I bent my knees, relieving the tightening pressure of my thigh muscles, and arched my back so I could push against his mouth, completely lost in the feeling of his lips and tongue against me.
“Dat’s right, me love,” he murmured against me, “take what ye want.”
His hands were gripping me tightly as I moved against him, and then suddenly, a sharp slap hit the meat of my ass, the sound echoing throughout the room.
“What the fuck, Patrick?” I hissed, my head whipping up in shock.
“I told ye I’d spank ye.” Another slap on the opposite cheek had me trying to pull away. I couldn’t believe him.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“ ‘Knock it off, Patrick’,” he mimicked me, spanking me again. “Slapped me hand down on de tabletop like a child.”
“You deserved it!”
He began to laugh, and I struggled away from him. I was angry that he’d slapped me and even more livid that he’d ruined my impending orgasm.
“You’re such a dick!”
When I turned to face him and dropped to my ass on the bed, he was still kneeling there on the floor wearing a wide smile. It was one I hadn’t seen in what felt like a very long time, and I felt my anger drifting away.
“I love dat yer back to arguin’ wit’ me,” he said simply. “For a while it felt like ye were too afraid to cause any waves, so ye were just goin’ along wit’ whatever I wanted.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. I had been like that when he’d first moved back, but I’d realized after a while that I couldn’t behave that way. It just wasn’t me. Did I want Patrick to love me? Of course. Was I willing to be a doormat to secure that love? No way in hell.
“I can’t believe you hit me.”
“Ach! It was a love tap.”
“You slapped my ass hard! Three times!”
“And it felt good, didn’t it?”
My eyebrows lifted in surprise as I paused.
“I bet yer arse is red as a cherry right now, all hot and tender,” he coaxed, leaning forward to place a kiss between my breasts. “A little pain feels good, yeah? Like when I bite ye here?” he turned his head to the side and pressed his teeth against the side of my breast. His hands slid up the tops of my thighs, one veering to grip my hipbone and the other trailing down until the tips of his fingers were pressed just barely inside me. “Or when I take ye hard,” he rasped, thrusting inside forcefully.
My head tipped back and my eyes closed as his fingers curled forward inside me. He moved his mouth between my breasts, biting and sucking hard at my nipples while his fingers continued their movements, and before long I was holding back the moans that threatened to burst out of my mouth.
Right as I felt that final swell that I knew would take me to the promised land, Patrick’s fingers and mouth were gone, and he was flipping me to my belly before pulling me up to my hands and knees.
“Me handprints look good on ye,” he said breathlessly as I heard his belt clinking. He placed his hands on my burning cheeks and pressed outward, opening me up. Then with one hard thrust he was planted inside me and I was yelling sharply into the blankets beneath me.
His hips moved jerkily until he got a rhythm going, and a warm feeling grew in my chest at his obvious lack of control. I loved knowing that he was as affected as me.
“Ye were made for me,” he said into my ear, wrapping his hand in my hair as he came down over me with one arm braced above my shoulder. “I’ll never love anot’er.”
When I looked back on that night later, I sometimes wondered if I would have changed the way we came together. If I would have rather made love to him face-to-face so I could watch as his eyes grew cloudy, and his face flushed with his orgasm. If only I’d made him flip us back over so I could run my hands across his chest and map the freckles across his cheeks with my eyes. I decided eventually that I wouldn’t have changed a thing, though.
The way he took me wasn’t sweet or tender, it was fucking in its rawest form. I was pinned beneath him and unable to touch him, but I’d also been surrounded and protected and his words against the side of my face were the purest declaration of love I’d ever heard.
Chapter 30
Patrick
Christ, I was tired.
I’d been gone from home for almost a week, which meant I’d gotten very little rest. I was still having trouble sleeping without my wife, and my dependence on her presence made me angry. I was the man. I was the husband. My need for her shouldn’t surpass her need for me—but that was exactly what it felt like. She went on about her days when I was away, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, while I grew shaky and out of sorts the minute she was out of my sight.
It was frustrating as hell.
I got back to our house late that night, and everything was quiet as I made my way inside. I’d stopped by Amy’s work, but apparently she’d taken the night off because she was feeling ill. I hadn’t talked to her in a few days and I was anxious to make sure she was okay. I hated the thought of her not feeling well while I wasn’t there, even though I knew my mum would take care of her.
When I crawled into bed beside her, she was sleeping heavily and I could feel the fever on her skin. I wrapped my cool body around hers, and breathed deeply, my anxiety lessened even with proof of her illness.
“Patrick?” she whispered.
“Go back to sleep, love.” I rolled over to face the door and felt her curl up against my back with one hot hand on my stomach.
“I think I caught a cold from Vera.”
“I know. Go to sleep now. We’ll talk in de mornin.’ ”
I felt her nod against my back, and less than a minute later her body relaxed into mine.
I wished I could roll back over and let her rest against my chest, but I didn’t dare. I was too tired and I was afraid to fall asleep that way, vulnerable on my back, with her body shielding mine. We hadn’t slept that way since I’d started working for Short Michael, and I didn’t ever see there being a time where I’d feel confident enough to do so again.
Too many things happened when you weren’t prepared. I’d seen that first hand—I’d been the thing that happened.
I’d never be caught off guard, especially while my wife slept trustingly against me.
***
I woke a few hours later to quiet voices and movement around the house. Mum had work that morning, and my da had started waking up with her so they could have a few moments of privacy before she started her day.
I’d never understood their relationship, and I didn’t think I ever would. They’d spent so many years apart, but it seemed that it took only days before they fell into a loving relationship that rivaled how they’d been when I was young. My mum smiled and laughed and looked at him with tenderness, and it had been difficult to adjust to at first. Eventually, though, I’d come to the realization that their relationship wasn’t my business. I’d been taking care of my mum for so long that it had been hard to let go, but she’d wanted me to. She needed him in a way that a son could never fill. She needed her man, and as odd as it was for me, I had to accept that she was happier than I could ever remember.
I heard the front door open and close as Amy moved slightly behind me, and I relaxed into the bed again, pulling her arm more tightly around my waist as her hips met my ass.
I’d just closed my eyes again when I heard it.
The house shook as the thunderously loud noise hit my ears, and I was up and out of bed before I was fully aware of what was happening.
“Patrick?” Amy called frantically as I threw open the door to our bedroom and raced toward the front door.
“Mum!” I yelled as I ran outside and caught sight of the burning mass of metal that had been my mum’s car. “Mum!”
I couldn’t see anyone near it, but the minute I got close enough to search more thoroughly, the car next to it caught fire. I stumbled back when a wave of heat blasted against my bare chest. Both cars were burning then, li
ghting up the early morning and breaking through the quiet with the sound of creaking metal and odd popping noises.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasped in horror. I glanced back at the house and felt my heart stutter in my chest.
“Get in de fuckin’ house!” I yelled at Amy, running toward where she was silhouetted in the doorframe in nothing but one of my t-shirts. “Get inside!”
I wrapped my arm around her waist as I reached her and practically threw her inside. She’d been so close, fuck me, she’d been so close.
“What’s happening?” Amy cried, pulling at the skin on my arms as I tried to turn away from her.
“Patrick?” The voice was quiet, a shell-shocked whisper that barely reached my ears, but had me automatically turning toward it.
I stumbled toward the back of the house and found her.
I’ll never forget my mother’s ravaged face as she met my eyes from where she was kneeling on the floor of her room. She knew. The minute it had happened, she knew.
“He was heatin’ up the car,” she whispered brokenly, her hands raised palm up in front of her.
“Oh, my God,” Amy whispered behind me.
I was frozen as I stared into my mother’s tear-filled eyes, but my wife wasn’t. When I didn’t move, Amy shoved past me and dropped to the floor next to her.
“You’re okay,” she said over and over again, as she pulled my mum into her arms. “Patrick will take care of things. You’re okay.” Amy began to cry as Mum’s wails filled the house and my body came back to life.
I’d been so worried about making sure that Amy was safe that I hadn’t even tried to save whomever was in the car.
My Da. Maybe I could still save him.
I could hear sirens in the distance, so I tossed my pistol into a drawer on my way outside and ran to my mum’s car. It was still burning, the flames shooting into the sky, but I forced myself to get close enough that I could see inside the driver’s window.
I didn’t see him at first, but as I got close enough that I could feel little embers burning my skin, I finally found him.
He was inside still, lying across the seats, and I felt my entire body go numb as I took three stumbling steps backward.
I didn’t bother trying to get him out. He was quite obviously already gone.
Chapter 31
Amy
The days after Robbie’s death were unbelievably hard.
I hadn’t known him well. His personality didn’t invite deep conversation, but I’d lived with him for months and he’d loved the same two people that I did. He’d been a quiet guy, very polite, and he’d worshipped Peg.
Watching Peg in agony was one of the hardest things I’d ever gone through because I didn’t know how to help her. She’d become a shell of the woman I knew, and seemed to walk around in a fog when she actually made the effort to get out of bed.
Patrick had gone so deep inside his head that he was barely there, even when he was sitting right next to me. He didn’t sleep. He carried a pistol with him at all times and seemed to be waiting for something. I felt him drifting away, farther and farther, as he tried to come to terms with what had happened.
As if you could ever come to terms with something so violent.
I didn’t understand it all. The whispers and the comments from neighbors went right over my head, but I knew with certainty that if Patrick didn’t get his shit together quickly, things would only get worse.
Three days after we had Robbie’s funeral in the same church we’d been married in, I’d had enough.
I knew Patrick was devastated. I knew how devastated he was. But Peg wasn’t getting out of bed, and Patrick wasn’t going in to work, and something had to happen. Life hadn’t stopped, but the two Gallaghers had. They’d come to a complete standstill, and I was terrified out of my mind.
“Peg, are you hungry?” I called quietly into her darkened bedroom. I didn’t want to wake her up if she was sleeping, but she hadn’t been eating very much. Her slight frame couldn’t afford to miss any more meals.
“I’m goin’ to sleep for a while longer,” she called back, her voice scratchy. “I’ll have somethin’ a little later.”
I sighed in defeat, but left her alone. Who was I to force her? She’d just lost the love of her life, and I had no idea how I’d react in that situation. Even the thought of Patrick dying made my stomach turn.
I made my way into the kitchen and began making one of the only breakfasts I could prepare without completely ruining. I was the first one up that morning, but I’d heard Patrick moving around after I’d slid out of bed. It wasn’t as if he’d been sleeping.
He came into the kitchen behind me, resting his hand on my hip as he kissed the back of my head.
“Smells good.”
He sat down at the table with a cup of coffee, and we didn’t say a word as I finished cooking. He didn’t say much anymore, and I was afraid if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or start screaming. I took long, deep breaths to calm myself down.
“You have to go to work today.” I told Patrick as I brought his plate of fried eggs to the table.
“I will.”
“I have to go in tonight, too.” I tried to hold a conversation with him, keeping my voice level in an attempt to get back to some kind of normal, but his monotone answer was like hearing nails scratch across a blackboard. “You should come straight home, so someone is here with Peg.”
“I’ll come by de pub.”
“No, Peg needs someone here.”
“I said I’ll come by de pub.”
His voice still hadn’t lost the flat quality I’d come to expect, and I wanted to scream in frustration.
“No, you won’t!” I snapped, unable to keep the temper out of my voice. “You’ll come home and take care of your goddamn mother!”
Patrick’s jaw clenched and a red flush ran up his neck as he began to tap that stupid pattern on the tabletop with the tips of his fingers.
“Stop it!”
“Ye t’ink ye can dictate to me?” He asked incredulously, standing from the table. “I t’ink ye’ve forgotten where ye fit in dis house.”
“Fuck you.” I hated the words spilling out of his mouth, but got a small surge of satisfaction at the emotion I’d finally evoked. “I’m the only one doing anything around here. I get it, okay? I know you guys are hurting. But no one is telling me what’s going on, we no longer have a car, none of us have worked in over a week…”
“Ye want to know what’s goin’ on?” he asked, leaning over the table until he was inches from my face. “It was a warnin.’ Only no one has contacted me to tell me what de fuck dey were warnin’ us about. I’ve no idea where de next hit will come from. What will be next? Mum? Ye?”
I began to shake as a red flush of anger spread up his neck. I’d instinctively known that what happened to Robbie hadn’t been random, but hearing it spelled out turned my fear into a physical thing, a pressure on my chest that made it feel as if I couldn’t breathe.
“I’ll be at de pub tonight.” Patrick said, his voice calming. “Tell Casey dat ye’ll be a few minutes late because I’m walkin’ ye over.”
“You said we’d be okay,” I whispered back. “When I told you I was scared, you said you’d handle it.”
His eyes clouded over before they shut entirely, and his head dropped down in defeat. What the hell was going on in our lives? How was this normal?
I didn’t understand how people could live like that. I didn’t understand why a man would willingly choose a side in a war with no winner, putting himself and his family in danger. For what? What the fuck could be that important? I knew then with absolute clarity why Peg had kicked Robbie out all those years ago. She loved him, but sometimes you had to jump ship if you wanted to save yourself.
“I don’t want to do this,” I said quietly, standing from the table.
The words hit him like a blow and he reared back in surprise.
“Do what?”
“I don??
?t want this life. I don’t want to be worried every time I leave the house. I don’t want to bring children into this shit!”
He let me move around him, but followed me into the bedroom.
“So what? Yer goin’ to leave me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ye don’t know? Where de fuck would ye go? I’m yer goddamn husband.”
We were yelling, facing off inside that tiny bedroom. My mind was a jumbled mess of contradictions. I loved him, but I couldn’t see a way for him to ever get out of the mess he was in. I wanted to leave. I wanted to take Peg and Patrick and leave the country—go far away where no one would find us. But that wasn’t reality.
The reality was that I was married to a man whose time was limited. It didn’t matter if the IRA believed his loyalty and continued to use him. There would still come a time that the things he was doing would catch up to him, and he’d either go to jail or he’d go in the ground. It was heartbreakingly inevitable.
“I wish I hadn’t married you.”
His back hit the wall as he stared at me in horror. “Do not ever say dat again.”
I began rubbing at my hands as we stared at each other in the silent room. He looked like hell. His face was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and he hadn’t shaved his face in so long it had gone beyond a five o’clock shadow and had turned into a scruffy looking beard. His clothes were clean, but they seemed to hang off him oddly as if they no longer fit. He was unraveling before my eyes, and I didn’t know what to do.
“I love ye,” he said, breaking the silence. “I love ye more den anyt’in’ or anyone on dis earth. I’ll figure dis all out. I just needed a few days, dat’s all. I just needed to get me head toget'er.”
I nodded, unsure of what would come out of my mouth if I attempted to speak.
“Don’t do dat, me love,” he said in the same tone, stepping toward me to take my hands in his. “Ye’ll make dem worse.”