Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Malachy
O’Riordan holds the door open for Charlotte, eyeing her from head to toe. A low growl rattles out of my chest, and he has the audacity to chuckle.
I don’t know what he thinks is funny, but I don’t like it.
“Patrick is in the living room getting patched up by Seamus,” he says before he closes the door.
“Shit, I almost managed to forget about that,” Charlotte whispers, freezing in her tracks. “Did I even apologize?”
The distraction of Patrick’s injury is probably the only thing that saves me from getting yelled at by the omega for growling.
“Come on,” I say softly as I step around her to lead the way to the downstairs living room. This house is a fucking maze. We also have a family room and a formal sitting room down here. “We can check on Pat. That way, you’ll be able to see with your own eyes that he’s okay.”
It’ll also give me some idea of which room he had cleaned up for her, but I keep that part to myself.
My pace stays smooth and measured to keep from waking the kid as I take the corner into the main living room.
I stop dead in my tracks when I spot Pat sitting on the coffee table.
It’s barely a damn scratch, but he lost his shirt and jacket, and his jeans hang open in the front.
Perhaps he planned to strip out of his pants to have Seamus dispose of the bloody evidence.
It would be overkill, considering it’s his blood and not someone we need to pretend like we didn’t kill. If it was the latter, hiding the evidence would make sense, but he could pass that scratch off as anything.
Patrick is covered in tattoos from his clavicles, down his sides, and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
The dragons that start on each side and meet in the middle of his pecs are an intricate design that took months of sessions.
Apparently, at some point, they not only finished it, but also added to it.
I don’t let myself focus on why I don’t want Charlotte to have to see him shirtless.
The only logical explanation is that I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.
She’s a guest in our home.
She shouldn’t have to worry about seeing my bare-chested brother.
None of that has anything to do with the fact that women universally love Patrick.
“Shit,” Charlotte whispers, skirting around me. She drops her bags in one of the club chairs and beelines for my half-naked little brother.
“You’re right. She is very pretty,” Seamus says to Patrick, chuckling. “I wouldn’t hold a grudge, either.”
Patrick glares over his shoulder at Seamus. The older-than-dirt enforcer has been with us since our fathers ran things. He doesn’t go out into the field anymore, but he’s family, so we keep him around.
“I am so sorry,” Charlotte says, stopping a foot in front of Patrick.
“It sucks, but it’s not serious.” Pat shrugs and grimaces.
He’s such a baby when it comes to pain.
“Would you look at that,” Seamus says jovially. “Without my glasses, I might do more harm than good. Seems fortuitous that you have another set of capable hands within reach.” He claps Patrick on the shoulder and strides out toward the kitchen.
Pat chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. I can tape myself up, or Mal can do it for me once he gets the two of you settled in.”
Huh.
I guess he does want to live.
I’m holding the woman’s sleeping toddler. She’s also dead on her feet. Now isn’t the time for him to lay on his natural Patrick charm, and I’m strangely relieved that he recognizes it.
“Everything is already laid out. I hurt you. The least I can do is to help patch you up.” Charlotte stretches around him to grab the open bandages Seamus laid out.
Pat seems entirely too pleased with how close she is as she leans past him to grab the items on the coffee table. It reminds me of how he stared directly at her tits when she stripped out of her shirt to hold it to his wound.
He meets my eyes and smirks while she’s not looking. It’s not like I’m going to put the boy down to pummel my brother, so I sway back and forth, patting the lad’s back.
Patrick had better watch out, though. I’m going to stab him once I’m no longer holding the sleeping kid.
My eyes widen as I spot the Christmas tree in the corner by the fireplace. It’s sparsely decorated, and I haven’t the first fucking clue where it came from. It wasn’t here earlier. Neither were the stockings hanging from the mantel.
Charlotte kept repeating the phrase earlier, and apparently, it’s contagious because what the fuck is happening?
Patrick has no shame, accompanying us upstairs with his belt and pants hanging open. It’s like he wants to show off how much time he spends in the gym, and it makes me tempted to show how fast I can put him on his ass.
“I’d better shower and change, but I’ll see you in the morning,” Pat says as we make it to the door of the room she’s staying in. “If you need anything, I’m the second door on the left.” He points to make it extra clear where she can find him if she needs him.
“Oh, thanks,” she says, frowning. “I’m sorry. I think I already said that, but I felt like I should say it again.”
He chuckles, brushing his fingers over her cheek. “Don’t spend another second stressing about it. I forgive you.”
He saunters off while I shove the door open, leading Charlotte inside.
It’s mostly dark, and I don’t want to wake the kid by using the overhead light, so I stride over, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand.
“The bed has fresh sheets, and there will be extra blankets in the armoire if you get cold,” I tell her, backing away from the bed. “That door is the bathroom and the one on the left is the closet.”
While she was patching up Patrick, I grabbed the stuff she carried in from the car. I drop it onto the chair in the corner of the room and spin around to find she’s pulled back the comforter on the queen-size bed.
The expression on her face isn’t familiar.
I bounce the boy on my shoulder, striding back to where she stands. “Would you like me to lay him down?”
She nods. “Let me take his shoes off first.”
She steps closer, pulls the blanket off his back, and reaches between us to work on his shoes.
The Velcro is loud, and she freezes before moving to the next strap.
Our eyes meet, and she smiles softly.
“Sorry. I know he’s heavy, and you’ve had him for a lot longer than I planned.”
I shrug. “He’s a solid kid, but he’s not heavy to me.”
“I wish I was that lucky,” she says, tugging off his shoe. “He’s reaching the limits of what I can lift, and he’s three. He’s so much bigger than all the other kids his age, even the ones who are likely to be alphas.”
“I was too,” I say, keeping my voice low. “He’ll be taller than you before you know it.”
“One day, I’m going to put him down and never be able to lift him again. It kills me.”
“Yeah, that’s part of life. I can imagine how hard that would be for any mam…” I chuckle. “Any mom.”
“You have an accent, but Patrick doesn’t. Did you move here before he could pick one up?” she asks, tugging off the boy’s other shoe.
I shake my head. “My fathers couldn’t handle a toddler once they lost my mother. They shipped me off to live with my grandparents until they found a new wife to take over raising me.”
She gasps softly, bringing her hand to my arm. “That’s awful for all of you. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t even remember her.” I shrug. “Am I good to put him down?”
Charlotte nods, stepping out of the way. “Just aim him toward the middle of the mattress, if you can. He flops like a fish. I’m going to need to put some pillows behind him.”
It’s slow going to place the kid down, but I put him on his side, facing the inside of the bed rather than the edge. Reaching over him, I grab one of the king-size pillows and tuck it behind him before grabbing the blanket and pulling it up.
Charlotte appears at my side, and her hand comes to rest on my back as she leans over, putting a blue and green dinosaur in front of him.
Her stormy, electric scent hits my nose, making my instincts hum. Fuck if I know what they’re asking for, but it’s clear her scent means something.
Once she’s no longer touching me, I take a step back, followed quickly by another. “What’s his name?”
“Lukas, but I call him Lucky.” She twists to face me, pulling off her jacket.
“The bathroom should be stocked. If you need anything to eat, pick up the phone and hit three. It’ll call down to the kitchen staff.” I nod to the phone next to the bed. “Five reaches my room, and six is Patrick.”
“Thanks, Malachy,” she says, tossing her coat onto the nearby dresser.
“I’ll be around. We can talk more in the morning. Get some sleep.” I start to back away, but it’s hard to convince my body to keep moving. She’s anxious, and my instincts want to comfort the overwhelmed omega. Only, that’s a terrible fucking idea, so I force myself out of the room.
Even if I could convince myself to leave the door leading to Charlotte and Lukas, I still wouldn’t be able to make myself get a wink of sleep.
I’ve been out here for hours.
It has to be close to four in the morning.
There was some shuffling and movement right after I left her to get some rest, but there hasn’t been a peep in hours.
I know because I’ve creepily sat outside her door like some fucked-up, unwanted bodyguard.
Okay, that makes me sound like a stalker, which I’m not.
Usually.
It’s just that this house is big.
It’s hard to find your way around if you know where you’re going. Not to mention, there are multiple sets of stairs. The boy, Lukas, is used to living in an apartment. What if he toddles out, goes exploring, and breaks his fucking neck because he’s not expecting the stairs?
Jesus Christ.
I rip my phone out of my back pocket and search for baby gates. We’re going to need three, and they have to be heavy-duty enough to keep a toddler from trying to climb over them.
How the hell did my dads keep three kids alive in this house? Ehh, the nannies and our mothers were to thank for that, I’m sure.
I order the hardware and the gates, dropping my phone on the carpet next to me.
I haven’t seen a soul for hours.
Patrick possibly called it a night, but I have no idea where Cormac is. He has to be responsible for the Christmas decorations. With the holiday coming up, it was a nice touch.
We had no intention of celebrating. With just the three of us, there was no reason to. Well, not outside of a quick Merry Christmas and the kitchen staff preparing a nice dinner.
We occasionally exchange gifts, but I’m sure if Charlotte and Lukas stick around through the holiday, we’ll have to adjust how we handle things.
Some type of noise filters through the door and out to me, making my head tilt as I listen even more intently. It almost sounds like crying or possibly the boy is awake and talking.
Shit.
Poor Charlotte.
She was exhausted, and it hasn’t been more than three or four hours since she fell asleep. There’s no way she’s had enough rest to wake up and tackle the day.
The noise continues, and I push off the floor, taking the few steps to the door. Plastering my face to it, I try to make out what’s happening.
I can’t decipher if Charlotte is crying or maybe the kid is awake and scared because it’s an unfamiliar environment. It’s not like my big ass is going to offer him any comfort, but I could take him downstairs for breakfast so Charlotte could get another few hours of sleep.
Would that be kidnapping the kid?
Hell, we basically kidnapped both of them last night. She was so frazzled, there’s no way she was coherent enough to make the call to come willingly.
I told her to get in the car because she was coming with me…
Damn.
Did I kidnap the omega and her child?
Nah, that’s silly.
She came mostly willingly.
The boy is passed out like a starfish across most of the bed when I finally pump myself up enough to check what’s happening.
Charlotte is facing away from the door in the fetal position on her side with her hands close to her chest. Her face contorts in her sleep, and she whimpers.
She must be having a nightmare, right?
I’m not sure seeing me when she wakes up will help a damn thing.
Cormac and Patrick are right.
I look like a damn mountain man with my shaggy hair and unkempt beard. I like my beard, though. It keeps my face warm in the frigid temperatures.
Watching her jolt around as she imagines something that frightens her doesn’t sit well with me.
I gently kneel on the edge of the bed and give her a tender shake.
Her eyes pop open, and she shrieks as she claws at my forearm. It sends a shiver down my spine. She’s terrified of someone; that much is plain to see.
My eyes fly to the boy, but he doesn’t do more than stretch in his sleep, so I focus on his mom once more.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” I avoid grabbing her wrist, even as her nails dig into my skin to the point it feels like she’s drawing blood.
“Malachy?”
“That’s right.” I lean away as she rolls onto her back and sits up. “Lukas is fine. He’s right next to you.”
She twists to face him and runs her fingers over his cheek. “It was so real.”
“Your nightmare?” I ask, grimacing.
She’s still sleepy, but eventually, she’s going to wake up enough that she asks me what the hell I’m doing in here.
“I thought he found us,” she whispers, rolling her lips together.
“Lukas’s dad?” I ask, hoping she’ll give me something.
Her head shakes, and it’s like she shuts down before my eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
I can’t exactly tell her that I haven’t slept a wink, because I’ve been stationed outside her door all night. “No apology needed. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Forcing myself to climb off the bed is difficult, but it’s not like I can make her let me hold her while she falls back to sleep. It’s weird as shit that I would even want to, but I fully blame alpha and omega dynamics on why it feels wrong to leave her when she’s so unsettled.
Goddammit.
I need more information on the kid’s dad.