Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (21 page)

She nods, but still squints as she continues to rub. “Just a little sore.”

So am I. And it’s not from sleeping with my head pressed against the window that’s for damn sure.

We didn’t get much rest during our time in A.C.. I mean we did, but it was mostly small naps between rounds. I’ve had lots of good sex and a crazy amount of it. But it’s never been with the same woman―not for this long―and it sure as anything hasn’t come close to what Sol and I share.

I’m not complaining. I love Sol. I’m guessing what I feel for her plays a huge part in why I can’t keep my hands off her.

And I’m not alone.

I think it was about three in the afternoon yesterday when I went to use the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth when Sol walked in. She was groggy, her eyes still partially closed. But as soon she saw me, it’s like she was wide awake. She fell to her knees right in front of me, taking me deep. We were both bone tired, hungry, and pretty damn stiff. That didn’t stop us from going at it on the bathroom floor.

It’s like we both needed it―this time with just me and her. But as my truck draws closer to her neighborhood, it’s all I can do not to turn around and drive us back to my house.

Her hand finds mine, holding me gently. I lift it to me and kiss it, meeting her smile when I glance briefly her way. But that sadness that’s never far from the surface trickles its way into her voice as she leans her head against my shoulder. “Thank you for taking me with you,” she says quietly.

Man, it always kills me to hear her sound so sad,
always
. But today it hits me worse. Maybe because these past few days have reminded me how good we are when we’re together. I hate that I’m taking her someplace I’m not going to be. I want to tell her as much, but I don’t want to be a douche bag about it. “Thanks for coming. It meant a lot.”

She laughs a little. “That’s what he said.”

Ordinarily I’d laugh right along with her, since that’s what we do all the time: laugh, joke, have a good time. But I don’t laugh then because no matter how hot the sex is, I never want her to ever think I’m using her. Have I used girls in the past? Sure, just like they’ve used me.

My brothers and I are well known in Philly. We’ve all made a name for ourselves to some degree. Curran for being among the city’s most revered cops, Declan for being a bad ass D.A., and Killian and me for our performances in the octagon. Our looks have played a part, sure. But it’s our name and status that has gotten us the amount of tail we have.

When a couple of my brothers finally found love, I was happy for them. I was. I may have the rep for saying shit I shouldn’t and acting like a clown, but I’m not stupid. Tess and Sofia, they’re good for Curran and Killian, and bring out the good in them. Being as young as I am, though, I couldn’t help thinking how much they were giving up by settling down. I didn’t necessarily think they were pussies for it, but I couldn’t relate or understand. To me, the world was full of women for the taking.

I never expected one woman to become my world.

So no, I don’t laugh with her. Instead I squeeze her hand. “That’s not what I saying,” I tell her. I release a breath as I pull onto her street. Once more, my time with her has come to an end. She’ll have dinner with her family while me and Wren will either order in, or eat at one of our brothers’ places. Either way, Sol won’t be with me and I totally hate it.

“I know,” she answers quietly.

Most of the spots along the one way street are taken, so I have to park almost on the corner. I’m still on her side of the street, but we’re about eight houses down. I cut the engine, abruptly shutting off the heat and the radio.

It’s only fifteen degrees outside despite the sunshine. Being this close to March, it shouldn’t be so damn frigid, but there are years where it’s still snowing in April. I should keep the engine running, leave the heat on and keep her with me a little longer. But I’ve already pressured her enough by telling her I want us to live together. So if she needs a little space from me to think things through―needs to get back and check on her family, I want her to know I understand―that I’ll give her the time she needs, despite that it’s taking all I have not to pull back onto the street and drive away with her.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

I don’t look at her because I can’t. I don’t want to meet those large, light eyes right now, the ones who looked so sleepy yet so happy when I took that selfie of us this morning. Man, I can picture that image so well: her tucked against my chest as I held my phone up and away from us. It’s my new wallpaper. You can’t see much skin, but it’s obvious we were naked and in bed. Maybe it’s inappropriate, but it’s my damn phone and this is how I like us: her close to me―not like she is now, moments from walking away.

“Finn?” she asks.

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” I tell her.

She waits a beat, her small fingers skimming over my rough knuckles. “Are you mad, I’m not staying with you tonight?”

“I’m not mad that you’re not staying with me,” I admit. “I never want you to stay if you don’t want to. But I am kind of pissed you have to leave.”

“It’s not that I want to leave you,” she says. “I hate us being apart.”

Me too, baby.

For a moment, I just hold her. But when I look at her, even though I’m frustrated, sad, and somewhat angry, I smile. I can’t help it. Sol makes me happy. “This is why it’s hard to let you go. If you didn’t want to be with me, it would be tough to hear and take, but I’d let you walk away because it’s what you feel and want to do. But you sitting here, telling me you don’t want to be without me, makes everything that much harder.”

The way her stare travels along my face, I know she’s not only listening to what I say, but sensing how every word carves into my bones like a saw.

“I wish me living with you could be as easy as that,” she whispers.

My lips skim over hers. “And I wish you could see it’s not as hard as you think.”

I’m making her feel worse by saying what I do―and I hate myself for it. I don’t want to guilt her into something she’s not ready for, no matter how much I wish she was. That doesn’t mean I can pretend like I never asked, or deny how I feel.

I’m ready for more. A lot more. Her moving in with me is just the start. “Will you at least think about it?” I ask quietly.

She averts her gaze, but nods. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah?” I ask, not sure she means it.

“Finn, it’s not that I don’t want to live with you.” She leans in close, her pretty stare begging me to believe her. “I want to wake up with you beside me every morning, and your face to be the last one I see at night. But I’m not sure it’s the right thing for me and my family. At least not now.”

“I get it,” I tell her.

“I hope so,” she says, her voice laced with so much emotion it tugs at my heart in a way nothing else can. “Because when I tell you I love you, I mean it.”

Her face lights up at my grin. This is one of those moments when life seems too perfect to be real.

So when the screaming starts, I’m reminded that nothing is perfect, and that life can be fucking cruel.

CHAPTER 22

Sol

Finn and I both jump, our bodies turning toward the sounds of those screams. It only takes me seconds to see what he sees, but those seconds freeze time and etch in my mind like words chiseled on stone.

Tía stumbles out of my house, barely clutching the metal railing in time to keep from falling. She’s the one screaming―the one crying for someone to help her!

The clicking sound of Finn’s seatbelt releasing and his door swinging open breaks through my shock. In the moment it takes me to unfasten my seatbelt and leap from his truck, he’s already tearing down sidewalk. I’m running full out, skidding over the patches of ice and falling on my knees in front of Señora Segura’s house. “
Sol, que pasa
?” she asks.

I can’t tell her what’s wrong. I don’t know myself. All I know is that it’s bad.

I ignore the pain of my throbbing knees as I struggle to stand. Finn reaches Tía who’s now in hysterics. Between her sobs and her speaking rapidly in Spanish, I’m not sure how much he understands. But he understands enough: that she just arrived, my mother’s name, and that she’s not moving.

I didn’t run far, but my heart is already ramming against my chest and my breath is burning through my lungs.

“Sol?” Señora Segura says, despite recognizing the severity of the situation.

“Call the police,” I tell her in Spanish.  I lurch forward only to slide yet again, vaguely aware of the growing numbers of neighbors opening their doors and hurrying out of their homes.

I make it to the bottom of my front steps just as Finn reaches the top. “Stay here,” he barks before charging inside.

The aggression in his voice halts me in place. Something is very wrong. But as much as I’m afraid to see what it is, I can’t do as he asks. I hurry up the concrete steps, stumbling when Tía snags my arm and pulls me back.

“Don’t go inside!” she yells at me in Spanish.

I yank free from her grasp only for someone else to grab me. Tía and others gathered holler to those holding me to keep me back. I push up on my feet, slapping away the sea of hands trying to restrain me and sprint inside.

The heels of my boots slam against the wood floors as I reach our small foyer. I slow to a stop when I realize that no one is following me, and that the house is oddly silent.

“Finn?” I cry out.

It’s like he’s not even here. “
Finn
?”

I start toward the back when he yells from upstairs.

“Sol!”

His voice is pained, appearing to echo from all sides. “I need you to call an ambulance,” he says over the rushed sounds of his movements. “Do you hear me? I need you to go to your neighbor’s house and call an ambulance.”

He doesn’t want me upstairs. He’s trying to get me to leave. Tears leak from my eyes. This is bad. This is really bad.

I turn to where Tía and a few of the neighbors are huddled at the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Turner are holding Tía up as she sobs. A few of the women are already crying. The men . . . they aren’t much better.

“Sol?” Mr. Toleman extends his hand from where he’s standing beneath the threshold, his face distraught. “Come on out here, baby,” he says. “Come and wait with us outside. The ambulance is already on its way, sweetheart.”

I stare at his hand and the lifeline he’s offering. He wants to spare me from what’s upstairs, from what I might find. I’m already crying. I know I should step outside. But I can’t. That’s my mother up there.

“
Sol, no vayas, niña
,” Tía wails. “
Por favor no vayas, mija
.”

Don’t go, girl
, she says.
Please don’t go
. But I do. Forcing myself up the battered wood steps until I’m all but running. I slide down the hall, landing on my side, unsure what I slipped on until I see my hands soaked with blood.

For a second, all I can do is stare at the bright red fluid coating my palms. Somehow, I push up on my wobbly legs and stumble forward, halting in place when I reach my parents’ room.

Finn is kneeling on the floor beside my mother, both are covered in blood. His jacket is draped over her body and he’s pressing towels against her arms. “Sol, get downstairs,” he bites out. “Get downstairs
now
.”

My body checks out, slumping against the door frame as my mind takes in the room. Obscenities written in Spanish with my mother’s blood splatter the walls, while she lies on the floor smiling and repeating the words.

“
Mami
,” I sob. “What did you do?
What did you do
?”

I fall beside her, my screams, my demands that she tell me how she could do this to herself―to my father―to me, drowning out Finn’s words and his urges for me to leave.

My mother smiles despite her pallor, staring at the ceiling. I don’t hear the police arrive. All I see is her. But they’re suddenly there, storming in and surrounding us.

“Curran, get her out of here!” Finn hollers at his brother. “I don’t want her to see this!”

My body is lurched backward. I fight to get back as medics speed past me.

“Sol,
Sol
,” Curran says in my ear. “Don’t fight me. I need you outside, you hear me? Come outside with me so my boys can help her.”

I continue to writhe, trying to fight my way back. But Curran is a big guy and I can’t break free from his hold. He carries me down the stairs, away from the horror, and away from my mother. The cluster of neighbors gathered outside part, covering their mouths when they see me.

“Teo,
Teo
,” Curran calls when he steps forward. “Take Sol and keep her with you.”

Teo has me, but I don’t see him. I’m crying so hard all I make out is Curran racing back into the house and the police ordering the growing crowd of neighbors back. Teo is talking to me, and Sofia, too. I think Killian is there, but I’m not sure. I’m crying so hard I’m sick down to my gut, wanting to vomit.

I look up when the crowd gasps. Finn, his light blue shirt soaked through with my mother’s blood, robotically walks down the steps; his face ashen. Teo in his shock loosens his hold, allowing me to wriggle free and run to Finn.

Finn gathers me to him, shielding me with his body. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry . . .”

My hands quiver as I lift the paper cup to my lips. It’s tea. Killian was nice enough to buy it for me, but I can’t bring myself to sip it and lower it back down to my lap. I’m shaking so badly it can’t be normal. That chill, that same one that’s claimed me since first seeing my mother, continues to rack my bones despite Finn’s strong arms around me.

In the corner, Teo is on the phone with Evie. This is the second time she’s called. But like the time before, Teo doesn’t have anything new to share.

The cuts to her arms weren’t fatal, nor did she sever any major arteries, but she’d lost so much blood. My head pounds as I recall the smears of red splattered all over the walls, the floors, and on our clothes.