33. Malachi
Chapter 33
Malachi
I barely move when the door opens. I know it’s Connor before he even speaks. His footsteps are too familiar, too steady, too fucking him.
I keep my back to him, curled up on my side, staring blankly at the wall. I haven’t left the bed all day, haven’t even tried to force myself to do something productive. The weight pressing on my chest is too fucking heavy.
“Didn’t realize you’d gone back to hibernatin’.”
I don’t answer.
Connor sighs, and a second later, the bed dips behind me. His warmth seeps through the blankets almost immediately, but I still don’t turn to face him. It’s been a week of us getting closer like this, and today, everything just hit me.
“I would’ve been here sooner,” he murmurs. “Had some things to take care of for Da.”
I hum, noncommittal.
He waits like he’s expecting more. When I don’t give him anything, he shifts slightly, pressing his knee against my back. Not forceful—just there.
Connor exhales through his nose. “You just gonna ignore me, Babyface?”
I close my eyes, swallowing hard. I should snap at him, tell him to fuck off, but the words won’t come.
“Malachi,” he says, softer this time. “What’s wrong?”
I inhale slowly, then exhale just as slowly, debating whether I want to answer at all. But for once, I don’t have the energy to be difficult. I pull the blanket higher over my shoulder, my voice quiet. “I’m in a slump.”
Connor doesn’t move, but I feel his attention sharpen.
“It’s been a week since I started my meds again,” I continue, my voice flat. “After almost three months without them.”
His fingers brush my arm, tentative at first. Then they tighten, tugging at the blanket until he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me into him fully.
I tense for a second before sighing and relaxing against him. Because he’s warm. Because his body fits against mine like he fucking belongs there. Because it’s easier to let him than to push him away.
Connor buries his face in my neck, his breath warm. “How long do these slumps last?”
I shrug, my fingers idly twisting the edge of the blanket. “A few days, sometimes longer. I think it’s because my brain’s adjusting to the meds again.”
His arms tighten around me. Not enough to be suffocating. Just enough.
We stay like that for a while, his hand rubbing slow circles on my stomach, his breathing steady. I let my eyes flutter shut, focusing on the warmth of his body, the way his hold is firm but not constricting.
Then I make the mistake of thinking.
I open my eyes again, staring into the dark, my fingers curling slightly against his forearm. “What are we doing, Connor?” My voice comes out low, almost hoarse. I don’t know why I ask it. Maybe I need to hear it from him. Maybe I need to be reminded that none of this—none of us—is real.
He doesn’t answer right away. I feel his breath falter against my skin, but his grip stays firm, like he already knows where this is going and doesn’t want to let it happen.
“What do you mean?” he asks eventually, his voice careful, like he’s trying to tiptoe around something sharp.
I swallow, sorting through the chaos in my head. “This,” I say, my voice tight. “ Us . What the hell is this?”
Another pause.
Then he exhales, the sound tired, like this is something he’s been trying not to think about. “It’s whatever we want it to be.”
I scoff, turning my face slightly toward the ceiling. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got right now,” he mutters, but there’s a tremor underneath his words.
I turn a little, just enough that I’m not looking at the wall anymore, just enough to let the hurt bleed out. “What about your father? What would he think? I’m the enemy’s son, Connor. A bargainin’ chip. A fuckin’ pawn in whatever game your father is playin’ with mine.”
His fingers dig into my hip, his entire body going rigid. “You’re not a pawn to me.”
I let out a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to just decide that.”
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my hip like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens up. “The fuck I don’t,” he growls. “You think I care what he thinks? He doesn’t get to tell me who I want.”
I twist in his hold, turning until I can see his face. “You think he’s just gonna let you keep me? Like I’m some pet you stole from the other side?”
Connor’s expression shifts—less anger, more hurt. “You think I’d let him take you from me?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Because he’s looking at me like I’m already his, like he’s carved it into stone and won’t let anyone fucking touch it.
And that’s what terrifies me.
I swallow hard, my fingers still curled into the blanket. “You can’t protect me from everything, Connor.” I let out a slow breath. “And even if your father doesn’t kill you, he’s sure as fuck gonna kill me.”
His voice lowers, steady and sure. “No one’s touchin’ you, Malachi.”
I shake my head. “Connor, this— whatever this is —it’s not realistic.”
His jaw ticks. “And why the fuck not?”
I look away, heart pounding in my chest. “Because I’m the enemy’s son,” I say, like it’s a curse. “Because this is temporary, no matter how much we both pretend—”
“Nothing about this feels temporary to me,” he says, his voice raw, and it almost knocks the breath out of me. “You think I do this with anyone else? You think I let anyone else under my skin like you? I fuckin’ hate that you make me feel like this, and I still can’t stop wanting you.”
I stare at him, something breaking open in my chest.
Then, before I can stop myself, I whisper, “Then prove it.”
His lips part. I see it—the exact moment he wants to say something, anything, to give me a promise he can’t keep. But he doesn’t. He runs a hand through his hair instead, muttering, “Fuck,” like the word’s been clawed out of him.
I look away, and the emptiness that follows settles hard in my chest.
Connor wants me. I don’t doubt that. He’s possessive, he’s protective, and maybe he even thinks he can keep me. But when it’s time to choose—when the world forces his hand—he’ll pick his father, his family, his name and his fucking legacy.
He won’t choose me, and I can’t fucking blame him for that. But I’ll hate myself for believing, even for a second, that I could be enough.
The realization makes something in me crack wide open, and I hate how fucking pathetic I feel. How stupid I was to think—even for a second—that this could be real.
I push at his chest, trying to sit up, trying to get away from him before the lump in my throat turns into something I can’t swallow. But Connor doesn’t let me go.
“Malachi—”
“Let me go.” My voice shakes, and I fucking hate it.
“No,” he growls, holding on tighter. “I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this with you—”
“You have to do this with me,” I snap, shoving at him harder. “This is my fuckin’ life, Connor. This isn’t some game, this isn’t just us—” My voice breaks, and I shake my head, exhaling sharply.
“You think I don’t fuckin’ know that?” he snarls.
“No,” I spit. “I don’t. Because you keep acting like this is something we can have, like your father’s not gonna find out and string me up just to make a point—”
“I won’t let that happen—”
“YOU CAN’T STOP IT, CONNOR!” I yell, my voice cracking completely, and everything stills.
My breath is ragged, my hands are trembling where I grip the blanket. My throat is tight, my vision blurred, and fuck, I hate this. Hate the way my chest is aching over something that should’ve never fucking started in the first place.
Connor’s jaw clenches so tightly I can hear his teeth grinding. He looks like he wants to punch something. Break something. Maybe even me. But instead of letting him snap, I drive the knife in deeper.
“You can’t stop this,” I whisper, my voice raw. “You can’t protect me from your father. And even if you could, I’d still be your fuckin’ prisoner. You want to pretend I’m not a pawn in this? Fine. But your father doesn’t see it that way. Your family doesn’t see it that way. And neither does mine.”
Connor shakes his head, breathing hard. “You don’t know that.”
I laugh bitterly, even as tears burn at the edges of my eyes. “You think my father wants me back because he gives a shite about me?” My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate how much it fucking hurts to say it. “He wants me back because I’m his. Because I have his name. Because he refuses to lose to your family.”
Connor swallows hard, his hands tightening into fists like he wants to hit something. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means everythin’,” I snap. “It means you’re delusional if you think this can last.”
Connor exhales sharply through his nose, his hands still clenching like he’s barely holding himself back.
“You say I’m yours, but that doesn’t mean anything outside of this room,” I shake my head, my chest caving in on itself. “This isn’t going to work, Connor.”
His green eyes snap to mine, burning with something furious—something desperate.
“Yes, it fuckin’ will,” he growls.
I scoff, tears slipping free before I can stop them. “How? You’re not thinkin’ past right now. You’re not thinkin’ about what happens when your father figures this out. Or when mine does.” I wipe angrily at my face, my breathing uneven. “And even if somehow— somehow —we got past that, what then? You think I’m just gonna stay here, locked in your family’s fuckin’ estate like some pet you’ve decided to keep?”
Connor flinches, but he doesn’t let go of me. So I press forward, my voice shaking with anger and grief I don’t even know what to do with. “You think I can be with you and not resent you for this? You think I can just… pretend that I don’t hate the fact that I’m here?”
Connor’s nostrils flare. “You don’t hate me.”
I let out a short, broken laugh. “You don’t fuckin’ know what I feel.”
His grip tightens like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers. “Yes, I fuckin’ do.”
“You want to own me, Connor,” I suck in a breath. “But I can’t be yours.”
His entire body tenses. His breathing is sharp, his fingers digging into my waist like he’s trying to anchor me to him. “You are mine.” His voice is low, raw and desperate.
I close my eyes, trying to swallow the ache in my chest. “Not in the way that matters.”
A heavy silence stretches between us. My breathing is uneven, tears hot against my cheeks and my hands still trembling where they grip the blanket.
Connor stares at me, his jaw is tight, and for the first time, he looks lost.
Then he moves. In one swift motion, he grabs me, yanking me back against him.
“You. Are. Mine ,” he snarls into my ear, his breath hot, furious. “And I don’t give a fuck what my father thinks. I don’t give a fuck about this goddamn war between our families. I don’t give a fuck about any of it.”
I struggle against him, fresh tears slipping down my face. “You should care! It’s our reality! We can’t just—”
His grip tightens, his voice lowering to something dangerous. “I will burn this world to the ground before I let anyone take you from me.”
My breath catches, and Connor buries his face in my neck, his breathing heavy, his arms unbreakable around me. “Tell me you don’t want me,” he rasps. “Tell me you don’t need me, and I’ll let you go.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my whole body shaking. “Connor—”
“Say it.” His voice breaks and he pulls back. “Look me in the eye and say it.”
I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. Because they’re not true, and we both fucking know it. My chest is so fucking tight I can barely breathe, my entire body trembling as I try to process what’s happening, what he’s saying, what he’s offering.
Because that’s what this is—an offer. A promise. A fucking declaration.
But I can’t take it.
I can’t accept it.
If I do, it means I’m choosing this. Choosing him.
I let out a shaky breath, my fingers digging into his arms, my body betraying me by seeking his warmth, his touch, even as my mind screams at me to fucking run.
A sob rips from my throat before I can stop it. It’s raw, fucking ugly, and I hate the way it makes my chest cave in; the way it makes me feel like I’m breaking in his arms.
Connor doesn’t let go.
He tightens his grip, his hold unrelenting like he’s trying to physically keep me together because I sure as fuck can’t do it myself.
“I—” I choke, my fingers curling into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his green eyes flickering with something softer now. “Whatever for?”
“For… being like this. For doubting you. For thinking you wouldn’t fight for me,” I mutter, my throat tight and my face burning. “I don’t know how to stop being scared.”
I shake my head and try to turn away, try to hide, but he doesn’t let me. He forces me to stay in his arms, his chest solid against mine, his warmth wrapping around me like a fucking lifeline.
Connor breathes out harshly, pressing another kiss to my temple, then my cheek, then lower, near the corner of my lips. “Don’t you ever apologize for feelin’ the way you do.”
I let out another broken sob, shaking my head. “I don’t know how to stop it.”
His hand slides up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb brushing against my skin. “Stop what, baby?”
“My mind.” My voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and wrecked. “It—it won’t fuckin’ stop . It keeps telling me I’m a fuckin’ idiot for thinkin’ this can work. That you’ll get tired of me. That your father will kill me. That no matter what you say, no matter how much you want this, I’m still just a fuckin’ problem you have to deal with—”
“Malachi.” Connor’s voice yanks me out of my spiral just enough to make me snap my mouth shut. “Look at me.”
I shake my head, my throat tight. His hand slides to my jaw, his thumb brushing along my cheek. “Babyface, look at me.”
I let out a ragged breath and finally— finally —drag my gaze up to his.
Connor’s hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing away the wetness on my cheeks. “You are not a problem,” he says, his voice steady, unyielding. “You are not a burden. You are not somethin’ I have to ‘deal’ with.”
My bottom lip trembles and I try to look away again, but he doesn’t let me.
“You are mine,” he repeats, voice dropping lower. “And that means I will fight like fuck for you. That means I will never get tired of you. That means whatever is in your head right now—whatever lies it’s tellin’ you, whatever doubts it’s feedin’ you—it’s wrong.”
I swallow hard, my whole body still trembling, my fingers curled tightly into his shirt like I need something to hold onto. His arms tighten around me again, and I hate how much I fucking need it, how much I sink into it, how much I want to believe every word that’s coming out of his mouth.
Connor brushes his lips against my temple. “But I’ve got you,” he whispers. “No matter how chaotic your head gets, baby, I’m not given’ up on us.”
A fresh wave of tears spills over, and I don’t fight it this time. I just let him hold me.
“Connor—” I start, but his lips are on mine, cutting off whatever protest I was about to make.
The kiss is slow, his mouth moving against mine with that same infuriating confidence he always has. His hand slides up to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing the skin there, and I feel myself melting into him despite every voice in my head screaming at me to push him away.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my chest heaving as I try to piece together a single coherent thought. He doesn’t look smug this time, though. His green eyes are serious, searching mine like he’s trying to figure me out.
“Why do you keep denyin’ this?” he asks softly, his voice quieter than I expected. “Why do you keep denyin’ yourself?”
The question feels like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of me. I look away, my throat tightening as shame crawls up my spine. “I’m not—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Don’t lie to me. I could see it even before you got your meds, you were denyin’ what I made you feel.”
I swallow hard, my hands curling into fists where they rest against his chest. The weight of his gaze is suffocating, and I can feel the words stuck in my throat, clawing to get out.
“Malachi,” he says, his voice softer now, his hand moving to cup my cheek. “Talk to me, please. What are you so afraid of?”
I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “What am I afraid of? Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he says firmly. “And don’t try to dodge the question.”
I let out a shaky breath, my chest tight as I glance back at him. His eyes are steady, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m being seen. Really seen. It’s terrifying.
Without thinking, I turn slightly, turning enough to gesture toward my back. I can’t bring myself to say it, can’t form the words, but the meaning is clear. The scars. The fucking scars.
Connor’s expression darkens immediately, his jaw tightening as his hands move to steady me. “Was it him?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.
I don’t need to ask who he means. I nod, my throat burning as the memory threatens to surface.
“I fuckin’ knew it,” Connor mutters, his grip tightening on my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “He did this to you because—because you’re—”
“Because he caught me playing with my cousin’s dolls when I was 6 years old,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Because I wasn’t what he wanted. Because he probably knew I would turn out gay. Take your pick.”
Connor swears under his breath, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and possession. “He’s dead,” he says flatly, his tone like steel. “You know that, right? He’s a fuckin’ dead man.”
I shake my head, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “You can’t kill him, Connor.”
“The fuck I can’t,” he says finally, his voice full of promise.
“You don’t have to—”
“I do,” he grits out, his green eyes locking onto mine. “He kidnapped my sister and hurt you, Malachi. That’s all I need to know.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. The weight of his gaze, the sheer force of his presence, makes it impossible to fight him.
“You’re mine, mo stóirín ,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his hand brushes against my cheek again. “And no one gets to hurt what’s mine. Not ever again.”
The words make my chest ache with a tightness I don’t know how to explain. And I don’t try to fight it. I let myself lean into him, just for a moment, and for once, the weight in my chest doesn’t feel so heavy.
Connor’s arms tighten around me as I lean into him, my head resting against his chest.
Safe wasn’t something I ever thought I’d associate with Connor Cunningham. But here I am, feeling the safest I’ve ever felt in my twenty-one years.
For a while, neither of us speaks. The only sounds in the room are our breaths and the faint patter of rain against the window. It should be awkward, but it’s not. It’s… quiet. Like the storm raging in my chest has settled, just for now.
Connor’s hand moves, sliding up my back, his fingers brushing over the fabric of my shirt. His touch lingers near the scars, gentle and hesitant, like he’s afraid of hurting me. The thought makes my throat tighten.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, the words barely audible.
I blink, startled. “For what?”
“For everythin’,” he says, his voice rough. “For taking you. For not seein’ it sooner. For not knowin’ what you’ve been through.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I say automatically, though the tightness in my chest grows.
“Maybe,” he mutters, his hand stilling against my back. “But that doesn’t make it right. That doesn’t make it easier to look at you and not want to kill the bastard who did this.”
I pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. The anger burning there is almost enough to take my breath away. “You don’t have to fix me, Connor,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“I’m not trying to fix you,” he says immediately, his tone sharp but earnest. “You’re not broken, Malachi. You’re not.”
The conviction in his voice makes my chest ache, and I look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I don’t know how to believe that.”
Connor’s hand moves to my jaw, turning my face back to his. “Then let me show you,” he says, his voice soft. “Let me show you how perfect you are for me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. The weight of his words, the intensity in his eyes—it’s too much. Too overwhelming. I try to look away again, but his grip on my jaw keeps me in place.
“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice lower now. “Do you get that yet? You are mine, and I don’t give a fuck what you think you deserve. You’re not carryin’ this shit alone anymore. Not while I’m here.”
My breath catches and I don’t know how to respond, I don’t know how to deal with the emotions crashing over me like a wave I can’t outrun.
“Why do you care so much?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Connor doesn’t hesitate. “Because it’s you.”
The simplicity of his answer hits harder than it should, and for a moment, I can’t speak. I just stare at him, my thoughts spinning too fast to keep up.
“Connor,” I start, but he cuts me off, his hand moving to cradle the back of my neck.
“Stop,” he says softly, his tone firm but gentle. “You don’t have to say anythin’. Just… let me be here, alright?”
I nod, unable to trust my voice. His hand slides back down to my waist, steadying me as he pulls me closer again. The warmth of him, the strength in his hold—it’s enough to make me feel like, for once, I’m not completely alone.
And maybe, just maybe , I don’t have to be.