Page 39 of Hustle

She laughs derisively. “Oh, fuck, Seamus. Of course you’d think that. No. Finn didn’t do this to me. I did this to myself.”

That gives me pause.

I put my finger under her chin and tilt it up. She’s beautiful, even with the bruises blooming around her wide gray eyes.

“What do you mean, Evi?”

“God, Seamus,” she laughs, but it’s not the musical sound I’m used to. It’s like ice and it leaves me feeling a little sick.

“I just want to help you,” I say, pulling her closer to me.

If I can just hold her, just let her know she’s safe, we can figure this out. Whateverthisis.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Seamus. I know you do. You’re always helping people. Goddamn Saint Seamus of South Boston, son of the devil.” She pushes out of my arms and sits on the couch.

She curls her legs up behind her and refuses to look at me.

The rejection scalds, but I fight down my feelings. Push through it, just trying to close the distance that seems like it’s opening between us again. Whatever we’ve found, I don’t want to lose it in that cold chasm again.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “We have a plan, Evi. Why did you call in Finn Carney? And who hit you?”

“I got into a bar fight,” she says, flinging an arm up. Her cat jumps up on the couch next to her and stares daggers at me. “It’s just who I am, Seamus. You’re going to have to deal with it.”

But it’s not who she is. She and I both know that. This is the shield she puts up, and I can’t process how we went from fucking for hours to this.

Maybe it is the sex. Maybe she regrets being with me. Maybe I’ve read this entire thing wrong.

That fucking hurts.

What does she want from me?

When several more seconds pass and she makes no move to say anything, I try again.

“Do you want me to leave?” I offer, because I don’t know what else to say. She looks up at me. I don’t want to go, but I will.

“Seamus,” she says, hugging her knees. “I care about you. So much.”

There’s a ragged edge to her voice, that note of untouchable Evi pain.

“But?” I ask. I’m in over my head, in some emotional deep end I just don’t know how to swim. If she can just tell me what’s wrong, tell me what she needs, I can fix it.

“I need to decide this on my own. You can’t fix everything for me. That’s not your job,” she bites out every word.

It’s like an icy slap in the face.

“I want it to be,” I say, stepping closer to her. Her cat hisses. “This isn’t just a job to me, Evi. You, this neighborhood,” I make a sweeping gesture. “What else is worth fighting for?”

She curls into a tighter ball. I can tell she’s trying hard not to cry. Evi is a tough woman and I’ve rarely seen her cry despite the shit she’s been through. What am I missing?

Holy shit. Does she have feelings for that Carney scumbag? Insecurity and a jealousy so fierce it blinds me fill me in an instant.

“Do you care about Finn?” I ask tentatively. Praying that answer’s no.

She snorts. “Seamus,” she says darkly. “Come on.”

Relief rockets through me. Then whatever’s wrong, if she can just tell me, I’ll fix it.

I sit on the couch next to her. It squeals under my weight. The cat refuses to budge.

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