but…” I let out a hushed scream, clenching it between my teeth, as the feelings boiled over. “I can’t be with you. I can’t be with anyone. Ever.”
I beat my heart, as if I could dislodge the hold that Eoghan had on me. But I couldn’t.
He was there. He wouldn’t budge, no matter how far I ran, or how long we were apart. He owned me. Just as he had said he would. As many times he had screamed “You’re mine!” it became true.
“I’m married.” I finally confessed it all. “And faithfully so.”
The look in his eyes was confused, but pleased. A reaction that perplexed me.
“How do you mean?” he asked, cautiously, as he stepped towards me.
Even now, he was still trying to comfort me.
This man was too good for me.
“I can never be with a man who is not my husband.” I could barely make eye contact with him. I didn’t want to see the complicated things that might slip through his eyes as he heard me. Then I laughed, as a ridiculous thought popped into my head. “He put some fucking Irish curse on me.”
“What? You haven’t been with another man? Not… not since…”
I started pacing the gap between the kitchen to the bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.
“He used to believe in witches and weird shit like that,” I said, then laughed, shutting myself up again. I looked at Aaron, who was staring at me like I was insane. And maybe I was. “But whatever he did, I can’t cheat on him. I can’t be unfaithful to him.”
There was a man in my apartment. A handsome one that seemed to care about me. A good man who seemed like he cared about me. A man I’d be lucky to attract given the circumstances.
But all I could talk about was Eoghan.
I stormed back to the junk drawer and opened it. Aaron picked up the forgotten, discarded blade on the ground, and I resisted the urge to swipe it from him. To grab it and hold it to my chest like a magical trinket that was made only for me.
I pulled out the large emerald ring and placed it on my finger.
“You see?” I said, showing him the ring in my hand. The ring that felt as heavy as a ball and fucking chain. “I’m still married. And I always will be.”
Until death.
“I haven’t worn it in years, but…” Every ounce of tragedy existed in this damn ring. “I feel more myself while wearing his ring.”
It still looked beautiful against my skin.
Aaron wiped his hand over his face, as he looked at the blade, then the ring. Did he see the initials and know? Did he realize what it was? Was he one of those people who knew the infamous blades? Had he heard of blood oaths, and a criminal underworld?
He twisted it in his hand, then came to me, placing his free hand on my cheek.
He leaned down, and kissed the stream my tear had made, and then looked deep into my eyes with a level of kindness I didn’t deserve.
“Don’t cry, Kira,” he whispered. “Don't cry, my sweet Muse. I’ll take your pain. I swear it.”
I blinked.
Then waited.
And blinked again, shaking away the sudden deja vu. Or was it a hallucination?
Had I imagined it?
“Wh-what did you just call me?”