Page 87 of Wasted
“Don’t ‘Vicks’ me.” She plunked her mug on the tray and snatched it up from the table, marching to the kitchen where they at least wouldn’t frighten Max.
Cillian’s heavy steps followed her, as she’d anticipated. “Vicks, would you please listen?”
That nickname, the way he said it with tenderness even though they were arguing, snuck past her raised defenses and rendered them useless.
She turned toward him, folding her arms across her cardigan to keep something between them.
But he stepped close, so close that he easily touched her upper arms, resting his warm hands there. “You were just shot at and physically attacked today. It could’ve been a whole lot worse if I hadn’t been there.”
She looked away. As if she needed a reminder of the frightening experience.
“You know I would never forgive myself if I let anyone hurt you.” His tone, so heavy and sincere, drew her gaze to his.
A mixture of sadness and worry reflected in his eyes, undergirded by something stronger in the depths of those coal embers. How much did he care for her? Did he...love her?
He couldn’t. She couldn’t return that. She could care about him as a friend, but she couldn’t love him. A high school crush in the past was one thing. An adult’s love, given wholly and freely was another. Both her God and her father would not approve, for very different reasons.
“How about we bring it up at the meeting tonight and see what your family thinks?”
She blinked, slowly finding her voice in the dryness of her throat. “Meeting?”
He lowered his hands and stepped back. “The investigation meeting tonight at Spring’s condo. We’re supposed to meet your brothers and sisters and compare notes on what we’ve found.”
“They told you about a meeting and didn’t tell me?”
His mouth angled in a grin. “I’m guessing you just didn’t see the text yet.”
“Oh. I haven’t checked my phone since this morning.”
“It’s at six.” His teasing grin broadened. “Want to go together?”
“No, thank you. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”
“Got it. Mind if I take a picture of Max before I go?” Cillian pulled his phone from his back pocket.
“Whatever for?”
He chuckled. “For JaKobe, a kid I helped in Philly. He’s crazy about dogs, but his foster family doesn’t have any. I’ll text it to him.”
“You stay in touch with a boy you helped as a social worker?”
“Sure. I give all the kids my contact info, so they’ll know they aren’t alone. I never want them to feel helpless or trapped.”
“Like you did.” The memory of the sullen, angry young man he’d been in high school sharpened in her mind as if it had been only yesterday. She hadn’t understood, until he’d started to open up to her, sharing hints of his dreadful home life in bits and pieces, usually as a joke so he could maintain his tough appearance. But she’d known better, even then. She’d seen the pain he tried to hide. And his need for love and acceptance—the need she knew so well.
“I got out.” The tough, young Cillian could have given that answer. He was still trying to keep up his macho facade. But it couldn’t hold up. Not with the evidence of what he was doing for those children he’d helped. His compassion was obvious.
“And you’re helping others do the same.”
“Like you’re doing for Sydney.” His eyes warmed as he watched her. “It’s awesome you’re helping her out.”
“You’re one to talk, Mister Mentor-of-the-Year.” She smiled.
“I guess I was right. We do have some stuff in common after all.” He winked.
Her heart performed a cartwheel she’d never been able to achieve as a girl. She had better start praying that the Lord would keep her from succumbing any further to Cillian’s charm. Because his effect on her seemed to be increasing by the day, and it was beginning to appear she may be in danger of falling for him all over again.
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