Page 22 of Sweet Vengeance
“I’m sorry.” The words nearly stick in my throat. My tongue feels too big for my mouth. I sit up, set my hand on the mattress, but don’t touch him.
“I can’t…let anything happen…to me. It would kill him.”
I’m assuming he means his father, so I guess that answers my question about their relationship. Good for him. I’m glad he has that. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”Iwon’t let anything happen to him.
“I miss her…so much.”
My chest aches, my heart throbbing like a painful bruise. We don’t do this, the guys and I. Tiernan hated his father and doesn’t mourn him. Rory’s mom killed herself, and his dad was murdered, but he doesn’t talk about them, doesn’t tell me he misses them. Both Rory and Tiernan would both be cool if I talked to them about Mom. I did in the beginning, but…it’s just not something I do. “I miss mine too,” I admit. It’s a secret between a sleeping Ollie and me. One that people know on some level, but not something I’ve shared with anyone in too many years to count. “I miss her every day.”
His eyes flutter again, and then…then his hand moves across the bed. This time, it’s Ollie touching me, Ollie’s hand on mine.
He doesn’t speak anymore, doesn’t say another word, just holds on to me and falls into a deeper sleep. It takes me a moment to realize I’m not breathing, and I let the air whoosh from my lungs. I have no fucking idea why I’m acting this way, why I care that we share a similar pain. Why I care that he’s holding my fucking hand like I’m a child needing to be coddled.
Still, I don’t pull away. The softness in Ollie is…nice. I don’t have a lot of softness in my life.
I watch him. Just sit here like some fucking creeper and watch this man I don’t really know while he sleeps—how his blond hair isn’t curly, but not straight either; shorter on the sides and longer on top, with soft waves. He lost his mom too. A million people have, but for a reason I can’t understand, it makes me feel closer to Ollie.
When I can hardly hold my eyes open anymore, I scoot my chair closer, rest my head on the mattress next to our joined hands…and go to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ollie
Why am Iholding Cillian O’Shea’s hand?
Using my free one, I reach for my glasses, which now have one broken lens, and push them on.
I stare down at it, athim. He’s slumped forward in the chair, face tucked in his left arm, his right crossed over in my direction and beneath mine. Did he sleep like this all night? Well, what was left of the night after everything. I don’t know what time it is or how much we actually slept, but that absolutely can’t be comfortable.
Speaking of uncomfortable, my bladder is about to explode, my body feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck, and oh yes, I’m still holding the hand of a mini-mob member.
I try to pull away slowly, but Cillian sits up, jerking his hand back faster than I can. Well, clearly, he doesn’t like the idea of touching me either. All this is his fault, though. He’s the one who insisted on staying here with me and decided he also had to be so close.
“You’re still here,” I say, sounding more accusatory than intended.
“Good observation.”
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”
Cillian rubs a hand over his face. “I’m not grumpy,Kitten. I’m just saying.”
Kitten. What the hell is that? What is his fascination with giving me a nickname? Him and Rory both. “Stop calling me that. And I need to pee.”
It’s hard to hold back my wince or to ignore the pain as I attempt to get out of bed.
“I’ll call the nurse.”
“I can pee without medical intervention. If I want to go home today, I have to show them I can do things on my own.”
He sighs and mumbles something that sounds like, “So fucking stubborn.” Cillian stands and comes around to the other side of the bed, where I’ve managed to sit up. “Well, at least let me help you.”
“Are you going to hold my dick for me?” My cheeks heat the second the words are out of my mouth. Why did I say that? I’m not in the habit of mentioning my cock to other guys, especially if I’m unsure they’re queer.
“Only if you ask nicely.” He winks.
My stupid, traitor stomach flutters. He’s teasing me, making fun of me. That shouldn’t be turning me on. Nothing about him should be doing that. “You’re a jerk.”
I try to breathe through the pain that’s mostly in my chest right now, while pushing to my feet.
