Chapter 14
“How quickly can we get it installed?” I ask Silas, my brother sitting across from me, eyes reading the screen of his laptop.
In the next room, his kids are watching TV.
It’s been a few days since Niamh’s truck was vandalized, and I have barely seen her.
She’s up and at the falls early in the morning and hasn’t been returning until gone midnight, but the small glimpses of her I’ve stolen reveal just how hard she’s taken this.
The truck was released back to her yesterday, and it’s now sitting out in one of my barns. She’s been driving one of my ranch vehicles to and from work since she doesn’t have a car anymore. I’d nearly lost my damn mind when I caught her trying to walk to work.
“Once the equipment arrives, I can have the guys in the same day to get it up and running,” Silas closes his laptop and meets my eyes.
I nod. “Fine. Order it.”
“Already did, it’ll be here next week.”
I huff a laugh and lift my glass to my lips, taking a sip of my whiskey.
“No leads?” Silas continues.
“Sheriff’s office thinks it was just a couple of kids.”
“And what do you think?”
I glance out the window where the night has started to roll in, a few stars peeking out of the darkness. “That there is more to it than that.”
Silas nods, “You think she was targeted.” It’s a statement, not a question, but I answer anyway.
“It was violent.” I run my finger across my bottom lip, remembering how she had cried, the way her eyes watered, and her bottom lip trembled.
She was utterly broken, and I’d never felt so helpless in my life.
I fucking hated it. Hated it even more when I found out she had compromised her safety by not paying for security.
No one should ever be put in that position.
Ever. Which is why I am paying for cameras and a company to monitor them.
“Have you heard from him?” The question is asked quietly, but it may as well have been shouted with the way it affects me. My heart thumps just a little bit harder, my blood moving faster as a light hum begins in my ears.
I try my hardest not to think about him because every time I do; I get dragged back to the night she died.
I have to live through that phone call again, have to see her broken body again and remember how he smirked when we came face to face in the hospital.
There is no evidence to suggest this was anything more than a tragic accident.
It was not an accident. We all fucking know it, but proving it is impossible. So, we try to forget he exists until things like this start happening. People get hurt around him, but I haven’t seen the man in years even though he lives in this town.
“I haven’t.” I roll my neck from side to side. The idea of her being anywhere near him has rage boiling to the surface because the man is capable of doing anything if he thinks it can hurt me or my brothers.
“We’ll keep her safe,” Silas pushes to a stand, “Maybe it’ll be wise to tell her, just in case.”
“Tell her exactly what?” I pin my brother with a stare. “That we think our mother was murdered but have zero proof of it? Or that the same man we believe killed her could possibly be targeting her, but again, we can’t prove it.”
“Niamh is a smart girl, Roman, don’t underestimate her.”
“I am fully aware of what my wife is.”
“Are you?” He challenges but doesn’t stick around to continue the back and forth and instead heads out, the door slamming behind him.
Our exchanges always become tense whenever he’s mentioned. It’s a mechanism, a defense that we have been using since we were kids shielding ourselves from him. We’re all adults now, but some things stick. Something you don’t grow out of.
They’re roots, buried so far into our DNA, it’s impossible to get them out.
That’s what happens when you’re raised by a monster.
I jerk awake to the sound of a loud thud and immediately groan as my back smarts from where I passed out in the chair. I’ve been waiting up every night for Niamh to return home from the bar, but today had been especially grueling, so it makes sense I passed out.
The thud sounds again, and I get to my feet, eyes moving to the clock. It’s a little past one a.m., and the ranch around me sleeps.
Moving toward the door, I listen for the noise only to be greeted by the sound of sniffling followed by another thud and yank the door open.
“Hi, cowboy,” Niamh sits on the porch step with a half bottle of whiskey beside her. She doesn’t turn to me as she lifts that same bottle and takes a swig directly from it and then puts it back down with the same thud that woke me.
“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” I close the space and lower onto the step beside her, turning my head to face her. She’s staring straight ahead, her spine arched over with her shoulders curled in.
She just shrugs and lifts the bottle again, but I reach out and take it from her before she can take another swig. Half of the bottle is almost gone already.
She releases a heavy sigh, defeated, and doesn’t fight me for it. Replacing the cap, I put the bottle out of reach and then lean my arms on my knees.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake.” There’s a slight slur in her words and mascara tracks on her cheeks, her eyes a little red from her tears. Something twists inside of me knowing she’s hurting and there’s little I can do about it.
“I’ve waited for you every night,” I point out.
“You don’t need to do that,” She sighs. “I can take care of myself.”
“Fully aware you can take care of yourself, sweetheart, doesn’t mean you should have to all the time.”
“You know this isn’t real, right?” Bloodshot eyes land on me. “I’m not your responsibility.”
“Like fuck are you not my responsibility.” There’s a bite in my tone. “You’re my wife. You live under my roof.”
She chuckles, “My wife. There it is again.”
I’ve got nothing to say about that. I like calling her my wife.
I shouldn’t, but I do. Relationships and I don’t work; they never have.
The moment I feel someone getting too close, I end it.
I had planned to remain single forever — no girlfriends, no wife, but my grandfather made sure that wasn’t a possibility with that clause he added.
Now I have Niamh, and I’m finding I don’t hate it at all.
“You know,” She sways a little where she’s sitting, “I didn’t think you’d be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Nice.”
Her blue eyes bounce around my face like she’s tracing the details.
“What did you think I’d be like?”
“I just assumed you were an asshole,” She shrugs, “A rich asshole. Most millionaires are assholes.”
“Do you know many millionaires?”
“No.” She pouts.
My shoulders shake with my silent laughter. “Why are you out here?”
“Drinking, duh.”
“Why are you drinking?”
She starts to fiddle with the ring on her finger, the diamond in the center glistening under the warm porch light.
I don’t know why I gave her that ring. I shouldn’t have, but I’d felt the pull to do so.
It was my mother’s ring, and before that; it was my grandmother’s.
I had tried to find a different one, but there was nothing that felt right.
It shouldn’t have mattered, not when the foundation of us is built on a lie.
Silence settles between us as she contemplates her answer, the sound of the crickets in the long grass and owls in the trees filling the void.
“My mom took off when I was a kid,” She finally speaks, “So it was just me and my dad. He wasn’t perfect, you know, but he tried really hard.
He often went without so I could have the things I wanted.
I didn’t realize it at the time, I was just a kid, but even as I got older, he kept doing it.
He’d sew up holes in his old clothes just so I could have the sneakers every other kid was wearing.
He’d work overtime so I could have presents at Christmas. ”
She wipes away a tear that slips out of the corner of her eye.
“The truck was a gift after I graduated. It was a pile of metal when he brought it home,” She laughs, but the sound is hollow, grief stricken, “He worked for weeks after getting it working. Bought all the parts and taught himself how to fix it.”
I shift on the step, moving closer to her.
“After he died, I realized I had nothing else. I’d sold a lot of our things to try and pay some of the debt. The truck was the last thing I had.”
“I’m sorry, Niamh.” I reach out and tuck her hand into mine, hoping to offer her just a touch of comfort.
“I’m sure you think it’s silly.” She uses her free hand to wipe away more tears. “It’s just a truck, right? Maybe it was time to let it go.”
I shake my head. “Nothing you care about is silly, sweetheart. It meant something to you, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
She turns to look at me, those watery eyes breaking something inside of me. It’s probably the alcohol talking, loosening her lips, but if she needs someone to listen, then she can have my ear for as long as she wants it.
“I miss him.”
I lift my hand and cradle her face, using my thumb to wipe away her tears. She leans in and releases a long breath before she opens her eyes again. The blue looks almost neon now as she searches my face.
For a moment, it feels like the world stops spinning. The crickets don’t chirp, the leaves don’t stir, and then she moves.
Her mouth lands against mine, warm and inviting, the taste of her a mix of the whiskey and the saltiness of her tears.
My own lips part as she seeks entry with her tongue.
She angles her head as I thread my fingers into her hair, allowing me in deeper.
She tastes so fucking good, her lips pillowy, her body warm as she curls her hands into my shirt to keep me close.
A whimper leaves her as she tries to move closer, getting to her knees so she can throw a leg over my thighs, and my hands move to her waist, tugging her into me. My cock jerks as she settles her weight over me, pressing down, her hips rolling against me.
Fuck me.
It’s only when her leg knocks into the bottle of whiskey I’d taken away from her that I realize what the hell I’m doing.
She’s drunk. And sad.
Not a good combination.
Shit.
“Roman,” She says my name on a breath as she moves her mouth down my jaw, following the line until she lowers more and her teeth graze my throat. My skin prickles, and my cock hardens even further, jerking and leaking into my boxers.
Fuck, she feels so damn good.
But I have to stop this now. If I don’t stop this, it’s going to go further. I’m going to strip her bare and sink between her thighs right here on the porch. I’m going to have her screaming my name with her nails in my back.
But she’s drunk.
She cannot consent.
Fuck!
“Niamh.” Her name is a rasp on my tongue, a pained sound that scratches from my throat.
She rolls against my dick, but my hands come down onto her thighs to hold her still, and I pull away.
A frown tugs down her brows. “What’s wrong?”
“We shouldn’t,” The words scrape out of my throat, burning as they come. They taste sour and wrong, but I know they’re right. We shouldn’t do this, not when she is like this.
She freezes as my words register, going cold and stiff in my arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
She moves quickly, removing herself from my lap and then rises to her feet, curling her arms around herself.
“Niamh,” I reach for her, but she moves away.
“Good night.” She hurries into the house, leaving me alone out on the porch.
I hang my head, releasing a breath and regretting every single decision that led us to this point.
I want her. Fuck do I want her, but not like this. Not when sorrow and alcohol fuel her every move.