Page 52 of Shameless Royalty

“Nothin’.”

It’s a lie, and a shite one at that.

“Try again.”

His jaw clenches. “I said it’s nothin’, Connor. Just fuckin’ drop it.”

Oh, but how can I?

I remove my leather jacket and sit down next to him, just watching. “That’s not how this works,mo stóirín,” I say, my voice low. “You don’t get to lie to me.”

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling just a little too quickly. “Tell me,” I push, softer now.

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t.”

I reach out, gripping his wrist lightly, not forcing but not letting go either. “You can.”

Malachi’s lips press into a thin line. His hands twitch against the blanket like he wants to rip it apart. Then, suddenly, he sits up, his blue eyes blazing.

“Fine, you wanna know the truth?” he spits at me, ripping his wrist out of my grasp. “I hate that you’re the one givin’ me those pills because it just reminds me that I don’t have control over my own goddamn life anymore. I eat when you tell me to, breathe when you tell me to, and am alive because your father wills it. And now I’ll be able to fake happiness because you got me the pills I need to fuckin’ function!”

A sharp inhale. A barely-there tremble in his shoulders. And then he lets out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice thick. “Fuckin’ hell.”

He sniffles, and it’s like that cracks something else open, because suddenly, he’s wiping at his face furiously, like he can erase the fact that he’s fucking crying. I don’t say anything. I just stay there, steady, watching as he tries to pull himself together.

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters after a long moment, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know how to—” He cuts off, exhaling shakily.

I watch him, the way his hands clenches into fists, the way his breath shudders like he’s barely holding himself together. It hits me, then—how fucking fragile this moment is. How easy it would be for him to shut down, to push me away like he’s done before. But I’m not letting that happen.

Not this time.

Without thinking too hard about it, I reach out, gripping his hips as I pull him forward into my lap. He tenses immediately, his whole body locking up, and his hands come up between us like he’s trying to figure out whether to push or hold on.

I keep my hands steady on his waist, keeping him exactly where I want him—straddling me, his thighs bracketing mine and his chest close enough that I can feel the way he’s struggling to keep himself under control.

“Easy,” I soothe, my voice soft. “Breathe,mo stóirín.”

His throat bobs, his fingers twitching against my chest. “Connor—”

“I’ve got you,” I interrupt, rubbing slow circles into his waist with my thumbs. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Malachi flinches, his breathing uneven, his muscles locked up tight. His hands are still pressed against my chest, not pushing anymore but not settling either.

I run my hands up and down his sides, trying to soothe him. “Breathe, Malachi.”

His throat works as he swallows hard. “I can’t—”

“You can,” I cut in softly. “You’re safe with me. You know you’re safe with me.”

His breath stutters, his fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “I don’t—”

“Shh. Don’t think. Just concentrate on my breathing, and breathe with me, alright?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling in my arms. My hands stay firm, not forcing but not letting go either, my thumbs tracing slow circles against his ribs. Seconds pass. Then a minute. And slowly—so fucking slowly—his shoulders start to relax as he breathes with me, the tension bleeding out of him bit by bit.

“That’s it,” I praise, my voice low and steady. “Good boy.”

His breath catches, and I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch against my chest. His face is still flushed, his jaw tight, but he’s not pulling away.

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