Nya

The next morning when I woke up, Patrick was not there.

It was different, out of character, because I had gotten used to him being next to me when I awoke. Found that when he wasn’t I missed him.

I lay still, listened, but I heard no sounds from beyond the bedroom.

He was in the house, though. I felt his presence, that comfort that was there when he was. And had he been gone, that feeling would have been gone too. I still didn’t understand that, didn’t understand where it came from, why I felt it, but I did.

I wondered if he did too.

Stopped myself from even thinking it.

Because it didn’t matter, not in the end. Whatever this was, however I may have felt about him, there was no way to reconcile our two different worlds.

After last night, he might not want to.

In the warm yet somehow harsh morning light, the things I had said to him seemed that much more reckless and ill-considered. Even if they were true, and I still believed that they were, I had no right to say such things. I cared about Patrick, but I didn’t understand his life, had no cause to pretend that I did, that I could even begin to.

I should have just been grateful for what he’d given me so far and left it at that.

Because now, much too late, I realized what my words, my prying might have cost me.

Not his protection. Everything I knew of Patrick told me he would keep his word. But the closeness that had been developing, the closeness I’d tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist was at stake. The very idea hurt because I’d gotten used to it. Now it was probably over.

I sighed and rose from the bed, realizing again how comfortable I felt there.

There was no reason to delay the inevitable, so I quickly showered and dressed and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

I stilled, my breath again catching in my throat when I gazed at Patrick.

He was staring out the kitchen window, and he was breathtaking.

The truth hit me like a flash.

I didn’t care about Patrick.

I loved him.

The realization was crystal clear. Shattering.

There was no place for love between us, no place where he and I could be together, yet the feeling was as real as any I had ever felt.

“Morning,” he said without looking at me.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

My mind was still abuzz with the realization that I had just made, my heart pounding almost uncomfortably, in a way that made breathing, let alone talking, difficult.

“I made coffee,” he said.

It was a casual statement, not one of any particular note, but it also made that pain in my chest that much more acute. It was that his statement was so unimportant, that it seemed so normal, that made it hurt that much more.

What if it could be this way? What if I could wake up to Patrick every day, have him offer me coffee?

I couldn’t, no matter how much I might have wanted it.

“You’re about to leave?” I said, taking a deep breath as I looked at him.

He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt and not one of the suits that still made me weak in the knees, but I realized he seemed to be waiting. And something about him was off.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you,” I said.

“You didn’t keep me. I wanted to see you before I left,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied, unsure what else to say.

“Sean’s on his way. When he gets here I’ll leave,” he said.

“Patrick, I don’t need a babysitter,” I said, but the response was automatic, something I said because I couldn’t think of anything else.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Nya.”

The firmness was still there in his voice, but there was also a weariness, like he was going through the motions just as I was. Then I noticed the furrow between his brow, the way he held his arms loose at his sides, though his fingers curled almost into fists.

“Okay,” I whispered.

I felt more cowardly than I ever had in my entire life. A simple agreement was not what I had intended, but I couldn’t do what I wanted to. Couldn’t go to him, hold him, promise him that everything would be okay.

Because I didn’t know that it would be, and Patrick wasn’t mine to comfort.

We stood, neither of us speaking, until there were three hard pounds at Patrick’s door. I jumped initially, but then breathed a sigh of relief. I was never happy to see Patrick leave, wasn’t happy to see him leave now, but we needed something to break the tension. Patrick lingered a moment, then went toward the door.

“You’re late,” he said as Sean entered.

“Good morning to you too, Pat. Where’s the coffee?” Sean said. He paused, looked over at me. “Morning, Nya.”

He flashed me a brilliant smile, one that I couldn’t help but return. “Good morning, Sean,” I said.

“I’ll be back later,” Patrick said.

He left without another word, didn’t hug me, didn’t kiss me good-bye, didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

Strange that something so minor hurt so much, but it was the last piece of confirmation I needed.

I had fallen in love with Patrick, and now he was pushing me away.

* * *

Patrick

That morning, I’d been out of bed before the sun had even broken the horizon. I’d always been an early riser, but that wasn’t the reason today. No, she’d been the reason.

Before I’d left my bedroom, I’d paused, looked at the woman sleeping so peacefully. Had nearly been overcome with the desire to rejoin her, and not purely for the sex, which was always explosive. No, just to be with her, hold her in my arms, listen to her breathe.

That was why I’d had to leave. I didn’t understand what Nya made me feel, didn’t know how to manage it.

I fucking hated that.

Because I managed things, most of all myself.

But with her…

The instant I’d met her, she’d started to change me, driven me to seek her when I usually would have been silent, driven me to bring her to my home, when somewhere else would have done. Made it easy for me to take her to Boiler Room, a place that was special to me, one that I’d never taken anyone else.

It wasn’t just what I did, but what she made me feel. Because no matter what, whether making love to her, in the depths of a heated argument, in the middle of a simple conversation, I felt alive, connected in a way I never had.

I could get used to that feeling, could grow to depend on it.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

As I drove, I came to the inescapable, heart-crushing conclusion that it was time to start putting distance between us. I wasn’t ready for her to leave, felt emptiness at the very thought, but I’d swallow that, ignore it until it went away or I got used to it again.

It would make Nya happy. I’d make sure she stayed safe and she’d be free to go back to her life.

Her leaving would be good for me, put me back on proper footing. And I’d make sure I never forgot that as frustrating, as fun, as alive as my days with her had been, they were just a blip in time and not my real life. My life was my business, my brothers, the restlessness that I’d gotten expert at ignoring.

The sooner she was gone, the sooner I would remember that.

I parked outside of the body shop that Declan called home. For years, the place had been an important part of the business. We’d used the proceeds from the protection business and then later the laundering to fund the shop. Declan had taken a liking to the place and made his home there, and when he wasn’t helping me with the business, he would be restoring a classic car.

Today, though, we had business to discuss.

I went into the shop and found Declan waiting for me, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

“We alone?” I asked.

“Of course,” he responded.

The shop was Declan’s domain but he sometimes hired help for some of the car repairs. He walked toward me and then nodded toward the office. We went toward it silently, and then Declan closed and locked the door.

This office, like the office at Boiler Room, the study at my house, had been outfitted with a signal scrambler. We could speak freely here.

“Any updates?” I asked.

Declan knew what I was speaking of. “No. They are still acting like everything is normal,” he said.

“It might be time to shake that up,” I replied.

“Why?” Declan asked.

I paused, looked at him, not wanting to say what I was thinking but equally unwilling to keep my brother out of the loop. “Nya needs to go home,” I finally said.

“I thought you were okay with that arrangement,” Declan said.

“What made you think that?” I asked.

My brother snorted, the action, the amusement that momentarily lit his face uncharacteristic. “Just call it a hunch.”

I didn’t try to deny it and instead kept focused. “We have eyes on them, right?”

He nodded. “Always. I can grab both of them in under two minutes, twenty-four hours a day. Have been able to since the beginning.”

I didn’t miss the significance of what he was saying. He’d told me that before, had assured me that neither one of them would be able to reach Nya. But I’d insisted she come with me anyway. I couldn’t call it a mistake, but I was going to pay for my insistence.

“Good,” I finally said.

I stayed silent for a moment, then looked at Declan, the confused feelings about Nya giving way to the crystal clear feelings about Aengus.

“What’s he up to, Declan?” I asked.

Again, Declan had no trouble following the topic I was raising though I hadn’t said a name.

“He’s being the hateful son of a bitch he’s always been,” Declan said simply.

The rage was back again, thick, heavy, but for some reason, thinking of what Nya had said sapped some of it away.

“Why the fuck do we put up with his shit?” I spat.

Declan’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the understanding in his eyes, knew what he would say next. “We made a promise, Patrick. And so did he.”

“Aengus’s word is worth nothing,” I said.

“No. But ours is. If he crosses the line, we’ll deal with it, but until then, let him spew his piss and vinegar, talk his shit. He can’t do anything else, wouldn’t dare it,” Declan said.

“How can you be so sure?” I asked.

“Because he knows that breaking his promise would cost him his life. And Aengus wouldn’t risk the only thing that’s ever mattered to him,” Declan said.

Declan was right. Aengus’s word might not mean anything, but I could count on his cowardice. He’d get close to the line, try to push us, but he wouldn’t do anything that put him in jeopardy.

“All right,” I said a moment later. “Tell me the instant anything changes.”

Declan nodded and then we exited the office and I made my way back to my car. I made the drive back slowly, not looking forward to this but knowing it had to be done.

As was her custom, Nya was tucked in the corner of my couch, reading.

“What’s up?” she asked the instant she looked at me.

I chose not to comment on how she was able to tell something had changed. I prided myself on my ability to keep my demeanor unreadable, but that skill seemed severely weakened with her.

“Finish your book, and I’ll take you home,” I said.

She stood, looked at me, clearly confused. “Home?” she asked.

“Yeah. That’s where you want to go, right?” I said.

“I thought you said I couldn’t?”

“I said you couldn’t then,” I replied.

“What changed? Have you…settled this?”

She spoke with an edge, a degree of tentativeness in her voice, something I knew was an outgrowth of the topic of conversation. I only told her that someone was after me, and that I would handle it, but Nya was smart enough to know what that meant. In that instant, I saw some of the wariness come back, was again reminded of why I needed to end this now.

“I’m not going to answer that, but I think you’ll be safe at home, and I’ll make sure someone’s watching,” I said.

She frowned, looked at me, clearly considering. But instead of asking whatever was on her mind, she said, “So that’s it? I can just go home now?”

I nodded.

Her brows dropped, a look of pain crossing her face. She met my eyes, paused, something in her gaze like a silent plea. One I would ignore.

It was gone an instant later, Nya having schooled her features, her expression now one of practiced distance.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m ready to go.”

“You don’t want your things?” I asked, thinking of the clothes and other items I’d bought to make her more comfortable here.

“You keep them,” she whispered, her quiet voice like a dagger in my chest.

That was the end of our conversation.

Not a single word was exchanged as we headed to the car and then made the drive in silence. One of my men tailed us and he and one other would watch Nya and her house.

More than once during the drive I looked at her, considered whether to speak to her but then decided against it. Besides, there was nothing to say. I was giving her what she wanted, what she needed, and I’d just have to deal with it.

When we got to her house, she wasted no time getting out of the car.

“Hold up,” I called.

To my surprise she froze, waited, standing next to the vehicle.

“Let me take a look around,” I said.

I’d had someone at her house the entire time, but I wanted to look anyway, for my peace of mind and because I was looking for any reason to delay leaving.

She nodded, and extended the key to me without argument. She really must be anxious to do this, so much so that she suppressed what I assumed was her natural inclination to argue and allowed me to search her place without question.

I looked around quickly, much more focused now than I had been the first time I had been here, being in her space reminding me of how she’d filled my home with her presence, how that presence would now be gone.

I walked back to the door, looked at her.

“It’s okay, you can come in,” I said.

She walked past me and into the house and I followed her, standing at the entryway, knowing that if I went farther, I might not be able to leave.

“So that is it?” she asked, her expression completely flat.

“Yeah. That is it.”

She stood still for a moment and then finally nodded, her expression, her stance telling me nothing at all. “Okay. So I guess I’ll see you around,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

It took everything inside me not to go to her, but I didn’t. Instead, I walked to my car and left.