Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SEAMUS
My first thought is, oh fuck, someone cased the place. There are bits of stuffing and torn paper all over the floor. I move Emma behind me, straining my bruised bone and sapping some ideas from my partial hard-on. “Stay put,” I say, my voice a harsh undertone.
I’ve never known her not to talk back, but she doesn’t argue with me, thank God. I take a step inside the apartment…and then I see the ball of fluff chewing dents into the coffee table, plus the path of rabbit pellets all over the floor, among the chewed-up paper and stuffing.
Relieved laughter, followed by amused laughter, and then very quickly thereafter, pained laughter—rips out of me, and I grip the edge of the doorframe to keep upright. “Holy shit that hurts,” I say through the laughter.
“Why are you laughing ?” Emma asks in disbelief, ducking in around me.
“Look who finally decided to wake up,” I manage.
Carrot thumps his back leg against the floor and then barrels toward us with his oversized teeth bared.
“Oh shit,” I wheeze out. I’m not afraid of rabbits, but I don’t want to get bitten by one, especially if it means a third hospital visit. And I certainly won’t let anyone attack Emma—human or otherwise. So I back out of the apartment, pulling her with me, and slam the door on the fluffball. Half a second later, there’s an audible bang that tells me his momentum carried him against the wood.
She turns to me in disbelief. “Was that Carrot ?”
“He seemed to have the personality of one this morning. Ellie must keep him drugged to the gills so she can parade him around and dress him up in those stupid outfits from her photos.”
She swears, then rubs her forehead. “We’ll throw a towel over him so we can get him inside of his cage without getting bitten. But we can’t give him back to her if she’s keeping him drugged senseless. Could you imagine? We’ll have to bring him to a rescue group or something.”
There it is again—a touch of softness she can’t hide. Of caring for other people, even rabbits with shitty attitudes. It makes it harder to resist the pull I feel, which goes so much deeper than I’m comfortable with.
Her bottom lip is pushed out a little farther than the top, and I find myself reaching up to run my thumb over it. Her lips open in shock, and I draw back.
“Rock, paper, scissors for which of us has to throw the towel.”
Her lips open farther. “Honestly, this isn’t fun—”
“Just kidding. I'm doing it,” I say, already pulling off my jacket—the action making it feel like someone’s stabbing me through the ribs.
“Seamus,” she says, reaching for me. “You’re injured.” Worry twines around the words like a vine trying to hold me back. I’m enough of an asshole to be pleased that she’s worried about me, but not enough of one to let her have anything to do with this takedown.
“Let me take care of it, Emma,” I insist. “Let me pretend I’m a hero for once.”
Her grip slackens, freeing me, and I burst into the apartment. The rabbit is still by the door, chewing on something that will hopefully neither kill him nor destroy one of Chuck’s prize possessions. But he instantly gets onto his hind legs and starts boxing his front feet at me. It’s honestly kind of adorable—or would be if he didn’t obviously intend to claw me bloody. I throw the coat over him, catching him, and carry the squirming bundle into his cage. I crouch down and push him inside quickly enough that I’m able to close the latch. The whole time my ribs scream at me, and another headache has set in. A headache that suggests maybe it’s time for me to sleep for twelve hours.
The rabbit makes an aggrieved sound I wasn’t aware a rabbit could make—and then hisses at me.
“No shit,” I murmur as I hear the door close and then Emma’s feet softly padding toward me. When she leans over my shoulder to look at him, her hair brushes my cheek, a soft tickle of sensation.
I glance at her, finding our faces inches apart, and my body seems to forget how to breathe. I didn’t really know how lucky I was, when I casually kissed her on the first minute of the New Year. I knew I wanted to do it, sure. As far as I’m concerned, it would be impossible for a person to spend five minutes with this alluring, confusing, difficult woman without wanting to put their mouth on her. But I didn’t realize how special the moment was until it was already in the past—until she was shutting a door on me and telling me what I already knew. That to do anything else would be a horrible mistake.
I want to make a horrible mistake.
Emma moves, more’s the pity, and retrieves some vegetables from the refrigerator, which she takes over to Chuck’s chicken-shaped chopping board.
Why is it shaped like a chicken?
I’m sure there’s a thirty-minute story about it, but I haven’t heard it yet.
“Are those for me or the rabbit?” I ask as I grip the top of the cage.
“Both,” she says with a sidelong smile before she starts chopping. “When do you think Chuck’s coming home?”
Good question.
I take out my phone and find half a dozen messages from Ellie, requesting a softer pillow, a thinner pillow, and a heart-to-heart chat about what it means that Jeffrey showed up after all and whether she should give him the time of day. One of the messages is a link to the livestream, along with a thumbs up.
They’re all worried about you!
None of the messages, of course, ask how I’m doing. Carrot’s name isn’t mentioned either. But in the final text she asks whether I’ll be back at the hotel tonight, or if she should expect me bright and early in the morning.
I type out a quick response—
I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow. But I think Nicky’s at the hotel. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to help you with your requests, and she’s a fantastic listener.
There, let Nicole deal with that shit.
I pull up a message window for Chuck.
How’s it going, man?
There’s no response, so I glance at Emma, watching as she continues to cut the carrots into precise sticks. I’ll bet each one is the same size. The same amount of ounces. She’s a woman of opposites—a mix of precise and passionate, of whims and rules. It’s frankly intoxicating.
Feeling a buzz in my hand, I glance down at my phone.
Good news! I can hardly believe it, but I think this IS a date. The dessert didn’t turn out so good. We weren’t paying too much attention to the details, and Dahlia almost lit a kitchen towel on fire with the torch. But she had some chocolate-covered strawberries in the refrigerator. She said they aphrodisiacs. That means something, right?
Most definitely
Thank you for helping me choose a shirt last night. She told me it looked “debonair.” I had to Google it, but it’s a good thing.
You know, I think she might want me to kiss her.
She wants more than that if she’s feeding him chocolate-covered strawberries and talking about aphrodisiacs, but I don’t want to scare him off.
So what the fuck are you doing texting me?
I was in the lavatory doing some research when I saw your message.
Research?
It’s a long story, but I don’t want to be in here for too long. She might think I have IBS.
Should I ask her if I can kiss her? It’s been such a long time.
I’m guessing so. These Rosings women like to be in charge.
Oh dear. I realize I’ve only been talking about myself. How is your night going?
This is probably where I should tell him about the bruised rib and the nightmare state of the apartment, but when I look up, I see her. Emma has finished chopping the carrots and is arranging them on a plate as if the rabbit’s not going to immediately plow his way through them.
Remembering Chuck, I glance back down at the phone screen.
It’s going great. I have some company, actually.
A woman?
Yup.
Oh, splendid. You know, I think that woman we met the other day was right. It feels like anything could be possible tonight.
Feel free to offer your friend the bran muffins in the refrigerator. I made them this morning, and I doctored the recipe. It’s much better. I actually ate two.
Maybe I should have only eaten one. My stomach really is a mess.
Shaking my head, I type:
I won’t expect you until late.
Wish me luck.
I’m still crouched by the rabbit cage. Bracing myself, I stand, feeling the burn in my ribs. I use one hand on top to keep myself propped up on.
I glance over at Emma, who just lifted the plate after arranging those carrots as carefully as if the fate of the world depended on them.
“Chuck is going to lay one on your mother.”
“What?” she asks dropping the plate onto the counter with a resounding clang.
A smile ghosts across my face. “Don’t worry, Em. He’s going to ask first, the way a gentleman should.”
Shaking her head, she reaches for one of the carrots, their arrangement now completely destroyed, and puts it in her mouth for a bite. “I’m really glad it’s Chuck she’s seeing, and I hope it works out, but part of me still can’t believe she’s serious about dating again.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, angling my head.
She comes forward with the plate of carrots, obviously having given up on the order plan, then lowers into a crouch next to me to squeeze a few of the sticks through the bars of the rabbit’s cage. This puts her next to me on her knees, and the sight brings back a hundred different fantasies I’ve had since meeting her. I suck in a breath and hold it, because I’m still interested in hearing her response to my question. I want to fold back her layers, to know her fully.
Peering up at me, she says, “She’s been married three times, and she’s told me more times than I can count that marriage is a trap. My father was a terrible person, her first husband didn’t sound much better, and Mark was a good guy, but it wasn’t the best match. She could have divorced him if she’d wanted to—he wouldn’t have fought her—but my dad would never have let her go. He would have taken everything from her. Including us. Anyway…that’s one of the reasons I decided to work on divorce cases, to help women who are stuck in that trap. And now, here she is, looking for another serious relationship to fall into when she insisted she never would.”
“To be fair, I doubt Chuck would ever hold anyone back. He’s the most mild-mannered man I’ve ever met. He once apologized to a barista who gave him the wrong drink.”
She smiles and gets up, inches away from me, and I feel a pull of longing in my chest—a desire to reach out and touch. To see if her head would tuck under my chin if I pulled her into my chest.
Of course, if I pulled her into my chest right now, I’d probably be writhing in pain the next second.
“Like I said, I’m glad it’s Chuck. For her sake. I hope she doesn’t walk all over him.”
I grin at her. “I think he’d like a woman to walk all over him. The man takes forty-five minutes to pick a movie to watch, and after all of that fuss, he makes me choose it for him nine times out of ten. Maybe they’ll find a good balance.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she says softly. “It’s the full moon Leap Day, and I think I’m starting to see the joy of statistical improbabilities happening. Anthony and Rosie are finding a good balance. Do you know how rare that is given how they met?”
I give her a wide grin. “Have they reached seventy-thirty in your estimation?”
She smiles back at me. “I watched them share dessert the other night…with one fork. Maybe I’d even grant them eighty-twenty.”
“I’d let you eat all of my dessert,” I say like a fool.
She shakes her head, still smiling slightly, but I can tell she thinks I’m throwing out another line. I’ll let her think so.
A few seconds pass before she says, “I want to believe they can be happy. I want to believe my mother can find someone to be happy with too. But it’s hard to let go of everything I’ve experienced and seen.”
“We’re going to take care of Jeffrey,” I remind her. “We have the information on Ellie’s phone. He messed with the wrong person. Two of the wrong people, actually, as much as I hate to give Ellie a compliment.”
Her smile turns sad. “It’s not going to automatically solve all of my problems.”
“What would therapists do if people magically stopped being fucked up?” I say. “You don’t want to deprive thousands of people of a living.”
She laughs softly. “You think there are only thousands of therapists in the world?”
“There are probably fewer of them than lawyers.” I wink at her, but the look on her face—amused and warm—grips me in a way that makes me almost uncomfortable. It makes me look away for a second to get my shit together. “Anyway…I hope this convinces Chuck to power through with his divorce. He deserves more.”
“You’re good to him,” she says.
“He’s good to me,” I correct. “And good for me. It’s not healthy for me to live alone. I fall into bad memories. Bad habits too.”
Dark places.
“Like smoking?”
I grin at her. “What do you know, I quit.”
“Sure you did,” she says, already shaking her head in disbelief.
“A very demanding woman stole my lighter. So maybe Chuck isn’t the only one who likes getting walked all over.”
A puff of air escapes her. Giving me an incredulous look, she says, “The only woman you’d let walk all over you is Shadow.”
I think of Lia and rub a sore spot on my chest—only this one is so far on the inside nothing could touch it. I should keep my mouth shut, but I find myself saying, “Nah, I had this woman once. I let her convince me to do something I still regret. It wasn’t her fault, but she encouraged my worst impulses. That’s why I decided never to get close to anyone else. I stopped trusting myself.”
She watches me, understanding flashing in her eyes. “She wanted you to work for your uncle.”
I’m not surprised she caught on. But I’m not going to give all the responsibility to Lia, however tempting that is. “Sure, but I was willing to give it a try. I liked feeling important.”
“How long did you work for him?”
I wipe my mouth and look down before meeting her gaze again. “I lasted all of a week, but I wasn’t without ambition. After he died, I tried to convince Declan we should take over his operations. Lia had nothing to do with that. She dropped me after I quit.”
“You wanted her back,” she says flatly.
My mouth curls into a smile. “Nah. It had been years. But maybe I wanted her to want me back. I’ve never pretended to be a good guy. I don’t want you to pretend I’m one either.”
“No one’s only good or bad,” she says, pressing a hand to the side of my chest that doesn’t hurt like hell.
“No one?”
“No one.”
“What about that waste of life Jeffrey?” I ask. His name tastes sour in his mouth. I’d like to spit it at him.
She smiles at me. “Sure, maybe him. He put his mother in an old age home and never visited her.”
“The real shocker is that she’s still kicking. What is she, ninety?”
She presses against that same safe place on my chest—a soft version of a shove, because she knows I’ve been kicked around enough tonight.
“Thank you for telling me about Lia.”
“I don’t know why I did,” I admit.
“ I do.”
“Care to fill me in?” I ask, reaching up to touch her hand, still hot on my chest, branding me. I press it down harder, wanting to keep it there.
“You’re warning me away, or maybe yourself. But I already know why we should stay away from each other.”
“Because we’re in-laws.”
“That’s one reason,” she agrees. “There are plenty of others. Like the fact that you have secrets, and I’m a person who likes to dig.”
I smile at her. “And a lawyer who might bury me with that same shovel.”
“I wouldn’t,” she tells me firmly, the expression on her face brooking no argument. I believe her, and it makes my heart hurt. Because it sucks to have a deep wanting for something you can’t have.
“But it wouldn’t put me in a good position,” she continues.
“No. Probably wouldn’t be the best position for me to be in either.”
“Are you worried about your face being seen on Ellie’s broadcast tonight?” she asks, frowning, as if the thought had only just occurred to her.
“Not really. But my brother is going to freak out when he finds out. She texted the link to me and there are a lot of views and comments.”
“Why aren’t you worried?” she asks.
I sigh, leaning against the rabbit’s cage—and getting another hiss from him. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want anyone messing with my home either.
“We have protection.”
“From your family?
“Something like that.”
I glance at Emma, who has the look of a woman who knows she’s not getting a straight answer. She doesn’t seem pissed, though, more resigned. Like she knows this is part of the wall between us and agrees with me that it should probably stay there.
“Go take a seat,” she says softly, rubbing my chest now. “I’ll get you some tea.”
I don’t want any tea, but I’m feeling unsettled. Uncertain. And I’m aching to get off my feet. So I let her walk away from me, and I head into the living room and lower into the green chair Emma brought over the other day. It feels like sitting in a cardboard box, but I can’t get up.
“Oh, no,” she says when she returns a few minutes later with a mug full of tea I have no intention of drinking. She captures her full bottom lip between her teeth. “That chair’s no good for sitting.”