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Saoirse

 

 

 

When I woke, the first thing I felt was warmth and love. I lay on my side facing out and Diarmuid was against my back, an arm slung over me, tucking me against him.

God, I could stay here forever.

I turned slightly so I could look at him. My beautiful giant carried so much weight about with him during the day, so much heaviness. Asleep he was still as handsome as awake, but his features softened, making him look more at peace. I tucked this secret about him away under my skin.

But like all wonderful things, it had to end. Fear wormed its way into my warm nest.

What if he woke up and regretted us?

What if he woke up and hated himself for what we did?

What if he hated me for seducing him?

I couldn’t bear it.

His lashes fluttered and I held my breath.

His beautiful sleepy eyes searched and found mine. A smile spread across his face.

“Hey there, selkie.” His voice was even more gravelly in the morning.

I let out a sigh of relief. “Hey.”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

I giggled. “Even with messy bed hair and pillow creases on my face?”

He traced a line down my cheek, his eyes glistening as they roamed over my face. “They’re the sexiest pillow creases, and I love that I can witness your bed hair because it means you slept with me in my bed.”

He yanked me closer against him, so that our naked fronts were pressed together. My softness against his hardness. I let out a low groan as heat and need flooded my body, nipples aching as they pressed against his chest.

I wasn’t the only one who was getting turned on. I could feel his erection against my belly.

Need filled his eyes. He looked almost in pain as he leaned forward to claim my mouth. Our lips meshed and he rolled over me, covering me like a blanket, pressing my thighs open exquisitely with his hips, settling against where I ached for him. His hips rocked, his hardness sliding against my wetness.

The doorbell rang.

We groaned in unison.

“Ignore it,” he said, dipping his head down my body to suck one of my nipples into his mouth.

I moaned and arched my back.

The doorbell rang again.

Diarmuid sighed. “It’s probably a package or something. I’ll be right back.”

He rolled out of bed, tugging his sweatpants on. I gathered the blankets up against the chill in the air. He caught my eye and grinned.

“You look damn good in my bed.” His eyes flicked to the bedroom door. “Maybe they’ve given up—”

The doorbell rang again, this time three times in a row. Whoever it was, they were not going away.

Diarmuid disappeared to deal with the postman or whoever it was.

Perhaps twenty seconds went by and he still didn’t return.

I frowned, listening out for any type of sounds.

Could I hear voices?

I slid out of bed and pulled his large t-shirt on before creeping out of the bedroom and down the hallway. I heard Diarmuid’s voice, harsh like he was angry and slightly raised but spoken in a kind of whisper, as if he didn’t want the noise to travel down to me.

“—to do, Ava?”

Ava? That cursed name conjured up the image of the raven-haired beauty, and a rush of hatred burned through my veins. The woman with the wide hips and the big breasts. The woman who had Diarmuid under her spell. The one who took him away from me.

Diarmuid’s wife.

She was here.

I slid as far as I could down the corridor without being seen, pressing my hands to the wallpaper.

“I know you’re still angry with me.” Her voice was soft, sweet sounding.

“Damn right I’m still angry.”

“But that’s good, don’t you see? If you’re angry it means that you still care underneath it all.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. No. She could not want him back. Not now. Not ever.

Tell her to go away, Diarmuid. Tell her you’re with someone else. Tell her you love me.

But Diarmuid said nothing. Denied nothing.

A stab of pain entered my heart. Diarmuid and Ava had history. They had a marriage. How could I compete?

“Diarmuid,” Ava said, her voice softening, pleading, “I made a mistake and I’m sorry. But I’m still your wife. You made vows to me, didn’t you? For better or for worse.”

I heard Diarmuid sighing. “I did.”

“Then you owe it to me—to us—to try to work this out.”

I backed up, having heard enough, trying not to stumble as my eyes blurred from tears.

Once again, Ava was coming between us. And like last time, I knew Diarmuid would give in to her. His morals were too strong. They were married. He owed nothing to me. I was just…just a one-night stand. A fling.

He didn’t say he loved me back last night.

My heart tore into pieces as I ran silently back into the bedroom, searching for my clothes, tugging them on. Finding my shoes. My bag.

I had to get out of here. I couldn’t be here when Diarmuid came back in the room and told me that he was getting back together with his wife.

His fucking wife, Saoirse. He has a wife. What did you think was going to happen?

That he and I would be together? That’d we’d get a Happily Ever After?

I should have known better. Should have known that Happily Ever Afters were not for the daughters of criminals and whores.

I pushed open the window, a blast of cold air wafting in, and froze.

Stop, I told myself. Give him a chance to explain.

Running away was for children. Tantrums were for children. I was a woman. I would act like one.

I shut the window and lowered my bag down to the bed. I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t running.

I would stay. And I would fight for him if I had to.

 

 

 

I was sitting on the bed when Diarmuid finally opened the door.

“Sorry I took so long.” He could barely look at me.

I looked past him expecting a sullen Ava at his heels, but he was alone.

He spotted the bag next to me, my shoes on and realisation came over his eyes as they finally snapped to mine. “Do you know who was at the door?”

I nodded.

“Did you hear us?”

I twisted my fingers together in my lap. I would not cry.

I nodded again.

Diarmuid let out a long breath, stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, selkie.”

He was sorry.

I was sorry too.

I told myself that I wouldn’t cry, that I would be strong, but my heart was breaking. Shattering. Again. I was just as unprepared for it the second time as the first.

But this time it was worse. This time I knew exactly how well Diarmuid and I fit. I knew how he felt underneath my hands, how he felt inside me. In his arms I knew love, I felt peace. I would never feel that again. I’d loved him since I was thirteen. I’d love him until I died.

Once the first tear rolled over the rim of my lashes, the rest followed, like a dam bursting.

“Saoirse!” He started towards me. “What’s wrong?”

“I know you’re still married,” I began to blubber, “and I know she wants you back; who wouldn’t? And I know how you feel about doing the right things and your morals. But she doesn’t deserve you. And—”

“I want you.”

I sucked in a breath, trying to blink my vision back to clear. “What?”

Diarmuid sank to his knees in front of me.

“I want to be with you.” His hands cupped around my face, and they brushed aside the wetness on my cheeks. “Only you.”

My head spun. I couldn’t believe what he was saying to me.

“I know I’m still married,” he said quietly. “And it is such a process to get divorced here. Ava and I have to be separated for four years before I can start the proceedings.”

“Which means she’s your wife,” my voice cracked on the word, my guts twisted with jealousy, “for now.”

He nodded. “And in the eyes of society…”

“…this, us, we are wrong,” I finished for him.

He nodded. “I don’t care anymore.”

“You…don’t?”

“I’ve tried to do what’s right for most of my life. Most of my life I feel like I just keep fucking up instead. Being with you is the most right I’ve ever felt.” His face screwed up with pain. “I just don’t think it’s fair to ask you to bear the brunt of society’s judgement if we were together. You don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t care.”

“Saoirse.”

“Diarmuid.” I flung myself down to the carpet so we were both on our knees. I wrapped my hands around his neck so he could do nothing but look right into my eyes. “I. Don’t. Care.”

He let out a long breath, like he was relieved. Did he come in here thinking that I could have walked away from him?

“I want you. Have always wanted you.” I ran my fingers through his hair. “You have my skin, remember?”

Diarmuid gave me a half-smile. “Your father won’t like it.”

My stomach turned cold.

My father.

“He can’t know.” He could never know. I chewed my lip. “Your work. They won’t like it either.”

His face became serious. “If my supervisor found out about last night, I’d lose my job. Probably do jail time.”

“So, we’re hiding this…us?”

“I don’t want to hide you, you know that, don’t you?” he asked, his brows furrowed in concern. “I want to scream your name from the very top of the Carrauntoohil mountain.”

“As long as we’re together. I don’t care that we have to keep us a secret.”

My insides melted as he wrapped me up in his strong, sure embrace. I would be happy being tucked away here in his arms forever. My harbour. My home. My family.

“We’ll figure it out, selkie,” his voice rumbled against my cheek. “Together.”

He claimed my mouth firmly, a promise sealed in a kiss.

My body lit up like a flash fire, as it had done earlier, before we were interrupted. All other thoughts floated away as he lowered me to the carpet.

For a moment, before he stripped me of my clothes, a stark feeling of dread came over me. Diarmuid and I might be together, but it was a thread made of thin silk. We had to be careful.

There were so many things—so many people—waiting to tear us apart.

 

 

 

Diarmuid and I spent a glorious Saturday in bed. That night we watched The Dark Knight on his couch, eating takeaway pizza. Well, we watched part of the movie, the other part we spent making out—and more, oh God, so much more—on his couch.

Sunday morning Diarmuid dropped me off a few blocks from home. I was supposed to go into the lab today. I told Diarmuid I had to work. Technically, I didn’t lie. He just assumed that I was working at the café. I didn’t correct him. And hated myself for it.

My da was sitting at the breakfast table with a black coffee and a cigarette in his hand when I walked in. I wished he would at least open a window when he smoked in here.

“Hey, Da…”

My voice was shaking, as were my hands. Why was I nervous?

He looked up from his paper with a smile, fag hanging from his lip.

“Hey, baby girl. Where you been all weekend?”

I forced a smile. I had texted him on the evening of the party letting him know I was staying with a friend. I didn’t specify who. He replied, reminding me that I was working Sunday. He didn’t ask who the friend was.

“Just with a friend, Da. I told you.”

I hoped that he didn’t notice I was wearing the same dress from Friday night’s party. Washed, of course.

I shouldn’t have been worried. My father was already distracted by something in the paper.

“Damn Garda.” He flicked his fingers at the grey sheet. “They seized another fucking batch last night. Just outside of Dublin.”

I froze. “Oh.”

“Sons of bitches. I’d fucking love to give them all a good—” He made a stabbing motion.

My guts twisted as if he’d stabbed me. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “I was thinking, Da, I’m not sure I should work for you anymore.”

My father’s face snapped to mine, a glint of something dark flashing in his eyes before it disappeared so fast I may have been dreaming it.

“Baby girl…what are you talking about?”

I smoothed down my dress. “I just… I think that what I’m doing is…well, wrong.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “You like living here?”

“What? Yes, of course.”

“You like eating the food I stock the fridge with?”

“Yes, but—”

“You want to go to university?”

“Yes—”

“This work you think is ‘wrong’,” he marked the word with finger quotes, “is paying for all this stuff. For you.”

“But—”

Bang! His fist came down on the table. “I don’t want to hear any more of this fucking quitting bullshit,” he roared.

I gasped, tears rimming my eyes. My first thought was to run. To run. From my own father.

He stood and grabbed me, wrapping me into a suffocating hug. I wanted to push him away. Instead I just stood there, frozen.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.” He kissed my head, his breath stinking of smoke. “You have no idea how much is riding on our new investment.”

He never called it drugs or meth. He only ever called it an investment. Our investment.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he said into my hair, his voice taking on a softer tone. “You just made me so scared, I got mad. You see, I already made promises to some…important people. Some important people who will not take too kindly to me, and my family, if I don’t deliver.”

I understood exactly what he was doing.

He was threatening me.

Threatening me with injury to him and me if I didn’t do what he told me to.

Oh God. Why did I say yes in the first place? Why did I agree to get involved?

My father pulled back and cupped my cheeks, his cigarette still trapped between two of his fingers, the smoke stinging my eyes.

“You’ll keep with the agreement, okay, baby girl.” It wasn’t a question. “One year, you work for me.”

I nodded, because there was nothing else I could do.

One year.

How the fuck was I going to keep working in my father’s lab for one year without Diarmuid finding out?