Chapter 59 Asha
ASHA
The doctor visited every morning; the nurse, every evening. Between them, they poked, prodded, changed dressings, and gave Rook strict instructions on what I could and couldn’t do.
Despite shrouding himself in guilt, my gangster was the perfect caregiver.
He fed me, bathed me, and fussed over me relentlessly.
He poured water before my glass was half empty.
He scheduled my meds to the minute. He made sure I had books, magazines, movies, and puzzles stacked within an arm’s reach.
He even warmed blankets in the dryer before tucking them around me.
If I so much as winced, he was at the door checking on me a moment later. I was pretty certain he’d installed a camera somewhere in the room. When I’d questioned him about it, he’d shrugged and muttered something about precautionary measures.
Secretly, I loved that he was up to his old tricks. I didn’t even care how messed up that made me.
When the doctor had said I could ease back into regular food, I’d asked Rook for a croissant for breakfast. He’d had a fresh box delivered the next morning.
From Paris.
But while Rook was ever present, he also…wasn’t.
Our conversations never strayed from safe topics. I was sick of being asked my pain level and if I was tired, hungry, or hydrated.
When he hadn’t been seeing to my medical needs, he’d installed shelves in his study, rearranged everything in the kitchen cabinets, and spent far too much time cleaning weapons in his armory. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was avoiding me.
I wanted the old Rook back.
My gangster. My husband.
Even though he kept our relationship strictly on patient-caregiver terms, he couldn’t hide how he stared at my lips, the way his touch lingered when he helped me bathe, or the longing in his eyes each time he left my room.
And every night, when he thought I was asleep, he’d sit beside my bed and whisper in Gaelic. I didn’t know what he was saying, but his words seemed heartfelt.
Like he was reciting a prayer.
Or making an unbreakable oath.
Rook’s guilt over my injuries was like a third person in our relationship.
I still felt that if I forced him to speak about it, he’d only retreat into his despair.
Or worse: He’d tell me we were through. I wasn’t ready to hear those words, so any real talk about our future remained on hold.
I just hoped that with time and my recovery, Rook’s burden would lessen and we could move past this.
Because in the back of my mind, I couldn’t stop thinking that my obligation to Rook had ended. The Soul Collector was dead. According to the terms of our deal, I was free to leave and the marriage was over.
I didn’t want either of those things.
A knock at the doorframe pulled me from my thoughts.
I glanced up, and my heart clenched.
Finn sat in a wheelchair, his whole leg enclosed in a brace. He had a nasty scratch on his jaw and dark circles beneath his eyes, and he hadn’t bothered shaving.
“Wow.” I set my phone aside and managed a weak grin. “And here I was thinking I looked like crap.”
The corner of his mouth twitched but didn’t quite make it to a smile.
“You shouldn’t joke. Not after what happened.” His voice was flat, my upbeat bodyguard nowhere to be found. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I waved him forward. “Can I get you anything? Water? Cheez-Its? I have some half-decent painkillers somewhere.”
“No thanks.” He wheeled closer and stopped beside my bed.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He arched a brow. “You are?”
“I wanted to visit you in the hospital to see how you were doing and to apologize for everything. Finn, I’m so sorry—”
“What the bloody hell are you apologizing for? I’m the one who should be begging forgiveness.
I was supposed to protect you, but I fucked up.
” His gaze flicked to the stitches on my cheeks before his face twisted and his hands clenched into fists.
“Those brutal Bratva bastards. I heard what they did to you. It makes me sick.”
“Finn.”
He frowned, muttering curses under his breath about the bastards he’d been robbed of the chance to ruin.
“Finn,” I said again, this time more firmly.
Finally, he snapped out of it.
“You didn’t fuck anything up.” My voice stayed steady, even though my chest ached for him. “And you did protect me. You fought back, and you took a bullet trying to save me.”
He shook his head, staring at his ruined leg. “Doesn’t matter. You still got hurt and nearly died because of me.” His jaw tensed, bitter resolve toughening his features. “Which is why I’m quitting. If I’m not already fired, I’ll tell the boss after this.”
I stared him down. “No.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Did I stutter? You’re my bodyguard, Finn. That means you work for me, and I don’t accept your resignation.”
He could try to quit, but I wasn’t having it. “You think Rook can just replace you? That I’d let him? Not a chance.”
He exhaled a sharp breath. “I can’t fight. I’ll probably have a limp for the rest of my life. What good am I to you?”
The defeat in his eyes nearly undid me. Gone was the man who’d only ever greeted me with a warm smile and kindness. I hated how this had hardened him. I wouldn’t give up on Finn, or let him give up on himself, either.
“I’m sorry your MMA career is over, Finn. If you feel guilty about me getting kidnapped, believe me, I feel just as bad that your dreams were crushed because you were protecting me. But you will fight again. Maybe not professionally, but I doubt anything could keep you out of the ring.”
“Octagon,” he corrected.
“Whatever. All I’m saying is, if you love MMA, there must be other fulfilling ways to keep the sport in your life.
Maybe once we’re both better, you can teach me some moves so the next time someone tries to mess with me, I can go full badass bitch on them.
” I made a fist and punched it into my palm.
“Lord help us all.” Finn shook his head. “There won’t be a next time.”
“That’s right, because you won’t let there be.” I gave him a meaningful stare. “And you’re not just my bodyguard. You’re my friend, and you’re my sanity when Rook is being an overbearing jerk. I don’t want anyone else guarding me.”
“Maybe that’s what you want, but you deserve better.”
Were all Irish mobsters such stubborn asses?
“Shut up. I already have the best.”
“Look at the pair of us.” Finn threaded his hands together in his lap. “Shot up, can’t walk.”
“On the upside”—I pointed to my face—“I won’t need a Halloween costume this year.”
“Christ, lass.” Finn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Too soon.”
“And you’re going to have women all over you. Do you know that Ted Bundy used to wear a cast or use crutches to lure in his victims?”
“Just grand. Now you’re giving me serial-killer dating tips.”
“I’m just saying, the ladies love a vulnerable man.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “Finally.” I raised my hands in the air, praising the sky. “I made an Irishman smile.”
“The boss still torn up about it all?”
“I think if he weren’t so determined to supervise my recovery, he’d pick a fight with the nearest rival just for an excuse to commit multiple homicides.”
Finn grunted. “I know the feeling.”
“Rook will snap out of it. And if he doesn’t, I have a plan.”
I just needed to get better first.