Chapter 31 – Liam
Dinner was loud. And long. My mother had always treated silence like a personal failure, so she filled every gap with a healthy dose of craic.
Laughter, stories, and questions were shouted across the table.
Plates clattered. Someone argued about politics.
Someone reached across me for bread without asking. It was chaos. Familiar chaos.
I would have enjoyed the normalcy of it.
Da looked spry, even after the grueling treatments this week.
Doc Ryan and Nurse Cara Ryan sat at the end of the table, clearly at ease.
If they were worried, or watching my father like I did, I would have worried.
A group of family friends filled the other seats. Everyone was having a grand time.
And she was smiling.
Not the professional smile she wore in public. Not the tight one she used when she was choosing her words. This was easy. Open. She leaned toward Ma, laughing at something that wasn’t even funny, her shoulders loose, her hand relaxed around her wine glass.
I watched it happen and felt something ugly twist in my chest.
Gabriella never smiled with me. We’d been married long enough now that it should have happened. I waited, but it never flashed in my direction. With me, her guard was always fucking there. Like she knew I wasn’t worth it. My mother earned it without trying.
The saints knew how fucking hard I tried.
Jealousy slithered through me, sharp and mean.
It sat heavy in my gut. I had bled for her.
Killed for her. Burned half the world to keep her breathing, as I hunted for the source of the assassination attempts.
And still, I didn’t earn that smile. Still, she didn’t relax like that when she looked at me.
Ma reached over and touched my wife’s cheek, said something soft and teasing. Gabriella laughed again, warm and unfiltered, and it felt like a punch. I looked down at my plate, jaw tight, hands curled around my fork like it had offended me.
I didn’t blame my mother.
I blamed myself.
No woman as beautiful as Gabriella wanted to be married to a devil like me.
“How about we clear the table and play cards?” Doc waggled his bushy red eyebrows.
“What, so you can cheat me my money?” Cara poked her finger in his ribs.
The good doctor leaned over and tickled—tickled—his wife.
My stomach flipped at their easy display of devotion and affection. I pushed my chair back, standing abruptly. “I have some work to do. Count me out.”
A beat of silence fluttered through the group. Wary glances were shot in my direction, but I steeled my spine against them.
Da made a joke, and I silently blessed him as the good spirits returned.
“Let me fix you a plate for tomorrow.” Ma patted my wife’s hand.
My beautiful little bird didn’t inform my mother that she was probably the better cook out of the two. She simply accepted.
I watched them disappear from the table. It took five controlled seconds before I lost it—and followed.
But the bleeding pup needed to be contained. The moment I opened the kitchen door, Storm shot out, diving under the table to hunt for crumbs.
The uproar that followed restored the balance to a jollier level.
Ears flaming hot, I finally caught the wee shite by the hind leg, pulled him gently from under Finn’s seat, and wrestled him into my arms.
“He won’t be that small for long. Look at those paws!” Cara exclaimed. Rounding on her husband, she stabbed a finger in his chest. “We need another dog, Sean.”
“Jaysus, woman, we have three already,” the doctor grumbled.
“Sean O’Ryan, we’re getting another dog.” Cara crossed her arms over her chest. “Or you’re going to knock me up again. Your choice.”
Doc Ryan sighed and bowed his head as the room burst into jolly laughter. “Fine. Get a dog.”
I made my escape.
Ma was alone in the kitchen. She gave me one long look and just shook her head.
“What?” I snapped, heading toward the mud room, knowing that it was the most likely place to find my wife.
Ma sighed. “I worry about you, laddy.”
“Then pray for me.”
I pushed into the space and caught Gabriella setting down a shoe. A shoe that wasn’t hers.
The door swung closed behind me, plunging us into darkness.
“Liam, I—uh—” Gabriella gasped, fidgeting in the dark.
I dropped the pup as I bent to my knees. Alone. At last. I couldn’t take it any longer. I reached for Gabriella, my palms sliding up her bare calves.
The words that came out of my mouth were strangled. The voice, not my own. “You look very pretty tonight.”
Bowing my head, I placed a kiss on the top of her foot before I slid it into the shoe she’d been standing next to. The sweet sound of her inhale catching in her throat was music to my ears as I repeated on the other side.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Apologizing. “Helping my wife.”
I could hear the eye roll. It made my lip twitch.
“Gabriella, I’ve—” been such an arse.
But my words were cut off by my mother’s call. “Gabby! I’ve got the plate ready for you, dear.”
“Coming,” Gabriella called back.
She untangled herself from me.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t want to see the freak of nature kneeling on the floor. Her skirt swished around her legs, the puppy trailing after, and the door fell closed.
Fuck.
The chance was there and gone. I was such a bleeding eejit. The one good thing life threw me was the one thing I could never have.
I bent low and pressed my lips on the floor, right where she’d been standing. “I fecking worship the ground you walk on, and you don’t even see me.”
By the time she returned with one container of meat and another of soggy veg, I stood, holding the door to the garage open. Storm bolted outside, tearing into the dark. The night air whooshed through the great open bay-door, and somewhere in the front lawn, Storm howled in search of a scent.
“Let’s go,” I said tightly.
The moment was gone.
Gabriella couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
The drive was silent, filled with a strange tension that threaded between us. Gabriella kept looking over. But every time she saw the mask, she pursed her lips and retrained her eyes on the road.
At least she hadn’t seen how ridiculous I’d been the moment after she left the mudroom. If she was this repulsed by my helping her into her shoes, she would have been horrified to see the rest.
I couldn’t go to my drink cart fast enough. I poured a healthy tumbler of whiskey and took Storm out back for some basic training drills. It didn’t matter if the pooch was tired. I needed an excuse not to go upstairs.
Not to kiss my wife’s devastatingly beautiful, unsmiling mouth.
Jaysus…I’m going mad.
How was it possible to feel this much desire for one person when it was so fucking painful? I threw back the rest of my drink, tongue watering for another.
Storm sat on command, small body tucked to my side. I took three careful steps and stopped again. The dog didn’t sit.
That was because I’d done the drill wrong.
Cursing, I went back a few paces and tried again. The leash felt like sandpaper in my hands.
Not like the smooth, expanse of olive skin that lay naked in my bed—because yes, that was how Gabriella slept now. Naked. Waiting. And I was the eejit out here trying to train a dog, not nearly drunk enough to shut out the pulse of desire twitching in my pants.
I began the drill over again.
The guest bedroom Gabriella had slept in the first few nights of our marriage faced the front lawn. The master suite? It was right there. I flicked a glance up and saw the rustle of the blinds.
She’s watching you.
She wasn’t asleep. Was she waiting? Did I dare go to her? I didn’t even know what to say. There were no words to bridge the gap. But…our bodies seemed to have a language of their own.
Fuck it.
I unleashed the dog and strode to the French doors. That mouth was mine to taste, to plunder—to devour.
My phone flashed on the dining room table. It blinked out before I could answer. Frowning, I picked it up. There were twenty-five missed calls.
Another came in before I could dial.
“What’s the craic?” I groused.
“Liam, lad, I’m so sorry,” Doc Ryan choked.
A warning buzzed in my veins. The room grew narrow, my breath shallow.
“Your father is dead.”
My heart thumped hard against my ribs. Whamp-Whamp. Whamp-Whamp.
When I answered, the voice was not my own. “From complications to the treatment?”
The good doctor was crying. “Shot. Through the window.”