Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
DOMHNALL
I walk through Carnal’s doors for Kira’s baby shower, trying to leave behind the hollow feeling that’s been chasing me since Anna—no, Mads—walked out.
The club’s transformed for today, fairy lights twinkling above the normally shadowy furniture.
Bright, colorful balloons are tied to chairs.
There’s a spread of food that would make any caterer proud.
It’s all so goddamn cheerful I want to tear it down with my bare hands.
I force my shoulders to relax and plaster on what I hope passes for a neutral expression. I’m here for Kira. For Isaak. Not to broadcast that my entire world is crumbling beneath my feet.
“Don’t look so thrilled,” Quinn deadpans as I approach, handing me a plastic cup of what’s clearly not alcohol. “You’re bringing down the whole vibe.”
I accept the cup, forcing the corners of my lips upward. “I’m a bloody delight.”
She snorts but mercifully moves on, greeting some other guests coming through the door.
The truth is, I’m not here. Not really. My mind is stuck in a loop, replaying the moment Mads walked out. The way she looked at me like she was memorizing my face. The way she said Maybe it’s time to get a new life. The finality in her voice. The sound of the door clicking shut behind her.
I check my phone for the hundredth time today. No calls. No texts. Nothing but the mocking silence of abandonment.
But I know her. I know them. She’ll be back. This is just another game, another test, another way of pushing me to see if I’ll push back.
Except this time, she pushed too far, and I said things I didn’t mean. Things I can never take back.
You’re fucking toxic. You’re everything I’ve been running from me whole fecking life!
I hate you.
The words echo in my head, sharp and poisonous. I didn’t mean them. Not really. But I was so angry, so hurt, so goddamn tired of the lies and half-truths.
But it’s not her I hate.
I’ve only ever reserved that right for my abuser… and naturally, for myself.
“Why are you having this shower so early, anyway?” Quinn asks. “Aren’t you supposed to wait until you’re about to pop?”
“I never understood that,” Kira says. “Why not have it now before I’m too big to enjoy it with swollen ankles and everything else that comes at the end of pregnancy?” She shudders. “I don’t even wanna think about it.”
Quinn gives her a side hug. “You’re going to be a super-star at being a mom.”
“Anybody seen Moira?” I ask, scanning the room. Better to focus on someone else’s problems. And my sister certainly qualifies as a problem these days.
Kira sits up straighter in her chair, her hand going to her barely-there bump. “She was supposed to be here already.”
“She on a sex-bender again?” Isaak asks, appearing at Kira’s side, his sharp gaze locking onto mine.
There’s judgment there, and I feel my jaw tighten. How easy it is for them all to judge Moira, when none of them have the first fucking clue what she’s been through. What we’ve been through. And unlike my wife, at least my sister is consistent in her chaos.
“She started spiraling when I told her about the baby at lunch earlier,” Kira says, her voice quieter now. “She totally shut me down when I asked what was wrong.” Then she looks my way. “Is she any more open to going into treatment?”
My jaw tightens. The concern in her voice chafes against my raw nerves. I want to tell her to mind her own business, that Moira’s problems are for family to handle. But then, isn’t that what got us here? My stubborn insistence on handling everything myself?
“I doubt it,” I bite out, turning on my heel and striding toward the food table. I need to move. To do something with this restless energy.
I pile a plate high with food I have no intention of eating, listening to the murmured conversations around me. Everyone’s so fucking happy, wrapped in their perfect little lives, while mine is fracturing at the seams.
I find myself circling back to Kira and the others, driven by some masochistic need to appear normal. To pretend I’m not waiting for the phone to ring, for Mads to come to her senses and come home.
“Where’s Anna?” Kira asks when I return, a genuine smile on her face.
For a moment, the question floors me. Where is Anna? I don’t even know anymore. Is she hiding inside Mads? Is Mads hiding inside her? Have I lost them both? The grief hits me like a wave, threatening to pull me under.
“She was so sorry to miss today,” I manage, waving my fork in what I hope is a casual gesture. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
Quinn smirks. “Too bad. I know that girl is baby crazy. She would eat this shit up.”
I force a smile, but my grip on the fork tightens until my knuckles go white.
She would, wouldn’t she? Anna would be all soft smiles and teary eyes, cooing over the tiny clothes and baby gadgets.
She’d lean in close when someone told a story about their birth experience, soaking up every detail like a sponge.
She’d be thinking about our own future and the family we’d planned to build together.
The fork bends in my hand, and I set it down before I break it entirely.
I listen as Marcus and Quinn launch into an argument about parenthood, grateful for the distraction.
Their bickering is familiar, almost comforting in its predictability.
I wonder if they know how much their constant tension looks like foreplay.
Probably not. They’re both too stubborn to admit what’s obvious to everyone else.
My phone remains silent in my pocket, a dead weight.
The minutes crawl by. I make the appropriate noises when spoken to, nod at the right moments, and even laugh when expected.
But all the while, I’m counting the seconds, fighting the urge to leave, to go home and see if she’s returned.
To call every hospital in the city. To check every place we’ve ever been together.
When I was seventeen, I lost her the first time. I spent years drowning my grief in meaningless sex and building my empire brick by bloody brick just to keep from thinking about her. When I found her again—when Anna found me—I swore I’d never let her go. That nothing would tear us apart again.
And now she’s gone. Again.
We were supposed to be unbreakable this time
The front doors slam open, jarring me from my thoughts.
A man wearing a priest’s collar storms in, his face twisted with fury. Moira’s date from the Christmas party.
Quinn pops up from her chair, visibly alarmed. “Bane! What’s wrong?”
Ah. So this is Moira’s latest obsession. The one she’s been sneaking around with, the reason she’s been even more reckless than usual. I feel my face harden, years of practiced control keeping my expression neutral even as my blood heats.
“Where’s Moira?” he demands, his voice echoing in the suddenly silent room.
I rise slowly, deliberately. “What’s it matter to you, anyway?” I ask, letting contempt drip from every word. I’m being an asshole and I don’t care. I lean in, in fact. “You lose my sister in the middle of role-play again?”
Quinn groans. “He’s a real priest, you idiot.”
I don’t care. Priest, dom, CEO, homeless vagrant—they’re all the same to me. Just men who think they can fix my sister. Men who think they understand her brokenness. Men who will ultimately fail her, just like everyone else has.
Just like I have.
Bane glares at me with something that looks like barely restrained violence. “It matters because Moira’s my wife.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Wife.
Moira got married?
The world tilts for a moment. My sister, chaos incarnate, who’s never stayed in one place or with one person longer than a heartbeat, got… married?
And she didn’t tell me.
But why would she?
I’ve been too busy with my own problems to notice hers. Too wrapped up in the drama of Anna and Mads to see what was happening right in front of me.
“Your what?” Quinn asks, blinking slowly.
“My wife,” Bane repeats, his voice tight and raw.
“Shit,” Isaak mutters, and I feel the sentiment in my bones.
I’m rigid, fingers curling around my drink, fury rising in me like a tide. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? After the parade of damaged, dangerous men Moira’s dragged home over the years, this one thinks he’s special? This one thinks he can claim her?
It’s Kira who steps forward.
“Moira?” she says carefully. “I had lunch with her earlier.”
Bane’s attention snaps to her. “When did you see her?”
“I don’t know. A little after noon?”
“She seemed...” Kira hesitates. “A little off.”
“Off how?” Bane demands.
Kira shrugs. “Jittery, I guess? She was checking her phone a lot. But she wasn’t worried. And she said she’d be here tonight.”
Everyone looks around the room, as if Moira might materialize from thin air.
“She’s usually late to things,” Quinn says, “But we’ve already been here for an hour and a half. If she’s this late, it probably means she’s ditching.”
I watch Bane’s face, the way understanding dawns on him, the way his shoulders tense. There’s something almost satisfying about seeing him realize what he’s gotten himself into. About watching him learn the hard lesson we’ve all had to learn about Moira.
“But you said she didn’t look worried?” he asks Kira.
She shakes her head. “No. She was just... being Moira. If anything, she looked... excited. I think maybe after she got a text from someone?”
I laugh at that, the sound sharp and bitter. “Ah, Christ. You really don’t know her at all, do ya?”
Bane’s head jerks toward me. “What?”
I take a slow sip of my drink, never breaking eye contact.
This is familiar territory. Shoving my guilt down until I feel nothing at all.
Being the asshole. “You’re standing here, tearing the goddamn club apart, looking for her like she’s missing.
” I let out a breath, shaking my head. “You married my sister, and you still don’t get it. ”
He doesn’t respond, but I can see the realization blooming in his eyes. The slow, creeping understanding.
“She does this,” I continue, relishing the chance to direct my anger at someone other than myself. “She runs. She gets restless and goes off on these wild benders, screwing whoever she wants, drinking herself into oblivion. Then she comes back like nothing happened.”
He flinches, and I feel a dark satisfaction.
“Look, man... I get that this is new for you, but Moira’s always been—” Quinn hesitates. “Unpredictable.”
“She’s my wife,” Bane grinds out, as if the word alone could bend reality to his will.
Quinn winces. “Yeah, well. That was a choice, wasn’t it?”
The unspoken You should’ve known better hangs between us.
I lean forward, unable to resist twisting the knife. “Tell me, Father. Did ya think you’d be the one to change her?”
He exhales slowly, jaw locked. “I was never looking to change her.”
I scoff, the sound ugly even to my own ears. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why are you acting like she’s been kidnapped? Face it. She’s off with someone else, same as she always is.”
“She’s not,” he snaps, too fast, too defensive.
I look at him long and hard, seeing myself reflected back at me. The desperation. The denial. The refusal to accept what’s right in front of him.
I shrug, a gesture meant to wound. “Then why aren’t you at home waiting for her?”
The blow lands. I can see it in the way his face shutters, in the way his shoulders drop. In the way he turns and walks out without another word, the club resuming its festivities around him like he was never there.
Like Moira was never there.
Like Anna was never here.
I drain my drink and set it aside, pulling out my phone once more. Still nothing.
But she’ll be back. She has to be.
Because if Mads doesn’t come back, if Anna doesn’t return, then what the hell am I even doing on this fucked ball of doom?
The party carries on around me, laughter and joy that feel like sandpaper against my skin. I stay, going through the motions, pretending everything is fine.
It’s what I do best, after all.
Pretend.