Chapter 18
Silas clears his throat, and I finally drag my eyes away from Niamh. He’d come in first, but I only had eyes for her. I’d done a quick check of her body to make sure she was okay before I’d landed on her face, but I hadn’t expected to see my own reflection staring back at me.
It was relief. That she was okay, and that I was okay — well, somewhat. I have a couple of broken ribs and bruising to my upper back from the fall, but none of that matters when she’s looking at me like that. Like she cares.
Shit. I think I might like my wife.
No, I don’t think. I know. And I want her to be closer; that itch has transformed, changed to a burning need to taste her again. To see her. To feel her. I want her silky hair threading through my fingers, those pillowy lips pressed to mine so I can have her on my tongue.
I’m not going to let her pretend she didn’t kiss me last night. She can blame the alcohol, but that want I felt coming from her matched my own.
“Are you okay?” She finally steps into the room, eyes on everything but me.
“It looks worse than it is,” I assure her, tracking her every move. She’s wringing her hands, her nervous energy an aura that vibrates around her body.
I glance at Silas, who gives a subtle shake of his head and pulls out his phone, typing something before he turns the screen to me.
She doesn’t like hospitals.
I dip my chin, understanding before I focus back on my wife, “Niamh.”
“Hmm?” She rolls her lips inward, eyes on her wringing hands while she stands too far away from me.
“Talk to me.” But she doesn’t, instead she turns around, moving her attention to the window and the view of the city beyond.
“I’m going to get coffee,” Silas mumbles, showing himself out and leaving us in private.
Silence settles in the room, Niamh remaining at the window with her back to me. She’s stiff, her spine ramrod straight. I want to ask her about hospitals, help her, but I don’t want to cross boundaries too soon.
“You going to look at me, sweetheart?” I press.
A heavy sigh leaves her as she finally turns to look at me, eyes flicking between the heart monitor and the IV.
“Are you really okay?” She asks, “Silas said you were targeted. Is that true?”
“We can talk about that later,” I sigh, pissed that he told her.
She purses her lips. “Roman.”
“I want to talk about last night.”
Her throat works on a swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A chuckle leaves me followed by a hiss of pain when my ribs and the bruising smarts, pain flaring through my chest. She steps closer, reaching for me but stops herself, tucking her arm around her middle instead.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” I say once the pain has eased and I can catch my breath, “Are you sure about that?”
She meets my eyes before they drop to my mouth, and she wets her lips. “I was drunk; it was a mistake.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“This wasn’t part of the deal, Roman.” She shakes her head and points between us. “This isn’t going to happen.”
Yeah, fuck that. Does she really think I’m going to let go of the only woman who has ever made me want more? We’ve moved way past the danger zone and straight to obsession.
She shouldn’t have kissed me like that if she didn’t want me to fucking chase her.
“Yeah, we’ll see, sweetheart.”
“You’re literally in the hospital, this isn’t important.”
“I beg to differ.”
“What do you want from me?” She suddenly bursts, a bite to her tone.
Her wide blue eyes latch and hold mine, swirling with so much pain and fear and anxiety.
If I could curl myself around her right now, I would, take all that pain into myself so she could just breathe for a moment.
But with Niamh, it will take time. Trust will need to be built.
My brows lift. “I want you to talk to me.”
“We’re married on paper, Roman, that’s all. I don’t owe you anything.”
“What are you afraid of?” I push just a little harder.
She lifts her hand and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Everything.”
There’s so much to unpack with that one word, but I get it because I feel it too.
Letting people in, letting people see. There’s a vulnerability in the action, something I have refused to allow for a long time.
Exposing parts of yourself only opens you up to being hurt, but sometimes, the risk is worth the reward.
Or at least that’s what I hope. Who am I to talk? I can only do.
“Come here,” I order her gently.
She shakes her head a little. “I need to go. I’m glad you’re okay, Roman.”
A heavy sigh leaves me as I watch her leave, steps hurried like she can’t bear to be in the same room as me. She’s in such a rush, she knocks into Silas as he’s reentering, but he’s quick to dodge, watching her run.
“What did you do?” Silas blinks at me.
“I like my wife.”
He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. “You like… your wife.”
“Mm,” I nod. “Is one of them for me?” I point to the coffee.
“How many drugs did they give you?” Silas asks, handing over one of the coffees. I mean, I’ve taken many drugs, mostly for pain management, but I’m thinking clearly.
“It’s not the drugs.”
“So why was she running?”
I shift on the bed and wince with the pain. “Because she likes me too.”
I feel like a damn teenager with a crush, a little giddy.
Silas shakes his head. “You’re so fucked.”
“Totally aware,” But now I’ve got to put in the work. Something I’ve never fucking done because this has never been a possibility. Is this what my grandfather wanted?
I’ve never been more confused.
“Remy is getting on the next flight home,” Silas settles into the seat beside the bed, sipping his coffee.
I should’ve guessed he would call our younger brother, but with the way things have switched, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for him to be home.
I didn’t see the driver today, but I have a feeling. I just need confirmation. Proof. Just like I needed all those years ago when we lost our mother.
Turning to the window, where the sun has started to set, my mind goes back to Niamh’s truck.
Puzzle pieces click together, but it doesn’t make me feel any better; if anything, it has dread sinking into my stomach.
I just have to hope no one gets in the crossfire and the people we all care about don’t get hurt.
“Go easy,” Silas growls as we head down in the elevator the following morning. There’s no need for me to be in the hospital. After all, there’s not much to be done about bruises and broken ribs.
We make it to the lobby and are just about to leave when a loud whistle cuts through the space. Several heads whip toward the sound, including mine and Silas’s, and we spot the source of the sound a moment later. Remy leans on a pillar, a grin splitting his face.
“I get paid to be thrown off a horse,” He hollers loudly, “And you go and do it for free.”
“Remy,” Silas grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose, but I just laugh at my youngest brother, or at least try since it fucking hurts.
He closes the gap, all big grins and reckless spirit, slapping Silas on the shoulder, but he has at least some softness to him when it comes to me. He stops the hand coming down on me midair and winces before he pats my shoulder.
“Did you miss me?” He grins.
“Like a hole in the head,” Silas replies seriously and then pushes by him, heading for the exit.
“Glad to see you in one piece,” I tell him.
“More than you are,” He retorts, shaking his head. “Seriously?”
I shake my head. “I’ll fill you in back at the house.”
But his eyes are on the ring on my finger.
Shit. I didn’t tell him.
“Did you get fucking married!?”
“Blame pops,” I huff, walking out the doors with him.
“You mean to tell me you have a whole fucking wife?”
“I do.”
“Well, where is she?” He looks to where Silas waits, alone, by his car.
“It’s a long story,” I sigh. “Let’s just go back to Knight Falls.”
“I am so fucking confused,” Remy shakes his head, bundling into the back of Silas’s truck. “Wait! Where’s my besties!?” He demands, referring to our niece and nephew.
“At school.” Silas replies, no nonsense.
“Buzzkill man,” Remy grunts.
“We can’t all be reckless,” Silas snaps back. The two of them have always butted heads the most out of the three of us, always have since we were kids. I didn’t have time for that, so the two were left to their own devices.
We drive back to the ranch as Remy catches us up on his life on the road, the cities he has seen, the horses he has ridden.
He’s always been the wild card, the one to push boundaries, the one who thinks his life doesn’t have an expiration date.
They don’t call him Nine Lives for nothing, my brother rides like he has them, like the risks do not apply.
It’s why he gets on the back of horses that shouldn’t be ridden, puts his body to the limit, gets thrown about.
At any point, he could be injured or killed, but he does it anyway.
No one was able to talk him out of it, we couldn’t tell him no.
It is what he wanted, so it’s what he did, consequences be damned.
Half the time, I’m waiting to get that phone call, the one that tells me his choices have finally caught up.
I have no fucking idea how he does it. It’s not often I get thrown off a horse but yesterday was no joke, and he does that shit for fun and a paycheck.
There’s no denying he’s good at what he does; he’s world champion, has medals, and belts, and trophies, but fuck that. The pain I feel right now is almost enough to stop me from ever getting back on a horse even though this is not the first time.
“But enough about that,” Remy leans between the two front seats. “Tell me about your wife.”