Chapter 4
I stare at the woman who introduced herself to me as Margaret. She has the slightest hint of an Irish accent, and it’s only with certain words. I felt like I’d been gut punched when I watched Finn wrap his arms around her and kiss her cheek. Now that I think back on it, it was a loose embrace. Not a lovers’ embrace. But when you’re not expecting it after practically coming from a guy just holding your hand, it hits you hard.
Now that I can think about it objectively, it’s nice to see the closeness Finn shares with his brothers and cousins extends to his in-laws, too. I haven’t really seen Finn with the other guys since most of the two times I’ve been here has been spent with Tony getting himself in the shitter. But I can tell. It’s a vibe. It’s how comfortable they are with each other. It’s like they have telepathy.
It’s more than just superhuman genetics that have them looking like carbon copies of each other. I don’t know any other guys who are that close. At least, not so open about it. It makes me wonder if it’s how their parents raised them or if something happened that made them so tight. I love my brothers, and they love me. They were best friends when we were kids, even though I’m in the middle. But I can tell it’s not the same.
I don’t know what to say to Margaret’s suggestion that Finn might invite me back. That’s exactly what I’d like, but if I hold my breath, I’ll turn blue before that happens. I say nothing and take another bite of the steak and kidney pie cooled while Margaret and I were talking. It’s delicious.
“Mair?”
We both look at Finn as he moves down the bar toward us.
“After what happened here, make sure one of us walks you to your car. Thea, the same for you.”
“Thea?”
Oh, my god. He’s blushing. He’s so fair there’s no way to hide it. I dart my gaze to Margaret, who looks like she’s going to pee her pants from how hard she’s trying not to laugh. She croaks a cough and excuses herself. His cheeks practically match his hair, which only makes his green eyes even more piercing. They’re holding me captive. I don’t know where else to look.
“Althea. Thea. Your friend called you Ally, but that…”
I wait for him to finish. Instead, he shrugs.
“No. You can’t stop there. What’s wrong with the name Ally?”
“Nothing. I just don’t think it suits you.”
“Oh?” Should I be insulted?
I wait for a better explanation, but nothing is forthcoming. I can wait. He seems intent on the same thing. I’m stubborn enough that I will last longer than him. But I can also stare him down. I have an unnatural ability to last nearly a minute without blinking. It used to creep my brothers out, so I practiced and got better at it.
“You can stare me down, Thea, but you won’t break me.”
I don’t respond. I just keep watching him. Now I’ve laid down the gauntlet, I can’t back down, even if curiosity is driving me crazy. I want him to admit the reason he called me that, not make me beg to know. When I can’t go any longer without shutting my eyes for a second, I shrug as though I don’t care. I turn my attention to my food.
“You asked what was wrong with the name Ally. I said nothing, which is true. Ask me why.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me want to obey. A richness to the timber that makes me shiver and my pussy ache. Now it’s his turn to lock eyes with me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. I can’t help it when I glance down. He leans across the bar, his height making it easy for him.
“That’s right, cailín. I call you Thea because it’s as unique as you are. And I’m the only one who calls you that.”
He straightens, and I look up. I don’t know what that word means. It must be Irish. It sounds like a term of endearment. That he’s already come up with a name for me that only he uses— that he can claim any part of me— even my name —as his… It makes me want to jump his bones.
“Why?”
“Because I can.”
If it came from anyone else, he’d sound like an asshole. But as we watch each other, something is happening that I can’t explain. He’s letting me know my attraction isn’t one-sided. We’re letting each other know we want to do something about it. His self-assuredness is what most people would call cocky. But it’s not bravado. Everything about him tells me he has the ability and the certainty that he can back up whatever he says.
“You don’t even know my last name.”
“You know I’m an O’Rourke. I suppose I am at a disadvantage.”
“Gallagher.”
He walks around the bar and comes to stand behind me. His hands rest on my waist, and we watch each other in the mirror. We make a striking couple since our coloring couldn’t be more opposite. Despite how fair he is with red hair and freckles, there’s a perma-tan that tells me he’s spent a lot of time outdoors over the years. But it’s still a different skin tone than mine. I like to think I’m the best mix of both my parents. People rarely believe my light eyes come from my mom’s side of the family because she’s Black, and my dad’s mixed. But they do.
I wait to see if he’ll do more, but he’s still. The warmth of his hands seeps through my sweater top. Their weight is heavy, but not in a way that makes me feel trapped. It’s reassuring. It’s protective. His shoulders are so broad they stick out well past mine in the reflection. Even seated on a bar stool, my head only comes to just below his collarbones. I try to make my shift subtle as I lean back. It must be the only cue he needs because his right arm slides around my waist as he draws me against him.
He leans to whisper in my ear even though no one is close enough to hear. We’re not alone, but everyone else at least appears occupied with their own conversations. Despite the noise and people moving around, it’s almost possible to imagine we’re alone. The way we’ve talked and are now together feels too intimate be part of a crowd.
“I know you broke up with him today, but I don’t want this to be the last time I see you, Thea. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”
His warm breath on my neck tickles. I shy away by instinct, but it just presses me against him more. His arm tightens, and his other hand squeezes my waist.
“I hope I can make you shiver like that again. But not while we’re in public.”
Our gazes remain locked in the mirror as he continues to whisper to me. Fucking hell. This is the sexiest thing I can remember since starting to mess around with guys when I was fifteen.
“Finn, I’ve known Tony since I started working at the hospital almost ten years ago. We were friends. Two months ago, we were both single. He finally convinced me to go on a date with him. It was fun. The first five weeks together were great. But thinking back on it, it was probably because we had little time to spend together. Our rotations were pretty much opposite, so we made the most out of the time we had. The last three weeks got worse. Even before today and the last time we were here, things were going sour. I was going to dump him last week, but then he announced this party and how he’d already told his friends I would be there. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I think he knew I was ready to break up, so he manipulated the shit out of me by guilting me into staying with him. But I’d already decided I was going to end it tomorrow. Then I was going to end it tonight. And you saw how it actually ended.”
“Did he ever give you a hint of what he thought about you?”
“Never. That’s why I thought you blew things out of proportion when you refused to repeat what he said before. What did he say?”
“Thea, I get why you want to know. But it’ll only hurt your feelings, and I don’t want to be part of that.”
“It’s not your fault, and I won’t shoot the messenger.”
His left eyebrow twitches. It was an infinitesimal movement, and if I didn’t know what to look for with neurological responses, I would have missed it. It happened when I said the last three words. Tony called him a mobster… Hell.
“Finn, what does your family really do?”
I expect him to freeze. I expect him to be evasive.
“You heard what Tony called us. Do you know who those men were on the phone?”
“No.”
“If you google my family, you’ll find plenty. Thanks to some not-too-distant relatives, we’ve wound up in the news a lot more than we like. It’s no secret. The other families are less conspicuous these days.”
“I don’t understand. Was what Tony said about you and yours friends being mobsters true?” My heart is racing, and right now, it’s not because I’m turned on. Just the opposite.
“This is my bar, and most of the people in here are regulars. They come here for a reason. But I’d rather explain that reason in my office than out here for anyone to overhear.”
“You want me to go into an office alone with you to discuss whether you’re in the mafia?”
He looks duly insulted that I insinuated I’m not safe with him. But how the fuck should I know?
I should know because he’s done nothing but defend me since before he even saw me. Just the knowledge that I existed was enough for him to be protective. Now that we’ve met— the way he’s holding me is protective, as well as erotic. But I suddenly feel too confined, and I pull away from him. He releases me immediately, and that feels worse. I swivel on my stool. When I’m facing him, I nod, and he helps me down.
“Mair, I’ll be in the office.”
“No worries.”
“Is Mair a nickname you gave Margaret?”
Does he give all the women in his life nicknames?
“No. Her parents call her that, so we started to as well. Her husband calls her Greta. Margaret is the English version of her Gaelic name. They mean the same thing. The modern version of her Gaelic name is Mairghráid. Mare like the horse and grade like in school.”
“Then why’d she introduce herself as Margaret?”
“Because that’s what she goes by professionally and with most people outside the family.”
Sounds complicated. I’m interested, but not as much as I want to know what the deal is with his family. Finn punches in a code so quickly I can’t catch what it is. I suspect he did that on purpose. The door unlocks, and he pushes down on the handle. I don’t know what I expected in here, but definitely not something as inviting. There’s an overstuffed couch I bet Finn’s napped on— passed out on —more than once. There’s a fireplace that looks like he uses. His desk chair is ergonomic but comfortable. He has family photos lining the walls. Maybe this is why he brought me in here. I’m super curious now.
Finn gestures to the sofa, so I sit. I want him to sit beside me. I want him close, and I can’t justify why when he’s about to tell me something that’s likely to scare the shit out of me. But it would make it an awkward angle to talk. That’s what I’m telling myself as he leans against his desk. I’m growing more nervous by the second, so it feels like a chasm is opening between us. I’m worried about falling in.
“Thea, when Tony mentioned me being a mobster, he wasn’t wrong. But I’m not Al Capone. I’m not Bugsy Segal. I don’t sit around smoking cigars and plotting bank robberies or putting out hits. I could deny what he said, but like I told you, my family’s been in the news enough lately that you’ll find stuff on your own. I’d rather explain it. When he said I was in the mob, it made me suspect he knows of the other families. Those men you heard on the other line are the leaders of the other major syndicates. It was a calculated risk to make that call in front of your friends and coworkers. I’ve never admitted to anyone what I’m telling you right now, but neither can I hide who I am or who my family is thanks to the internet. But I said nothing in public that can be held against me or my family. The other people here know exactly who we are. They’re here because they either work for us or their family has been connected to mine for generations. I wish I had a different explanation, but I don’t.”
That creates an avalanche of questions that sweep me away. I just sit here. Mute.
“Thea?”
“Hmm.” I’m still digesting what he said.
“Do you have questions?”
“Plenty.”
I’m looking at his chest as though I can see through it to the wall. I’m staring into space as I try to wrap my mind around this. This man I’ve met twice, who I’m inexplicably drawn to, just admitted he’s a criminal. A well-dressed criminal in his slacks and button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and just enough of his chest showing to make me want to run my hands over his muscular pecs. His pants are just tight enough in the back for me to know I could bounce a dime off that ass.
Just what sorts of things has he done? Do I truly want to know? Is he dangerous to me? I told him I would trust him earlier. Yeah, that was about picking food. But can I trust him with anything else?
You have trusted him. You’ve trusted him more than once. You’re alone in here with him.
I can ask myself those questions, but I already know the answers. I can trust him, and no, he’s not dangerous to me. But I don’t want to know what being a mobster means. I don’t want that world near me. I’ve been adjacent to it before, and I don’t want to go back to it.
But the longer I sit here, my mind whirling and Finn letting me think in peace, the more I realize my answers to those questions are the ones I think I’m supposed to give. The ones I feel obligated to give, especially as a doctor. How can I even consider a man attractive who probably does some horrible shit when I’ve pledged to do no harm?
Because the pledge was about me. It wasn’t a pledge to stop other people. I know no specifics, yet I’m trying to decide. I wouldn’t use speculation to diagnose or cure a patient. I would gather facts and observe. Those decisions might happen in a split second sometimes, but I can do that through using fact and observation.
“Finn, why did you tell me that if you’ve never admitted it to anyone else? Is it because other people already know, so you don’t have to?”
“Sometimes. But I could have kept quiet. I could have lied. I could have done a lot of things besides confess that to you. I told you because I don’t want to lie to you.”
“Why does that matter to you?”
He stares at me. He can confess he’s part of the organized crime world, but he won’t tell me why he admitted what he did. He’s looking at me as though I should already know the answer.
Margaret said he would probably invite me back. He said he wouldn’t do anything because I’d just broken up with someone. He said when I was ready, he’d be waiting. He wrapped his arm around me, and when I watched us in the mirror, I pictured us as a couple. Feck, I’ve even thought our kids would have amazing eyes.
Feck. I noticed he’ll say fuck when he directed it at Tony. But he won’t swear in front of me.
“Were you serious when you said you’d be ready whenever I am?”
He scoots closer to me, but he continues to lean back against the desk. “Thea, I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I saw you. You’re beyond beautiful. But it’s something about the look in your eyes. I don’t need to know you’re a doctor to know you’re intelligent. You’re poised even when you’re threatening to kill someone. You take things in stride, but you’ll also disagree with me without exploding. Knowing you’re not only a doctor but one who takes care of babies in distress tells me more about you than I think you realize.”
“Such as?” I want to know probably more than I should.
“You’re responsible for people’s lives and those of the people who love them most. You’re calm in stressful situations. You’re calm when talking to people in crisis. You’re calm and make immediate decisions based on knowledge and observation. You have an inquisitive mind that likes to solve puzzles, even if they’re not crosswords or jigsaws. You can find solutions to things most people would think are unsolvable. You care about others and will sacrifice for other people’s wellbeing. You’re used to being part of a team and will take advice from others as knowledgeable or more than you.” He smiles at me. “I can go on.”
“You can tell all that from meeting me twice?”
“I can deduce it from knowing what you do. Everything about your bearing tells me you’re confident in public because you have to be. As a doctor, even when you have doubts, you must project that air of confidence in your decisions. I don’t know what you’re thinking right now or what you thought the last time you were here, but you’re listening to me. That tells me you’re curious, but fair.”
Wow. I am those things. Like, if I had to get specific describing myself, then those are the things I’d say. But I haven’t given much thought to it before. He said all of it so practically. As though how he described me is a given. He’s not blowing smoke up my ass.
I’ve already told myself the answer to what I’m about to ask. But I need to hear it from him.
“Finn, am I safe with you?”
He watches me for a long moment, and I don’t know why he isn’t answering. He’s looking at me as though he’s evaluating what to say. I don’t like it.
I’m unprepared for him to scoop me off the sofa and settle me on his lap. His left hand takes both of mine, and they rest on my lap. I should try to get up. I should push him away. Instead, I want to lean against him and shut my eyes. I want to melt against him. I feel safe with him like this. Like— I don’t know— like he’ll take care of me —protect me. His right hand glides up and down my right arm. It’s so soothing that I give up trying to keep my body away from his. I lean against his chest and exhale as I let my eyes drift closed.
“Thea, you are safe from me. I will never intentionally hurt you. You know that. That’s why you haven’t jumped off my lap, screamed, or hit me. I told you. I don’t want to lie to you. I can’t promise you’d always be safe with me. I’ll do everything I can to protect you no matter what. But I am a dangerous man.”