Page 21 of Sweet Vengeance
Dean: He said shut up.
Apparently, Dean is over this conversation too. He’s got a shorter fuse on his bullshit meter than even Tiernan does.
Next I text Conan, telling him what happened tonight, all the information I know, and asking him to do his thing. Conan is good at replying almost instantly, letting me know he’ll see what he can do.
The chair is hard against my back and beneath my ass, but I do the best I can to get comfortable. The nurse dimmed the lights in the room when she left, but there’s enough of a glow from the window and all the machines that I can see Ollie’s face clearly. My breaths get shallow, my hands tightening into fists.
His broken glasses have been removed, the bruising on his face looking even angrier than it did earlier, swollen and purple. His jaw looks tight, unrelaxed in sleep. Because of me or the situation? I have to believe it’s the latter.
It’s strange, this unfamiliar draw to him. It’s because he’s different from anyone I know. No one in my life has that strong belief in what’s right over what’s wrong. How fucking can we? Everything we do is on the wrong side of the law, even when we’re doing it for the right reasons. So much of my life is about indulgence—sex, money, pleasure, hell, even violence—and he’s so fucking…simple. Dean was like that in a way when we first met him, but you could sense the desire in him for more, and he never cared about the things we do. He was drawn to them, while Ollie struggles with them.
It’s clear he doesn’t have much—being here without a vehicle, choosing to walk home rather than ask for a ride ortake a ride share. I can understand that need for independence, though there’s not a chance I’m letting him walk home like that again.
Had he ever seen the ugliness of the world—of my world—until he stumbled into it tonight? This guy who probably never hurt anyone or anything in his life, who would have taken on Tiernan for Dean and took on three men tonight for a perfect stranger.
I lean forward, bend closer to him, let my fingers dance along his bruised and scratched-up hand.
I love that he fought back but wish he hadn’t had to. We need to teach him to take care of himself. If I have anything to say about it, he won’t ever be put in this kind of situation again, but if he is, I damn sure want him to come out on top.
“How’s he doing?” the nurse asks, slipping quietly into the room.
Pulling my hand away from him, I force myself not to growl in response. “Sleeping.”
“I just need to take his vitals.”
“Do you have to do that? He needs his rest.”
She gives me one of those strange smiles, like the kind Aunt Fia gives Tiernan. “I’ll be quick. How long have you two been together?” she asks while she works.
“About three months,” I lie. That feels like a fucking eternity. I can’t even imagine being in a real relationship like that.
“Oh, so it’s new.”
“No, it’s not.” What the hell is she on about?
She chuckles. “I guess not at your age. Well, he’s very lucky to have you. It’s clear you care about him a lot.”
“If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be in this bed right now.” I can’t change the fact that he is, but I damn sure can make it that the people who put him here stop breathing.
“You can’t control everything. It’s sweet that you want to, though.” She grins at me again, finishes up, and slips out of the room. She probably wouldn’t be saying that if she knew who I was. She would be thinking Ollie needs to get as far away from me as possible, and honestly, she’d be right.
I reach out to touch his fingers again but stop myself. It feels wrong to do when he’s not awake to tell me if it’s okay or not. He had hands put on him against his will tonight, and though this situation is different, I don’t want to do the same to him.
He moans, making my eyes jerk up to his face. He’s still asleep but looking distressed. I sit back, not allowing myself to be too close to him. The last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable.
Ollie moans again, shifts, then grimaces. “Hate it here. I just want to go home.”
“Shh. You’re good. Go back to sleep. I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
His eyes flutter, but I don’t think he’s fully awake. I’m surprised he’s coming out of it at all after what he’s been through tonight and the meds they gave him.
“Mom…” He says it so softly, the word is hard to make out, so I study his full lips.
Great…he thinks I’m his fucking mom? That’s a bit of a blow to the ego. “Do you want to call her?”
“Can’t.” He rolls to his side, facing me, curling in on himself, his face pinched as if he’s not in a comfortable position. His eyes are still closed, his voice slurring when he says, “She’s dead…that’s why…I hate it here. The machines remind me…when she got hurt.”
Blood rushes through my ears. I’m stuck between wanting to hear more and wishing he would slip further into sleep because if he were in his right mind, I know he wouldn’t wantto be sharing this with me. Still, my thoughts snag on his words. Ollie lost his mom too. He said earlier he didn’t want to call his father, so does he only have his dad like me? Is he better to Ollie than mine is to me?
