Chapter Thirty-Two
Rian
Torin drives us to the restaurant—Abbott and me in the back, while Finan is in another car behind us.
It’s probably overkill. Abbott had been on his own at his house, going about his business every day, and no one had gone after him since the first time at the hospital, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Honestly, the fact that no one has gone after him again makes me more nervous.
Whoever is pulling the strings isn’t stupid.
They’d sent a group of idiots after him the first time, but I don’t think they would make the same mistake again.
If they come for him, they will be more calculated…
more organized, and that’s what scares me.
Why?
“You’re being quiet,” Abbott says, sitting across from me at the table. We’re at one of the most high-end restaurants in Boston—one where I should have needed a reservation to get in, but it’s amazing the things they can make happen for an O’Shea.
There are men here tonight who are connected, businessmen that I’ve worked with before, people who know my name, notice me with a man, and the statement I’m making.
He’s mine.
I don’t care what you think.
Threaten him and threaten me. That’s the biggest message I want those around me to take away from seeing me with him.
“Sorry. Just thinking. You have my full attention now.”
“That’s all I really want.”
Fuuuuck. This man. He’s going to get me hard right here in the middle of the restaurant. Hearing him say shit like that goes two places—straight to my dick and to that organ in my chest that had been sleeping before he came into my life.
“Mr. O’Shea,” I hear and immediately stiffen, but I don’t let my hand move to my gun. Torin is in the corner watching as I look up to see the owner of the restaurant. “I just want to thank you for coming in. It’s neutral ground here and—”
“Torin goes nowhere,” I say. Finan is outside watching too.
“Yes, sir. That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you know we take our position in the community seriously, and we’re so glad you could be here with us tonight.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. This is my partner, Doctor Abbott. Where I’m accepted, he is good.”
“Yes, sir. Of course,” he says to me before giving his attention to Abbott. “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Abbott.”
Abbott’s gaze is shooting back and forth between Truman and me, like he’s not sure what’s happening. “Um…it’s nice to meet you, as well.”
They shake, and a moment later, Truman walks away, Abbott’s brows raised at me. “Does this kind of thing always happen?”
“Yes. It’s a sign of respect, that they want to stay on our good side.”
“Neutral ground?” he asks next.
“There are places in the city that are considered safe—that rivals won’t hit. Technically, we shouldn’t need Torin and Fin here tonight, but I wasn’t taking any chances with you.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Thank you, Rian.”
Reaching over, I cup his face. “I’ll always protect you, pretty thing.”
His flush makes me want to bend him over the table and fuck him right here, but I’m good and don’t.
We have a really nice dinner together. I don’t hide who Abbott is to me.
A lot of important people come to Truman’s, so I don’t hold back any looks or touches, making sure the staff and anyone else here tonight knows that Abbott is mine…
and if you come after him, you’re coming after me, and we all know who will come out on top.
We’re interrupted more than once, someone approaching to pay their respects or to say they heard I’d been shot and they’re glad I’m okay. There are businessmen who try to make business connections as well, but I usher them away. Tonight is about Abbott and me.
“Do you know when you’re going back to work?” I ask halfway through our meal. I’m hoping this discussion doesn’t start another argument for the night because I don’t want him to go back until I’ve killed whoever tried to murder him and the person who set it up.
“No. I’ve spent so much of my life needing to be Doctor Abbott to be worth something, and now I’m just trying to figure out how it fits into my life without making it my whole identity.”
“You are so much more than that,” I tell him. “But what you’ve accomplished is pretty fucking incredible too. You save lives, pretty thing. Both our hands have seen death, only you’re trying to prevent it, while I deliver it.”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “Maybe that’s true, but death weighs on us both the same. It’s not easy watching someone die, regardless. It takes something from you. I’ll be there to fill you back up if you’ll be there for me too.”
And he would—he would be there for me in that, and it’s a fucking gift. “I want to fuck you on this table right now.” It’s not the first time tonight I’ve thought about it.
Abbott winks playfully. “Maybe when we get home.”
“Oh, I think that’s a guarantee.”
“I hope so.” Abbott shoots me a smile. “Anyway…when it comes to my job, I’m not saying I don’t want to do it anymore. I just want more.”
“You have more,” I tell him. “You can have whatever the fuck you want.”
He reaches over, covering my hand with his. “I have it…even if you do have a temper.”
“I had a feeling you were still mad at me about Torin. I can’t change that about myself—not with you.” I’m a jealous and possessive motherfucker. Always have been and always will be.
“I get that, but it’s important to me that you don’t look at me like someone who needs saving. It’s hot that you want to save me…to protect me. But we need to be on equal footing.”
“We are,” I say. “But I’ll try and be better.” I have to, if I want this to work. I know what Abbott is sacrificing, what he’s risking to be with me. He’s a surgeon. What if being connected to me ruins that for him? What if his dream is taken away because of me?
“You’re deep in thought again,” he says. “We both know what it means to be together. I’m in, remember?”
How can I forget? “I’m in too.”
My phone rings, interrupting us. I look and see it’s Conan. He wouldn’t call unless he needed to. “It’s Conan,” I say, halfway standing, before sitting back down again. Keeping my voice low, I answer the call. “Yeah?”
He fills me in on a situation at Paradise—someone trying to sell drugs in our club. “Flynn has him now,” he says.
I watch Abbott, who’s watching me, not flinching away from what he has to know isn’t a good conversation. “You know how to take care of the problem. You have my permission.”
“Gotcha. We’ll deal with it. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to come…”
Before Abbott, I would have. I would have interrupted my meal because I always had something to prove; I couldn’t be the guy who stayed back. I won’t let that be me anymore, determined to find a balance. “I’m good. Thanks for checking in, C.”
“Everything okay?” Abbott asks when I end the call.
“Everything is great. How about dessert?”
“Sounds good to me.”
When we’re done, and the meal has been paid for, I stand and take his hand, walking out of the restaurant with him—making a statement, yes, but also just proud of the man on my arm.