Chapter Twenty-Eight
Shai
“No way I’ll be able to sleep yet,” I tell Rory when we get to the bedroom. “I feel fucking high or something—not the chill kind of high from smoking weed, but like I’m feeling too much to unwind.”
It’s not my style to think shit like this, but tonight was one of the best nights of my life—every night with Rory is, but starting with what we shared in Cillian’s room, telling Rory I love him, all of us hanging out, and then playing with Cillian…
“I’m shaking.” I hold my hand out for him to see. “Is it weird that I feel closer to you after playing with him?” Whatever the fuck this is, whatever draw, bond, love exists between the people in this house, it’s addicting, contagious, like it fills every part of you.
“No,” Rory says, “it’s not weird. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. I felt it too.”
Of course he’d get it. It’s like I feel Rory on a different level.
Like something in the universe planned this, created these two fuckups who don’t always make the best decisions and aren’t like everyone else.
It mapped out a way for us to meet, for us to be brought together, and somehow, that would make us both better.
“I have something for you,” I tell him. I bought it a week ago but have been nervous to give it to him. I worried it was a dumb gift or that it wasn’t my place, but I want to share it with him, want to find a way to give Rory everything he needs, and I think this is one piece of that.
“If it’s a dildo, I’d rather this instead.” He reaches out and grabs my dick. “Mmm, you know I always want this.”
“Be good, baby. You can have all the dick you want later.”
He pouts but lets go. I go over to one of my bags. Most of my shit has made it into his drawers, but I still have my backpack in the corner. I pull out the box, still trembling but for a different reason now, nervousness battling with the euphoria from moments ago.
Rory takes the box from me but doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at it.
Did I misjudge the situation? Is this hard for him because of the memories associated with his mom? “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want, or you can do it another time, or…”
“You bought me a model airplane?”
I did, which now feels stupid.
“No. I didn’t.” I try to play it off like this didn’t happen, reach for the box, but Rory doesn’t let me take it from him.
And then…then I swear his blue eyes light up, his smile gets so fucking big, I can’t believe it fits on his face.
He looks giddy, in this excited, almost childlike way I’ve never seen from him before.
“Let’s do it right now.” He immediately turns toward the desk.
It’s got clothes and other shit on it, but Rory just knocks everything to the floor.
Okay, I guess this was a good idea. I made him happy, which is one of my favorite things.
I pull the armchair over. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I’ll teach you.” He opens the box, takes out the instructions booklet, then starts separating the pieces. There’s also glue and paint. I try to imagine a young Rory unable to keep still, doing these with his mom.
“I had…fuck, a shit ton of these as a kid. I loved sharing that with her. Those were my favorite times. This once, my dad came home. He was pissed because he’d gotten in trouble with Sloan—that’s Tiernan’s dad; he’s dead now.
But he grabbed one, threw it against the wall, and busted it.
My mom…she’d been in her own world all day, but that snapped her out of it.
That moment was one of the few times she showed up for me. ”
“Jesus, Ror. I’m so sorry.” Parents can really fuck you up. I think we’ve all been traumatized by our parents in some way.
“It’s okay. It made me think she loved me.”
Jesus, this man. It’s like this one simple gift has cracked him open, let him show me more pieces of himself, but somehow, it’s also stitching him back together.
“Me, Ash, Tiernan, and Cillian slashed his tires after that.” He pumps his brows, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Aislin too?”
“Fuck yes. You don’t mess with someone she loves.” He flattens the instructions. “That means you now as well…since you love me and all.”
I grin at him. “Since I love you, huh?”
“Yep. And because you’re mine.”
“I can’t wait for you to tell me you love me.” He does. I know he does, and I’m okay with waiting until he’s ready to say it.
“Sorry I’m so fucked up.”
“I don’t want you to be any way other than how you are. I like you.”
“Love me,” he corrects, and I think maybe Rory needs to hear it again, even if he doesn’t realize it.
“I love you.”
He beams in his wild, almost manic way, then scoots his chair closer to mine. He begins looking for a piece he needs. “Tell me something good about Kat. I don’t want to hate my mother-in-law.”
“Oh, she’s your mother-in-law, but you’re not sure you love me?” I tease.
“I don’t make the rules. It’s an interesting place inside my head.”
Yes, it is, and I want to learn it all, want to study it, get my PhD in everything Rory Fitzpatrick. Reaching out, I brush my black-painted nails against his temple. “I like it in there.”
“Good.” When I lower my hand, he playfully tries to bite my finger, and I laugh. “Now tell me.”
Something good about my mom…okay… “She never let anyone touch me. There were times people wanted to, offered her money and shit, but she never took it, and those men never came around again.”
“Jesus.”
“She’s not all bad. Sometimes she’s like a kid in an adult’s body.
She’s a lot, she’s irresponsible, selfish, makes a lot of mistakes, but there have been times when I couldn’t protect myself, and she always protected me.
She protected some of the other women too—taking a beating in their place, interfering if one of the rougher clients wanted one of the softer women. ” I shrug. “She’s my mom.”
Rory gives me a slow nod of understanding. “She makes good breakfast,” he says, and God, it makes me love him even more.
“When I was young, she used to let me have ice cream for breakfast…and she bought me this little keyboard so I could play, even though we didn’t have the money for it.”
“This one time, me, Cillian, and Tiernan almost got arrested for setting this house on fire. We were, like, eleven. It was before Moira died—that’s Cil’s mom—so anyway…”
He tells me stories, one after the other. I share some of my own, nothing like his with his family, but I do have more bits and pieces of myself I can share. I want Rory to know as much about me as I plan to learn about him.
We work on the model and just…talk, in this way I’ve never done with anyone. As the hours pass, I get sleepier and sleepier, but Rory doesn’t seem to be getting tired at all. Eventually, I curl up on the armchair, not working on the plane anymore, but watching him.
It’s not until my eyes flutter open that I realize I fell asleep.
The room is bright, the partly cloudy sky showing through the open curtains, letting me know it’s morning…
and Rory’s just sitting there, in the uncomfortable desk chair, completed plane in hand, watching me.
Everything about him is intense, a walking red flag that most people would run away from but that I would do anything to hold on to.
“Shit. I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
“It’s okay. I just finished a little while ago.” He looks at me and grins. I’ve never in my life been happier that I bought someone a gift.
“And then you decided to watch me?”
“I always watch you. You just don’t always know it.”
Goose bumps travel up my arms, and I welcome the sensation, welcome any feeling Rory gives me.
“You bought me a model plane,” he says again, bemused.
“I wanted to do something nice for you. I couldn’t afford the panties, but since we don’t have to worry about rent now, things are better. I’ll buy you one every day if you want.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t complain.” He smirks, making my heart try to break through my chest and into his.
My whole fucking world is wrapped up in him now, like I don’t know how I ever existed before him.
Like every good thing in my life is tied to him and I just want the ropes tighter and tighter so we’ll never be apart.
It might not be the healthiest way to feel, but I don’t care. I want to burn in this obsession I feel for him, dance in the sweet ruin we’ve left behind, because here, in this world we’ve created, we’re better because of each other.
“I want you to fuck me,” Rory says.
“I always want to fuck you.”
“Go lie in the bed. I’ll be right back.”
Rory closes the bathroom door behind him, and I hear water running—I assume he’s freshening up.
Maybe I should have too, but that’s not what he asked me to do.
I strip out of my clothes, my dick already hard and throbbing with need.
He’s in there for a while, long enough that my dick flags some, but when the door opens, I’m slowly stroking myself back to life again.
“Fuuuck,” I say when I get a good look at him.
He’s wearing lacy boy shorts, a pretty red color that looks sexy as hell against his skin.
I love seeing him this way, this chaotic, slightly deranged man everyone fears, this man I know is a killer, who has tortured others, but here, for me, with me, we have this.
“Compliment me.” He quirks a brow as he walks over. “Or I’ll think you don’t like what you see.”
“I love what I see so much, my brain stopped working.”
“Then tell me.”
“You’re so fucking pretty, so goddamned hot.” I push onto my knees as he climbs on the bed, my cock red, leaking, and pointing just at him. “You’re mine…my cherry, my killer, my boyfriend. Mine.” I kiss him. “Mine.” Another kiss. “Mine.”