22. Malachi
Chapter 22
Malachi
I lie on my side, curled up on the bed, my arms tucked under my chest as I stare blankly at the floor. The rain outside has turned into a steady rhythm, the kind that usually soothes me, but today it just makes the silence heavier.
I feel like I’m sinking, like the weight in my chest is pressing me further and further down, and no matter what I do, I can’t claw my way back to the surface.
I hear the door creak open, but I don’t bother looking up. It’s him. It’s always him. The heavy thud of his boots against the floor is unmistakable, and even if it wasn’t, who else would it be? He’s the only one who ever comes in here for no reason.
I stay curled up on the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest, my gaze fixed on the floor. The air feels heavier with him in the room, like his presence takes up all the oxygen. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, probably watching me with that infuriating smirk he always wears.
But this time, he doesn’t call me Babyface. He doesn’t say something sarcastic to rile me up. Instead, he crouches down, sitting back on his haunches next to the bed, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“What’s wrong, Malachi?” he asks, his voice softer than I expected.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. My throat feels tight and the feeling in my chest is heavier than ever.
“Malachi,” he says again, more insistent this time. “Come on, talk to me. Did someone say somethin’? Did I… do somethin’?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head again. I don’t want to talk. Not to him, not to anyone.
“Jaysus, Malachi,” he mutters, and then I feel his fingers brush against my forehead. He swipes the hair out of my eyes, his touch gentle despite the frustration in his tone. “At least look at me.”
I don’t. I can’t. But when his hand lingers, his palm warm against my temple, I find myself leaning into the touch. The tension in my shoulders eases just slightly, and I let out a soft sigh before I can stop myself.
Connor’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. “Hey,” he says softly, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin. “Talk to me. Please.”
When I still don’t respond, he shifts, sitting more fully on the edge of the bed. “Look,” he says, his words coming faster now, like he’s trying to fill the silence. “I’m sorry, alright? For leavin’ you alone. I didn’t think you’d even notice, let alone care, but I guess I was wrong, and—fuck—I should’ve known better. I just thought maybe you’d want the space, or that I’d…”
I close my eyes, listening as he keeps talking, his voice laced with guilt. He thinks this is his fault. The thought hits me like a punch, but I can’t bring myself to interrupt him. Not yet.
“…and maybe I fucked up,” he’s saying now, his words spilling out in a rush. “I mean, clearly I did because, look at you. I just—damn it, Malachi—I didn’t mean to—”
“Connor,” I say quietly, cutting him off.
He freezes mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut as his eyes dart to mine. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the rain filling the silence between us.
“It’s not you,” I say finally, and look at his blurry form. “This isn’t… it’s not about you.”
His brows furrow, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Bullshite.”
“It’s not,” I insist, sitting up slowly. “I’m just… feeling down. It happens. It’s not your fault.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I say, the word sharper than I mean it to be. I run a hand through my hair, sighing. “You think everythin’’s about you, don’t you?”
His lips twitch into a faint smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, isn’t it?”
“Not this time,” I mutter, shaking my head. “This is just… me. ”
He leans back slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “So, what do we do about it?”
I blink, caught off guard by the question. “ We don’t do anythin’.”
His brows draw together, like that answer personally offends him. “The fuck do you mean, ‘we don’t do anythin’ ’?”
I exhale sharply, dragging my hands over my face. “I mean exactly that. You don’t get to care, Connor. You don’t get to give a shit about why I’m like this, not when you’re part of the reason.”
His whole body stiffens. “Part of the reason? What the fuck?”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. Only when I finally look at him properly, do I realize how close he is. He’s all tensed-up arrogance and frustration, like he actually doesn’t understand. Like he hasn’t thought this through.
“Are you serious?” I scoff. “You kidnapped me. Why do you even care?”
“I just do,” he mutters.
“That’s not a goddamn answer,” I say, ignoring how unsteady I feel. “You don’t get to ‘just do.’ You don’t get to sit there and act like you give a shite about how I feel when you’re the reason I feel like this in the first place.”
He stiffens. “Malachi—”
“No,” I cut him off. My pulse pounds in my ears, the weight in my chest growing heavier, pressing against my ribs. “You kidnapped me, Connor. You ripped me away from my life, threw me into this mess, and now you’re sittin’ here trying to act like you give a fuck that I’m not handlin’ it well?”
His jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not—”
“It is ,” I snap, my voice shaking. “ You’re the reason I haven’t taken my meds in weeks. You’re the reason I can’t fuckin’ sleep. You did this to me.”
Fuck, I didn’t want him to know about the meds, but how fucking dare he pretend to care now? Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. His lips press into a thin line like he’s actually considering my words—like they’re sinking in.
“I didn’t know you were on meds,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.
I scoff. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t fuckin’ change anythin’, does it?”
Connor watches me for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. It pisses me off how serious he looks. It’s like he’s actually trying to figure me out, like he actually cares. He shouldn’t. He doesn’t get to.
“I don’t know how to fix that,” he admits, and there’s something raw in his voice, something I don’t want to hear.
“Then don’t fuckin’ try,” I snap, my stomach twisting and I lay back down. “You don’t get to fix anythin’, Connor. You don’t get to be the person who makes this better, not when you’re the one who made it worse.”
His eyes darken, his jaw ticking. “You’re actin’ like I had a fuckin’ choice.”
I bark out a hollow laugh. “Everyone has a choice.”
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “Not in my world, and you fuckin’ know this.”
The weight of those words settles between us. His world. The world I never asked to be part of even though I was born into it. The world I was dragged back into against my will.
“You might not have had a choice,” I say, quieter now. “But neither did I.”
Connor’s gaze flickers, something shifting in his expression. And for the first time, I think he actually gets it. Neither of us speak for a while. The rain keeps falling, steady and relentless, the only sound filling the silence between us.
He drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “How bad is it?”
I glare at him. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it fuckin’ does.”
I shake my head, pushing the heels of my palms against my eyes. “I don’t know, alright? It’s bad. It’s worse than usual. I feel like I’m drownin’, and I can’t fuckin’ think, and I hate every second of it, but there’s nothin’ I can do about it.”
I can’t look at him when he asks, “Why didn’t you say somethin’ before?”
I let out another bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Right. Because that would’ve gone over well. ‘Hey, Connor, since you kidnapped me, mind runnin’ to the pharmacy for me and pickin’ up my prescription?’ ” I let the sarcasm drip from my voice. “Sure. That would’ve worked.”
His mouth presses into a firm line. “You still should’ve said somethin’.”
“And what? Let you think I’m weak?” I laugh without humor. “No, thanks.”
His expression darkens, and for a second, I think he might actually lose his temper. But instead, he shoves a hand through his hair, breathing hard.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re a stubborn little shite, you know that?”
I smirk, but it’s weak. “Takes one to know one.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t argue. I can see him thinking, see the gears turning in his head. Then he looks at me, something dangerous sparking behind his eyes.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll get you your meds.”
I scoff. “Sure. Just pop down to the pharmacy and tell them it’s for your hostage. That’ll go well.”
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smirk. “I’ll get them,” he says again, and there’s something final about it.
I swallow hard, caught off guard by the certainty in his voice. “Why?”
His jaw flexes. “Because you need them.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s the only fuckin’ reason that matters.”
I shake my head, looking away. “You don’t get to care, Connor. You don’t get to make me think you give a shite.”
“Too late,” he says, standing up. “I already do.”
My breath hitches when he gets on the bed, his body blocking out the rest of the room, caging me in without ever actually touching me. He’s so close I can see the faint freckles dusting his nose, the sharp lines of his jaw, the warmth in his green eyes.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilts his head, studying me with a look that makes my chest feel too tight. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against my jaw. His fingers are rough and calloused, but his touch is so gentle it makes me freeze.
Connor cups my chin, his thumb brushing against the edge of my jaw. I should push him away, or make some sarcastic comment to break the tension, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
“ Tá brón orm, Mo stóirín ,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion.
I freeze, his words hitting me like a jolt of electricity. The Gaelic rolls off his tongue like it belongs to him, but I don’t understand a word of it. Fuck, why didn’t I pay attention during those stupid lessons my father forced on me?
“What… what did you just say?” I manage to ask, my voice shaking.
Connor’s gaze dips to my lips before he drags it back up to my eyes, and for a moment, he looks like he’s struggling to hold himself together. There’s pain etched across his face, the kind that makes my chest tighten for reasons I don’t want to examine.
“You don’t need to know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. The touch is light, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
I don’t know what to say. My mind is blank, my thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. All I can focus on is the way he’s looking at me like I’m something fragile, something he’s afraid of breaking. It’s too much, but I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.
His thumb lingers for a moment longer, then he pulls back slightly, his hand dropping to his side. The loss of contact leaves me feeling untethered, like the air’s been sucked out of the room.
“Connor,” I say again, my voice steadier now, though my heart is still racing. “What are you doing?”
He offers me a small, lopsided smile, the kind that’s almost more infuriating than his usual smirk.
“Whatever I want,” he says, his tone light.
I should say something—tell him to stop, to leave, to give me space—but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I just lie there, staring at him like an idiot, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding against my ribs.
“Why are you doin’ this?” I whisper.
His smile softens, his head tilting just slightly. “Doin’ what, Malachi?”
“This,” I say, motioning vaguely to the space between us—or lack of it. “You’re too close.”
“Am I?” he asks, his tone teasing, but there’s a rawness beneath it. His eyes search mine, like he’s looking for something I don’t understand. “You don’t look like you mind.”
I don’t answer, because I don’t trust my voice. My heart is pounding so hard I swear he can hear it, and the worst part is, he’s not wrong. I don’t mind, but I should—I should be telling him to back off, to get out of my space, but I can’t seem to make myself say the words.
I suck in a sharp breath when Connor leans in just a fraction, his face so close now that I can see the tiny scar near his eyebrow. His breath ghosts across my skin, warm and minty, and I hate how much I notice it.
“You’re quiet,” he says softly. “That’s not like you.”
I swallow hard but my throat is dry. “You’re makin’ it hard to think.”
Connor’s smirk grows, a flicker of mischief sparking in his green eyes. It’s not his usual smirk—it’s softer, but still dangerous in its own way. The kind of look that makes my chest tighten and my brain short-circuit.
He shifts slightly, and before I can process what’s happening, his knee slides forward, settling between my legs. My breath catches, and I freeze, my hands gripping the edge of the bed like it might save me from whatever this is.
“Is that the only thing I’m makin’ hard, Malachi?” he asks, his voice wrapping around the words like silk.
I gape at him, heat rushing to my face so fast I’m sure I’m glowing. “You’re—you’re such a fuckin’—”
“Careful,” he interrupts, his grin turning wicked as he leans in closer. “Say the wrong thing, and I might think you’re enjoyin’ this.”
“I’m not!” I snap, though my voice wavers, betraying me.
Connor raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “No?” he murmurs, his knee pressing down just enough to send my pulse into overdrive. “You’re awfully red for someone who’s not affected.”
His hand moves again, and this time it doesn’t stop at my chin. His fingers brush along my jaw, trailing lightly like he’s testing how far he can push. My skin burns under his touch, and I hate how much I lean into it, how much I want it.
“Connor,” I start, but my voice cracks and I immediately hate myself for it.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my cheek now. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but I don’t argue. I can’t. All I can do is lie frozen under his gaze, feeling like the ground has been pulled out from under me. The room feels too quiet, like the world outside has disappeared, leaving just the two of us and the steady thrum of my heartbeat in my ears.
Connor’s thumb moves again, tracing along my jawline with a gentleness that feels out of place for him. He looks at me like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s on the edge of a decision he hasn’t made yet.
My breath feels caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat, like I’m stuck in the moment, unable to break free.
And then he leans in.
My heart slams against my ribs as his face gets closer, his breath warm on my cheek. His lips brush against my ear, the lightest graze, and it’s enough to make every nerve in my body spark to life.
“Do you even realize what you do to me?” he whispers in my ear.
I feel my cheeks burn, and I know I’m blushing harder than I ever have in my life.
“W-what?” I manage to stammer, but before I can say anything else, his lips move again—this time to my neck.
It’s not a kiss at first, more like a press of warmth against my skin. But then his lips part, and I feel the faintest scrape of his teeth as they graze my pulse. I gasp, my body jolting like it’s been shocked, and Connor chuckles against my skin, the sound low and amused.
“Sensitive, are we?” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His green gaze is sharp and almost playful.
My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. I’m too stunned, too caught up in the weight of what just happened. And then he pulls back, just slightly, his hand dropping to his side. The air feels colder without his touch, and I immediately hate myself for missing it.
“I should go,” he says, his voice lower now, almost reluctant.
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
He stands, his movements slower than usual, like he’s forcing himself to step away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Babyface.”
I want to say something, to stop him, but the words stick in my throat. He’s gone before I can figure out what the hell just happened, leaving me alone with the rain and the mess he’s made of my head.