Chapter Twenty-One
Micah
T he tension in the room immediately ratchets up to something close to unbearable as soon as Patrick steps inside. Tadhg is watching him, keeping his body just out of arm’s reach—out of habit, I assume—but with all of his focus trained on his father. His shoulders are back and his chest out, and I swear he’s standing taller than normal.
Most people wouldn’t be able to see through the act. I can, though. I can practically see the way his pulse is racing by the fluttering of his throat, and I know his eyes are just a little wider than they should be.
“How can we help you?” he asks his father, voice unnervingly level.
Once the door is shut behind him, Patrick swings his head from side to side to take us both in. I’m carefully standing on the opposite side of him to Tadhg. I’m pretty sure the thought that his precious little killing machine was bending over and taking it from any man would never occur to Patrick, even if he walked into the room in medias res . That’s in an entirely different stratosphere from the things he considers possible.
However, I’m also sure it’s the only thing that my brother— shit, must stop thinking that, EX-stepbrother, maybe kinda sorta future boyfriend? —is thinking about right now is what we just did. He’s probably convinced Patrick can smell it on him. I do a quick visual scan of him and the apartment, and there’s nothing screaming ‘sex’ that I can see. We just have to get through this conversation without anyone starting a fight or having a meltdown, and everything will be fine.
Tell that to my hands, though. While Tadhg’s body is rock steady, honed from years of practice suppressing his fear and discomfort, I’m already a little shaky. I shove them in my pockets so Patrick doesn’t notice.
The longer I spent time away from the man, the more he became the bogeyman in my mind. Something terrifying, but not a real threat, because he no longer existed in the safe, normal-ish life Mom and I built for ourselves here.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter if he hears,” Patrick says with a shrug, reminding me of what I’m supposed to be focusing on.
I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at him, which he definitely sees. His eyes narrow in return, but he doesn’t move otherwise. It takes all my self-control not to flinch away.
Well, I’ve never really been interested in playing happy housewife, but right now I think I can make an exception.
“Can I get you a beer, Patrick?” I force as much pleasantness into my voice as I can through half-frozen vocal cords.
He leans back a little, quirking his eyebrows at me, but then nods once without a word. It’s a relief when I get to slip a little farther out of his circle of influence, although I keep my gaze trained on Tadhg the whole time. Obviously, it takes me longer than humanly possible to grab everyone a beer from my kitchen, which is about six feet away from where they take a seat on the couch.
They start muttering between themselves immediately. Tadhg is sitting on the couch in a mirror image of his father’s posture now—legs spread wide with his elbows on his knees, taking up a disproportionate amount of space. It seems so unlike the tender version of him I’ve been getting to know that it makes my stomach churn for a second.
Their voices are low, but I hear a few snippets of what’s being said. Enough to pick up that Tadhg’s blissful vacation from his work appears to be over. It hits me all at once that we’d both been fooling ourselves into thinking we could keep doing what we were doing and he’d just… drift away from the Banna in peace.
Fuck.
As I walk back, three open longnecks dangling between the fingers of my left hand, I must be too quiet, because Patrick keeps talking as if I’m out of earshot.
“—no way that body should have ended up in the hospital. Anyone could have taken care of it. And Colm told me Eamon volunteered to do it. I don’t trust that shifty little queer, and he clearly has his eye on your job. Did you leave evidence on that Nazi fuck when you offed him?”
Tadhg can see me out of the corner of his eye, but he’s careful not to look at me.
“Everything’s fine, Father. I can take care of it,” he says, more loudly than he needs to.
I take the opportunity to make some shuffling noises before I approach and put the beers in front of everyone.
Patrick takes his, doing a double-take as if he’d already forgotten I was there. In fact, he looks pretty ragged. He’s not getting any younger, I guess, and running this kind of operation has to take a toll on you in the long run.
Good. I hope he has a heart attack, and we can escape this situation painlessly.
“Well. I want him out. He’s a piece of shit, and I don’t like the way he parades around that recruit he’s sticking it to, as if it’s something to be proud of. The kid doesn’t even look like his balls have dropped yet. And if Eamon’s dicking around acting like a fag and a pervert, it reflects on all of us.” Patrick takes a sip of his beer and then looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “No offense.”
“Now why would that possibly be considered offensive?” I drawl, making Tadhg’s grip on his bottle tighten, but we all mutually seem to drop the issue before it gets out of hand.
Patrick shifts topic. He keeps ignoring me and talking to Tadhg—or Savage , like they all call him. And fuck, I’m really coming to hate when people call him that, especially his own goddamn father, as if Tadhg isn’t dehumanized enough already. Patrick doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I’m sitting here, but he’s also speaking in some kind of shorthand, so I only understand bits and pieces of what they’re talking about.
Not that I care. I would never turn him in for anything, because it would inevitably come back on Tadhg. That’s not my game plan here.
But what is my game plan?
What’s realistically possible? That I keep looking the other way over all this shit until I eventually get in too deep and lose my nursing license over something? Or see the wrong thing, and Patrick kills me and my mom in retribution?
The thought makes me shudder. I’m still not close with my mom because there’s a lot of trauma-water under that bridge, but I don’t want her to die because of where I stuck my dick. Or where she let Patrick stick his.
Goddamn. Like mother, like son, I guess.
My mind is a runaway train, careening over rickety tracks, powered by all the thoughts I’ve refused to acknowledge until now. I don’t even realize it’s showing on my face until I catch Tadhg looking at me from the corner of his eye with a frown.
His fingers twitch, like an aborted attempt to reach for me. That’s the thing that makes my heart crack open and start leaking black ooze all over the floor.
Because as impossible as it seems to help him escape this stupid shitty life he’s trapped in, it seems even more impossible to abandon him in it.
“Okay. Thank you, Father.”
I don’t know what Tadhg is thanking him for, but his tone has a note of finality. I put down my untouched beer and stand up when they do.
We all go through the motions of saying goodbye, even though I’m in a daze, still lost in my own thoughts. Patrick turns toward me at the door for a moment, and I almost think he’s going to hurt me. The scared child inside of me shrinks away, which pisses me off. I think I end up giving him a look that’s half-defiance, half-discomfort.
Whatever it is, he looks awkward for a second. Who knows? Maybe he was going to pat me on the head or something, like a pet.
Instead, he nods at Tadhg one more time before disappearing back into the night, leaving a gaping chasm of anxiety behind him.
Savage
The air in the room is stifling, even after Father leaves. Micah and I orbit each other at a distance. Neither of us seems willing to go far, but we’re also unwilling to reach for each other either.
I’m not sure what any of this means. Half my brain is slipping right back into work mode, calculating what to do next.
Eamon volunteered to dispose of the body and it turned up at a hospital, when I’m the person most likely to have evidence trace back to. Eamon clearly wants my job. If he did this on purpose, it means he isn’t above fucking over the Banna to be king of the ashes.
None of this surprises me, because I wouldn’t put anything out of reach for him, but it is a problem.
Eamon is a problem. One which Father will expect me to eliminate.
Normally, I wouldn’t bat an eye. For once, I’d actually enjoy being sent on this particular murder mission. But while I had thought Micah was able to ignore the gaping stretch of time between now and when we last saw each other, including everything he probably knows I did in between, things are different now. I feel more dependent on him by the minute.
How can I expect him to keep looking at me and touching me the way he did last night if he’s forced to confront just how disgusting I really am? How much has to happen before he starts to look at me with fear?
The thought sends a shiver running through me.
When I glance around to find Micah, he’s farther away from me than I’d thought. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, still holding a beer that I don’t think he’s really drinking and staring into space.
Even from this distance, my fingers are itching to reach for him. I’ve always had the urge to keep him close, and unlocking all the new ways of touching each other is only making the feeling more intense. But the expression on his face is melancholy. I can’t tell if he’d even want me to touch him right now, and the thought of his rejection is even worse than just keeping my distance.
I must stare at him too long, though. Eventually he looks up at me, giving me a wan smile and finally taking a sip of his beer. It’s only when he tosses his head at me that I obey and cross the distance to the kitchen.
Once I’m standing next to him, I still resist the urge to reach out and touch. But being closer means I can see him more clearly. Including the fact that his hands are shaking. Personally, I’ve dissolved into a pile of uselessness on the floor here more times than I can count, but seeing Micah unnerved is unnatural. At least, seeing the confident, adult version of him like this.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Micah shakes his head and gives me a pissy look. “Nothing. I’m being dumb.”
But the shaking doesn’t stop.
“He’s not going to hurt you.”
Now that earns me a really pissy look.
“You know that’s not true. He could hurt either of us any time he wants. He could make you do anything he wants, no matter how fucked up it is, and then at the last minute tell you ‘congratulations, you finally won your freedom’ before shooting you in the head like we’re all living in an HBO series. He’s capable of anything and the only thing he cares about is his own power.”
I blink for a second, because that’s a vivid and unnerving image.
“Honestly, Bambi, I don’t think he’s that clever.”
Micah snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. Every scenario I play out keeps ending the same way. And I don’t like it.”
Sighing, I have to shut my eyes for a second because I can’t look at him while I say this. “Do you want me to leave? I know—I know everything keeps changing with us. But I don’t want to fuck up your life and put you in danger. I can go. Try to get out, maybe come back one day when I think it’s safe.”
Micah’s eyes are wide, and his lips are parted when I finally look at him again.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he breathes. Then—finally—his hands are on me. Gentle arms circle my waist and pull me closer to him until we’re chest to chest, just like before. “Whatever half-assed plans you have about nobly sacrificing yourself or making up your own HBO drama can also get flushed down the fucking toilet, Tadhg. I’ll make a plan. We’ll make a plan. I just need a minute to think.”
Then he lets out a long, shuddering exhale before shoving his face into my chest. I hug him back, holding him closer to me. It feels weird and not weird at the same time. Like our dynamic is constantly shifting. I always used to be the rescuer, now it’s him, but then he acts like this, and I feel like we’re little kids again. He’s that small, fragile thing that I’m desperate to protect.
Am I the strong one or the weak one? Are we family or sexual?
Or are all of those words meaningless, and I’m wasting my time trying to decide?
I try to ignore the cascade of questions in my head and focus on the feel and smell of him while he gradually settles into my arms.
“Do you wanna sleep?” I ask, once we’ve been awkwardly huddled here for a while.
Micah takes another deep breath before leaning back. He keeps a tight hold of me but creates enough space so he can look me in the eye. There’s a spark of something there, and I’m trying to place his expression when he leans in and kisses me.
Not like family.
Like someone desperate. It goes on and on until there are exactly zero thoughts left in my head other than how warm he is and how everything tastes like the two of us mingled together. When he breaks away, I chase his lips for more without thinking, my cock half-hard again and pressed against his thigh.
“What was that for?” I try not to sound too breathy when I ask, but I don’t think that I’m successful.
Micah hesitates for a few seconds, which is also unlike him and makes me tilt my head to get a better look at him while I wait for an answer.
“Tadhg, can I fuck you?”
That is not what I was expecting.
Is this… Does this make me something? Something different than what I already am?
Fuck it. It’s not like I didn’t hate myself before. Maybe whatever this turns me into will be better.
I nod, because I can’t find my words right now.
“Are you sure?” His hands are steady now as he reaches for my face in that way I’ve already come to love. “We can wait, if you’re not ready. Or if you never want to. It’s all okay.”
“Do it. I want to.” I choke the words out, filled with an overwhelming need that I can’t possibly give voice to. Father showing up has made me more aware than ever that whatever is happening between us, it won’t last. I’m not that lucky. I don’t have time to nurse my fears and inhibitions. If I want to experience Micah before I die, I’ll never know when my last chance might be, so it might as well be tonight. “Please, Bambi. Do it.”
“Do you wanna talk about it first?”
I shake my head, which makes Micah frown, but apparently, he’s also too tired and emotional to do more talking right now.
A tentative but irrepressible smile begins to spread across my face, because I know that no matter what, I’ll get to have this at least once. As soon as he sees it, it spreads to his as well. And even though we don’t move from our position, it feels like something shifts . Like all that tension from before is retreating, following Father on his way out of the apartment and sealing us back up in the same bubble we were building before he showed up.