Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
DOMHNALL
The rich, earthy scent of Dr. Ezra's leather chair fills my nostrils as I sink into it, the material creaking beneath my weight.
Rain patters against the window like impatient fingers, the gray Dallas sky pressing against the glass.
I stare at the geometric pattern in the rug beneath my feet, tracing the lines with my eyes rather than meeting his gaze.
"It's been a while, Domhnall," Dr. Ezra says, his voice measured and calm. The bastard's always calm, like nothing can touch him. Like nothing's ever touched him.
I grunt in response, focusing on the steady ticking of the antique clock on his bookshelf. Each second punctuates the silence between us like a tiny accusation.
"What brings you back in today?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, the leather of his own chair whispering as he moves.
I finally look up, taking in the carefully curated office with its wall of books, the framed credentials, and the soft lighting designed to make people feel safe. To make them spill their secrets. I've never trusted safe spaces. In my experience, they're usually the most dangerous.
"Been sleeping like shite even though everything in me life's great," I mutter, my brogue slipping out despite my efforts to contain it.
My overnight in Austin was shit. The business part was fine, but I spent all night pacing.
There's been this nagging sensation that something's off between me and Anna.
But maybe this is just what normal feels like.
I sure as fuck wouldn't know, and what if I fuck it up because I'm being an insecure little bitch?
On your knees, dog. What a pathetic little bitch.
I grit my teeth together against his voice in my head. The rain intensifies, drumming harder against the windowpane and mirroring the pounding in my chest. "Better than great. As near as a lad can get to fecking perfect. So I don't know what's wrong with me. Thought maybe you could help."
Dr. Ezra waits, his silence an invitation I resist accepting. The scent of his coffee---dark roast, no sugar---drifts between us. My own cup sits untouched on the side table, growing cold.
"Anna's happy," I finally continue, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "We're planning the wedding. She's... present. All the time now. No more switches. No more wondering who I'll wake up beside."
I pause, running my thumb over the ridged scar on my palm---an old wound from a broken bottle when I was fourteen. When I next speak, my voice drops lower.
"But...?" Dr. Ezra prods.
"But something feels... off. Like the quiet before a storm rolls in."
"Have you discussed this feeling with Anna?" he asks, his pen poised above his notepad.
I hate that fucking pen. Hate the scratching sound it makes as it chronicles my weaknesses.
"No," I say shortly. "She's been through enough. I'm not going to burden her with my paranoia."
"You assume it's paranoia."
"What else would it be?" I snap, my fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
Dr. Ezra's gaze is steady, penetrating in a way that makes me want to look away again. I don't. I stare back, a challenge.
"And if it's not her... then the problem has to be... me, then, right?" I force my voice to remain steady. Fuck, I hate being weak. "I've been in a fight with my sister. Maybe that's just what's got me on edge."
"Oh?" Dr. Ezra tilts his head. "What about?"
Heat flushes my face, anger rising hot and fast. I stand abruptly, pacing to the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. The city below is a blur of gray buildings and black umbrellas.
"I gave her simple rules to follow," I say, my back to him. "Only fuck inside the club. I was trying to keep her safe. And what did she go and do?" I whirl around, my voice rising. "She ended up fucking him. Of her own free will!"
"Him, who?" Dr. Ezra asks, his voice infuriatingly calm.
"You know who!" The words explode from me, filling the quiet office.
"Sometimes it helps to say it," he says softly, and I want to punch his gentle, glasses-covered face. Rain lashes the window behind me like my own rage made manifest.
"The fucking monster!" I spit. "My abuser. The same man who---" I heave out a huge breath, the memory of hands on me, holding me down, making my skin crawl even now. "The same man who used to rape me almost every day. My sister fucked him intentionally."
The words hang in the air, ugly and raw. Outside, thunder rumbles, distant but growing closer.
"Did she know he was your rapist?" Dr. Ezra asks, as if we're discussing the weather. As if my insides aren't being shredded as I speak.
"No." I rake a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. "He'd tricked her. He was just using her to get back at me and Mads, but still! If she'd just followed the rules---"
"Your rules," Dr. Ezra interrupts, his pen making that scratching I despise.
I glare at him, stalking back to the chair and dropping into it. "Yes. My rules."
"How old is your sister?"
I shrug. "Twenty-three now, I guess."
"Does she have any learning disabilities?"
"What?" I frown at him, the non-sequitur catching me off guard. "No."
"So why did she need rules?"
My eyes narrow. I see where he's going with this. The bastard is clever, I'll give him that. "You've met Moira, what? Once? Twice? You clearly don't know her. She's incapable of taking care of herself."
Dr. Ezra tilts his head at me, the light glinting off his glasses. "How do you mean?"
"She's a sex addict, for one." The words come faster now, my accent thickening with every syllable. "She can't hold down a job. Won't go to treatment. I've kept her safe and out of trouble her whole life, and believe me, that's been a full-time job. And this is how she repays me."
He interlaces his fingers under his chin, just staring at me, allowing uncomfortable silence to stretch between us like a live wire. The clock ticks. Rain falls. The city moves below us, oblivious.
"You don't know how many times I've had to bail her out of trouble," I continue, unable to bear the quiet.
"Literally bail her out of jail sometimes for public indecency on multiple occasions.
Our mother was total shite, and I basically had to raise Moira from the time she was a little kid, but I couldn't always be there. "
My hands clench on my knees, knuckles white. "She's always been a wild little banshee. And then when we got older, I had to keep a roof over our heads, and she just got wilder and wilder and discovered fucking, and then---"
"Then what?" Dr. Ezra prompts when I cut myself off.
I toss my arms out. "Then I had an even harder time keeping her under control!"
"And that was your job? To keep her under control?"
"I love the little shit," I say, my voice dropping. "I don't want something awful to happen to her. So yeah! That was my job."
Dr. Ezra nods, his expression unreadable. "But since you've been in this fight with her, have you kept doing that job?"
His words take a little of the wind out of me, deflating the anger that's been propelling me forward. "Well, no. I guess I decided it was finally time for her to grow the fuck up."
"And how has that gone?"
I sigh, sinking deeper into the chair. "Fine, as far as I know. I mean, I haven't gotten any bailout calls."
"So maybe some space between you wasn't such a bad thing."
My glare cuts back to Dr. Ezra, sharp enough to draw blood. "What's that supposed to mean? She's me feckin' sister, an' she always will be. Family means somet'in' where I come from!"
He leans in, the scent of his aftershave---clean, clinical---reaching me. "Tell me about that. Tell me about your first memories of your sister. Or your first memories at all."
I shuffle uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair, the leather sticking to my palms. "I dunno."
"Take your time."
It gets all quiet, and I shift again, my leg starting to jiggle as my foot taps against the plush carpet. The rain has slowed, no longer pounding but still steady. A dull ache builds behind my eyes.
"I guess my very first memories are things like---it was brighter in the house," I finally say, the words feeling rough in my throat. "Dad was still there, and I remember Mam... happy. At least, happier. Sometimes. She still drank, but it wasn't like later."
Then my chest gets tight as more memories flash, so fuzzy at the edges I'm not sure if they're real or if they're just stories I've told myself so often I think they're real.
I can almost smell the damp of that old flat, hear the drip of the leaky kitchen faucet, and feel the worn carpet under my small feet.
"Then, Mam got pregnant again. It made Da mad, I think.
Or maybe they were just always arguing by then.
Throwin' shite. I remember plates cracking against the walls when it got real bad.
" I swallow, pushing back the tightness in my throat.
"Then one night, after Moira was born and she wouldn't stop crying, Da just went out and never came back. "
I shake my head, the memory like glass shards in my mind. "It got real bad then. Mam got in bed and wouldn't get out. I'd have to take the baby over to her so she'd feed it, and I learned how to change diapers."
"How old were you?" Dr. Ezra asks, his voice soft but not pitying. I'd have walked out if I heard pity.
I shrug, trying to push away the image of myself, small and scared, holding a screaming infant while my mother stared blankly at the wall. "I dunno. Four? Four and a half? I cuddled up with the baby so she wouldn't cry, and we just... She was just mine to take care of."
"Wow. That was really brave of you." Dr. Ezra's voice is gentle but firm. "But also, you know that you were just a little child too, who never should have faced pressure like that."
My jaw goes hard, teeth clenching. "It wasn't pressure. It was family."
"Your mother was family, too. But she didn't step up like you did."
"Well, she was a shite excuse for it." The bitterness in my voice is an old, familiar taste.
"So, where did you get your understanding of what family should be?"
I run my thumb over the scar on my palm again, pressing until it stings. "It's just what's right. What most others had. And me and Moira always had each other."
"So what has it been like while you and Moira have been in this... fight?"
I shrug again, my shoulders heavy. "She's been fine, I guess. And I've had Anna. Mads."
"Who you've had to take care of."
I'm back to glaring at Dr. Ezra, heat rising up my neck. "She takes care of me, too."
He nods, not questioning. "But maybe the dynamic feels familiar, too? Because you create family by taking care of the needy?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I leap out of my chair, the movement so sudden the furniture rocks behind me. The calm office suddenly feels too confined, the air too thick to breathe.
"You're totally off your rocker, Doc," I snarl, my accent thick as Dublin mud. "I don't even know why the feck I thought comin' here would do me any good. My family's just fine and always has been. I'll figure things out wit' Moira, an' things wit me an' Anna are jus' fine!"
I storm toward the door, my heart hammering in my chest, and yank it open, needing to escape before I say something I'll regret. Or worse, before I admit he might be onto something.
Only to come face to face with a shocked-looking Anna.
"Anna," her name comes out a little strangled. Did she overhear any of what we just said? Then I shake my head clear. "Is something wrong? Shit, I'm sorry I didn't come straight home first or text you that I'd be---"
"Oh!" she squeaks, then shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face. She's wearing that green dress I love, the one that makes her hazel eyes shine. "No! I, uh..." She looks past my shoulder at Dr. Ezra. "No, I have an appointment. Your receptionist said you had an opening?"
"Of course. I'm glad to see you again, Anna," Dr. Ezra says from behind me. "Come in. Domhnall was just leaving."
Anna's eyes come back to me, and I feel all mixed up inside with confusion. She hasn't been seeing him professionally. So why is she here now?
I want to grab her and drag her out of this fucking lunatic's office. I want to take her to Carnal and fuck and fuck and fuck so neither of us has to think about anything. But her eyes, those clear, beautiful eyes, hold me in place, questioning.
"Is everything okay with you?" she asks, suddenly reaching out to squeeze my hand. "Domhn? Honey?"
I breathe out in relief. See? Dr. Ezra's wrong. She takes care of me, too. His stupid theory that I'm so starved for family I just take care of the needy like someone who takes in stray dogs because I'm so fucking desperate for someone to love me is---
"Domhn?" Anna asks again.
I blink, jolted out of my spiraling thoughts, and nod. Then I lean down to kiss her, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume---jasmine and vanilla. "Of course I'm fine, love. I'm always fine."
"See you at home later," she says, her voice soft and concerned.
I pull away before she can ask any more questions, my smile tight. The hallway stretches before me like a tunnel, the exit sign glowing red at the end.
And I wish I still had the cat-o-nine tails in my desk to greet me at home, so I could whip myself for being so fucking weak. For needing. For never being enough. For failing everyone who had the sorry fate to fucking love me.
The rain is lighter when I step outside, but the sky remains heavy with clouds.
The air is thick with the promise of another storm.
I breathe it in, filling my lungs with the humid, electric scent, and try to ignore the voice in my head—not Dr. Ezra's, but my own—whispering that maybe, just maybe, he's right.
That I've been building families my whole life because I never really had one. That I'm still that four-year-old boy, desperate to prove he's worth keeping around.
Thunder rumbles overhead as I walk to my car, echoing the turmoil inside me.