Chapter 30 Aerin
AERIN
“Aerin. Sit.”
Dad stands over me, his eyes narrow and his tone taking me right back to an intense scolding I received as a child. The memory of that is enough to make me immediately sit down on the couch in his office and clasp my hands in my lap.
He coughs softly, bringing a tissue to his mouth while he walks toward the drinks cart. I wince inwardly as he pours a drink and clears it in one gulp.
“You’re distracted.”
“Hm? No, I’m not.”
“Yes, Aerin. You are.”
I swallow back my second denial and grit my teeth. I’ve spent the past week in a blur. Three fancy dinners, a dress rehearsal at the church Mom’s booked for the wedding, and more dress fittings that I can bear to stand, all while Falco has been growing quieter and quieter around me.
He’s closing down.
The man I worked so hard on to open up and care for me, the man I coaxed back to life and into my heart, is hurting. And there’s nothing I can do about it without revealing information that would likely get us both killed.
Of course I’m distracted.
Dad coughs again while pouring his next drink, then he turns and glances at me. “Want one?”
I shake my head. Ever since finding Pidge’s body, anything with a strong scent turns my stomach, and alcohol absolutely stinks. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed before.
“Your mother was telling me what happened at the rehearsal dinner.”
My stomach flips. “Hm?”
“Don’t hm me, Aerin. I know what you did.”
My heart begins to race. “I didn’t do anything.”
“And that’s the problem.” He moves toward me, slower than normal, and eases himself down into the high-back chair on the other side of the coffee table. “She told me Frederick tried to kiss you and you rejected him in front of everyone.”
My stomach flips again as I recall the horrible moment yesterday when, after a long rehearsal dinner, he leaned in to kiss me while I was mulling over everything I knew about Pidge. His closeness alarmed me and everyone saw me flinch away from his advances.
“Dad, I—”
“Are you intent on embarrassing me into an early grave?”
“No! Dad, don’t say that!”
“You know how important this marriage is. Just like you know that sometimes we have to do terrible things to keep up appearances. I know this is hard for you, after everything you’ve been through, but you have to make them believe you love him.”
The urge to roll over like always rises inside me. That’s what I’m expected to do. Roll over and accept that I’m to be married off for a deal and spend the rest of my life with strangers who only care about the power I bring from my family name.
But something stops me.
“I don’t love him, Dad. I don’t even know him.”
“That’s not the point.”
“That is the point! I don’t want to marry someone I don’t love.
I don’t want to be a pawn used by the Irish or even you.
I want to be me. I want to step up and help you with the family, I want to learn the business and make you proud, but why does that have to be at the expense of something like marriage? I’m worth more than that!”
The words escape me in a rush, leaving me slightly breathless while my heart hammers wildly in my chest. The truth, something that’s been buried inside me for months, finally breaks free and I stare at my father and hope he hears me.
“Aerin, enough.” His words cut through me like a knife.
“I don’t have time for these childish games or these silly tantrums, do you hear me?
You are to marry Frederick, and you will be grateful that is all you have to do.
In time, when you are old enough and wise enough, you will truly understand the benefits of this kind of deal. ”
“But Dad, I—”
“Enough, Aerin!” He immediately dissolves into a coughing fit and my stomach twists with guilt, adding to the building nausea that burns just below my ribs.
“When you kiss him the moment after you say I do, there better not be a single dry eye in that church, you hear me? Everyone will see that he is the love of your life.”
“Or what?” I ask hoarsely. “What will you do if I don’t?”
“Don’t you understand?” He coughs again. “We will be at war again. And we will lose.”
His words haunt me for the rest of the day and long into the next where I spend my afternoon in the gym training with Falco.
It’s our only time alone together lately since Mom insists on shoving wedding details in my face every waking second of every day.
She’s far more excited about this than I am, so the only real time I have to talk to Falco is in the gym.
Only, he doesn’t talk.
Today, he fights like there’s a fire ignited inside him and my request to talk is answered with a towel in the face.
“We don’t have time to talk,” he says gruffly, moving around me on the mat. “You’re slow. I need to know you can defend yourself properly from behind. Again.”
He’s barely finished talking when he lunges.
I manage to dodge his punch just in time, catching his elbow and twisting as I sidestep and duck.
He comes at me again, aiming for my throat and I block with both forearms like he taught me.
His next swing is near my body. I block that with one forearm while swinging my next punch at his face.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I pant.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Bullshit.”
His next blow is harder, glancing off the back of my arm as I misstep and lean into the punch by accident.
“Watch yourself,” he barks. “Again.”
The same blow. This time I block it, but he throws another punch directly at my face. I narrowly avoid it by ducking, and his knuckles brush my shoulder.
“Too slow. Again.”
“Falco—”
“Again!”
He comes at me again, faster and harder than before. My heart pounds in my ears, sweat pours from my overheated body, and the base of my sport top cuts into my ribs from how fast I’m having to move.
Another punch, I block. He swings. I duck. He lunges. I sidestep.
Faster and faster I have to move until I’m panting openly, gasping for air with my hair sticking to my face. His fist flies toward my stomach and I narrowly dodge.
“Falco, stop—”
He doesn’t. He swings again and catches me on my ribs. Pain blooms and I gasp.
“Falco—”
He lunges again, and this time reflex takes over. Rather than dodging, I press my fist against my chest and swing my elbow out as hard as I can until bone makes contact with flesh. My elbow slams into Falco’s face with such force that he stumbles back, trips, and lands flat on his back on the mat.
“I said stop!” I yell down at him, panting heavily while staring down at him. Anger attempts to ignite in my heart with a pulse of frustration, but I end up collapsing down onto the mat next to him. “Fucking hell.”
The blow thankfully seems to knock sense into Falco because we spend a few seconds lying on the mat together, panting. When he sits up, he rubs his jaw hard. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I wanted to push you.”
“Yeah, I got that, but you didn’t say anything.”
“I wanted you to react.”
“Wasn’t I good enough?” Each word is a gasp while I regain my breath.
“If someone comes for you and I’m not there, they won’t stop because you ask them to,” Falco says, his voice tight. “You need to fight.”
It clicks in my mind.
He wasn’t there for Pidge, so he’s making sure I can take care of myself.
“Falco…” Bracing one hand against the mat, I sit up slowly. “I will fight.”
“That was a good blow.” Mouth open, he rolls his jaw from side to side then looks at me with eyes carrying more sadness than I can bear. “But next time, you need to put more of an arc into it.”
“Falco…”
“And make sure your fist is tight against your chest like this.” He mimics my motion and tucks his fist up against his shoulder. “Like a chicken wing.”
“What happened to him isn’t going to happen to me.”
Falco’s brows twitch together and his eyes drop away from me to my hand, then he takes it between both of his. “Remember to keep your thumb outside your fist.”
“Falco, listen to me.”
“I…just need to make sure. If I’m ever… If I’m ever not there then you have to fight, you hear me?” Slowly, he lifts his gaze. “You fight because they might be stronger than me. Faster than me. They won’t hold back.”
“That was you holding back?” I scoff gently and lift my arm, glancing down at my ribs. “This hurts.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I reach for him and place my hand on his forearm. “Me too.” That apology carries far more weight than a gentle apology about my terrible punch.
Falco remains silent then climbs to his feet and holds out his hand to help me up. I accept it and flash him a smile, hyper-aware that at any moment someone could look at the CCTV and see us this close.
“Maybe it’s time we shower?” I suggest softly. “I stink.”
Falco’s lips press into a thin line, as if he’d much rather keep training until I’m capable of beating him to a pulp, but he relents with a nod. “Fine.”
After cleaning up the mats, we head for the showers tucked inside the small changing room, the one place without people or cameras watching our every move.
Everything my father said to me about responsibility and the Irish fades from my mind when Falco joins me under the hot spray of water to wash off the sweat and stink of exercise.
Falco’s presence is equally exciting and nerve-racking.
His bare torso immediately catches my eye.
But just as my thoughts wander to a cheeky place, something about how he turns his face into the spray has me hesitant to reach out.
He’s hurting.
I ache to help.
I do reach out, but rather than trailing my fingers over his arm like I planned I hug him.
He tenses immediately at the touch, then he melts into my hold.
Never in my entire time knowing him as Falco ever looked or felt small, but the second he winds his arms around me and pulls me close under the spray, he feels small.
“I miss him,” Falco murmurs brokenly in my ear. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
Pidge.
Nothing I can say will ease his pain and nothing will change his mind, not right now. All I can do is hold him as tightly as I dare and soothe him with gentle noises in my throat.
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, knowing he won’t believe me. “It’s not.”
If anything, it’s mine. Everything ties back to me, somehow. I just wish I knew who was pulling the trigger so I could make sure no one else I care about shares the same fate.
When we part, Falco quickly wipes his eyes and my heart immediately shatters.
Was he crying? Did he trust me enough to let that happen even under the rush of hot water?
That sight doesn’t leave me even as we wash, grab some fruit as a snack, and retreat to our rooms for the night with strict orders to sleep. More of an order for Falco than for me because everyone can see how tired he’s getting.
It’s a little after two in the morning when, after tossing and turning to no avail, I find myself sneaking down the hallways and avoiding the night patrol on my way to Falco’s room. Once outside the door, I raise my hand to knock but a sudden grunt from inside catches my attention.
Is he busy?
Another grunt sends a shock down my spine and worry coils in my gut, so I press on the handle and slip inside his room.
Falco’s asleep. But judging from how he’s lying and how the sheets are strewn low down at his waist, it’s not pleasant. He grunts again and his head rolls sharply to one side.
“Falco?”
Another grunt and he shifts, drawing one leg up across the bed.
“Falco.” My voice lifts as I creep closer while still maintaining some distance.
He grumbles something, his incoherent words laced with fear and his head rolls to the other side.
“Falco!” As the louder name escapes me, he suddenly jerks and bolts upright with a knife glinting in his hand, his eyes wide and wild.
Our eyes meet as he pants harshly, fury twisting his expression, but it quickly fades as recognition takes over. “Aerin?”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” He notices the knife and lowers it, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”
“Bad dream?”
“Something like that.”
“I couldn’t sleep and I was worried about you so…I’m here.”
Falco’s shoulders slump and he nods, returning the knife to its home under the pillow. Then he holds out his hand to me. “Come here.”