Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
DEAN
G hostly blue eyes haunt me all night as I toss and turn. I’ve been lying in my old room for hours, staring at the ceiling and thinking of her. Always thinking of her. Only now, I’m not wondering where she is; I’m wondering what it’s going to take to make her mine…again.
But as time crawls toward five a.m., I can’t come up with a single idea. It all comes back to one thing: murdering her baby’s father and taking his place. Which is a fantastic plan, if only I knew how to pull it off.
My head vibrates with one hell of a headache. It’s pounding so fiercely that it hurts to think. I’m not usually the type to get hangovers—alcohol’s always been my go-to—but even I recognize that last night got out of hand. If I’d stayed sober, I wouldn’t have been in handcuffs when I saw Juliette. I could’ve touched her, held her. But I blew it.
Pushing off the cold bed sheets, I climb out of bed. My body aches like I’ve run a marathon, and I yawn as I shuffle to the bathroom across the hall. I’m dizzy. The last twenty-four hours have been a hellish ride—some parts fuzzy, others I can’t remember at all. Punching that flight attendant, for instance, is something I only know happened because I saw the footage. I knocked the guy out, and something tells me my last name won’t be enough to save me this time. But I can’t afford to worry about that; all my energy has to be spent on getting Juliette back. I need to focus.
The handle on the shower creaks as I turn the water on. I slip out of my black boxers and wince at the bruises and cuts left behind by that Colombian barbarian. The swelling has gone down, leaving purple and blue spots on my tan skin. I hiss the second the water sprays over me—every tiny cut burns.
I roll my neck, trying to relax, but I’m too wound up. All I want to do is get to her. I have no idea what I’m going to say or do, but I’ll figure it out. I have to. I need her. I’ve needed her for six damn years.
She looked so beautiful yesterday—shocked, yeah, but still gorgeous. Time has been kind to her. Motherhood, too. Yesterday, I was too stunned to fully appreciate how her body’s filled out, but I can’t wait to get my hands on her. I’ve missed her so much.
My cock stiffens between my legs just thinking about her. Her tits have grown since I last saw her. They looked so damn good in that purple shirt she wore, even with the high neckline hiding her cleavage. All it takes is a memory of those pretty blue eyes, and I’m rock hard. Nothing’s changed.
Wrapping my hand around my shaft, I stroke it. A groan echoes off the shower walls. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the need to do this—ever since Juliette left, my dick’s been pretty much dormant. Guess he decided to wake up now that he’s found home again. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.
What I wouldn’t give to be inside her right now. Her pussy was always so tight—just like that day I took her virginity. The memory alone makes my shaft twitch in my palm. The first time I sank into her is something I can never forget. She was warm, wet, and so fucking good. My hand is a poor substitute, but it’s all I’ve got. I stifle another groan in my throat, dropping my head back and closing my eyes. I can almost hear her moan in my ear like she’s right here with me. The way she uttered my name that night…that’s what does it. My cock pulses and I come hard, covering the shower walls and floor. For a moment, I float in ecstasy before I open my eyes and stare at my spend trickling down the drain. Guilt gnaws at me—I should’ve saved it for her—but this is just temporary relief. Soon, nothing will hold me back from her, and then I’ll stuff her so full of my cum, she’ll be pregnant by nightfall. I just need a plan.
By the time I’m finished showering and getting dressed, I’ve come up with exactly zero ideas. What’s wrong with me? I can coordinate an entire security team but can’t figure out how to win back the girl I love?
“Smart, Dean. Really fucking smart,” I mutter, pulling a shirt over my head.
I yawn as I leave the bathroom and return to my bedroom. The smell of bacon drifts upstairs from the first floor, hitting me with a punch of nostalgia. How many mornings did I do exactly this—get ready for school while my maimeó cooked breakfast downstairs? Countless times in the five years I lived here after my mother was sent to prison.
By the time I make it downstairs, my grandmother has breakfast laid out on the table: eggs, a plate stacked high with toast, sausage, and bacon. My grandfather is already at the head of the table, reading the paper and sipping coffee.
My grandmother walks into the dining room, and the moment she sees me, her hazel eyes fill with tears.
“Dean,” she says, opening her arms.
She hugs me tight—tighter than she realizes. Shame washes over me, twisting my stomach. Grandpa wasn’t lying when he said she missed me. I look over at him, still folded in her embrace.
He arches an eyebrow, wearing that stern expression that’s basically a newsflash saying, You fucked up again. Nothing new there.
“Let me look at you,” my grandma says, pulling back and grabbing my cheeks. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself. When’s the last time you ate a decent meal?” Her hands pinch my ribs next.
“A while,” I admit, groaning more than talking. “But I’m fine, maimeó.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you?”
It’s like she can see straight into my soul, and all she’ll find is a whole lot of misery.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. “Promise.”
“Okay. Well then, sit and eat. I made all this food for you.”
“But hurry,” my grandpa adds, “we’ve got a long drive.”
“To where?”
My ears are practically begging him to say Juliette .
“We’re going to see your s?—”
“Margot,” he snaps, cutting her off.
In the thirty-four years I’ve been alive, I’ve never heard my grandpa cut her off like that. I give him a look.
“What?”
“Nothing. We’re going to Adare,” he grumbles.
“Right,” my grandmother chimes in quickly, sitting next to him.
“What’s in Adare?”
“Juliette,” my grandfather says.
That’s all I need to hear.
An hour and a half later, the three of us are in the car, driving to see my girl. Nerves twist in my gut. Will she be excited to see me? Doubtful. Am I excited to see her? Absolutely—excited, scared, anxious.
My grandfather leaves Dublin behind, and I narrow my eyes.
“Why doesn’t she live in Dublin?”
From the passenger seat, my grandma shrugs. “Not sure, dear. She and PJ like Adare, I guess.”
“PJ,” I mutter under my breath.
Her son’s name. I’m guessing it stands for Patrick Junior, after her late father. The two of them were best friends. Patrick McBride could make friends with a rock.
With each passing mile, my mind wanders back to the night Juliette left—the night I fucked everything up. I replay it often.
I was wearing a black shirt and jeans, practically vibrating with excitement on my way home from work. A ring sat in my pocket, burning a hole right through it with its urgent need to be on Juliette’s finger. I didn’t care how her brother Declan felt; as much as I love him, Juliette will always be my choice.
I got home and went straight to her room. I had no big plan, just the urge to drop to my knees and beg her to marry me. That plan fell apart when I realized she wasn’t there. The fear kicked in when I heard her talking in the living room.
She was pacing, her back turned to me, laughing into the phone. She sounded so happy. And then I heard it:
“Baby, I love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Four little words, and my entire world went up in flames. I was ready to propose, and she was apparently in love with someone else. It gutted me.
I turned around and left without a word. She found me in the dining room later, once I’d had too many drinks.
“I need to tell you something,” she said.
“Save it,” I fired back, thinking I knew what she’d say—that she was leaving me.
“What? Dean, it’s important.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Babe, what’s wrong? Did something happen at work?”
I shook my head. “Not at work.”
Juliette furrowed her brow. Even then, I couldn’t help noticing how damn cute she was.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Us,” I half shouted. I could feel the pain tearing me apart, cell by cell.
“Us? What are you talking about, Dean?”
“We can’t be together.”
She looked…relieved, or so I thought. “What?”
“We can’t be together.”
“I don’t understand, Dean. Why?”
I thought she was playing me for a fool. It made me sick that she was acting like she wanted to be with me at all. The ring in my pocket felt like scorching metal against my thigh—completely useless now.
“It was a mistake, Juliette. Okay? That’s all it was. A fucking mistake.”
Tears streamed down her face as she choked on a sob, but I figured it was all an act.
Now, reliving that moment feels different. Maybe she wasn’t acting at all. The look I interpreted as relief might have been devastation. Then again, maybe that’s my wishful thinking, now that I’ve found her again.
She ran from me that night, and I assumed it was straight to her lover. Maybe I was right. Maybe I was wrong. Either way, no one’s keeping her from me now. I don’t care if she cheats on me a thousand times—she’s mine. I just need a way to make sure she stays.
“Dean?” my grandpa says. “We’re here.”
I glance out the window. We’ve parked in front of a small cottage. Even in the misty gray, it’s bright and cheerful, like something out of a fairytale book, tucked between the trees. I climb out of the truck and see a bike left in the yard. My chest tenses as I imagine teaching her son how to ride—if his father hasn’t already.
The front door creaks open. A small head peeks out. PJ sees my grandfather and calls, “Jamie!” barreling down the steps toward him. I nearly have a heart attack watching him run like that. He could fall. I may not know the kid, but he’s important to Juliette, which means he’s important to me.
And speak of the devil—my sexy little bluebird steps onto the porch. She’s got jeans on and a white shirt under a black cardigan. Her tits look incredible beneath the cotton, and she catches me staring, folding her arms over her chest.
“Come in, get out of the rain,” she calls to us, then turns back into the house.
I follow my grandparents inside, listening to PJ ramble about his bug collection. He’s got freckles on his cheeks like his mom. His eyes aren’t blue, though; they’re hazel, flecked with gold. Cute kid.
“Oh,” he says, noticing me like it’s the first time. “It’s you!”
“Yep, it’s me.”
“You showered!”
I bite back a laugh. “You told me I had to.”
He nods, deep in thought. “Why were you in handcuffs?”
“Hey, P,” Juliette cuts in, “why don’t you go grab your new poster to show Margot and Jamie?”
“Good idea!” he shouts, taking off down the hall—still dragging my grandma’s hand. My grandpa follows, chuckling, and suddenly Juliette and I are alone. She didn’t mean for that to happen.
“Bluebird,” I say, taking a slow step toward her. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Don’t,” she says sharply. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to do that anymore.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Dean, I didn’t invite you here so we could talk about us.”
“Then why am I here? Are you going to tell me to leave?”
She chews her bottom lip, and my thumb aches to pull it free and kiss that spot until it’s no longer swollen. But not until I know what’s going on in her head.
“I asked your grandfather to bring you so I could tell you the truth.”
“The truth?” I echo. “About what?”
“PJ,” she says, sighing like it takes all her energy just to say his name.
“We’ll get past it,” I tell her. “I don’t mind that you had a baby with someone else.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she doesn’t know how to respond. I just stand there, savoring the feel of her gaze after so damn long, ignoring that worry slithering behind her eyes.
Finally, she speaks. “Dean,” she whispers. “PJ is yours.”