Chapter Thirty-One
Eden
The credits were rolling, and I was snuggled up against Killian’s side. Connor was asleep on the chair, his long legs kicked out in front of him, arms folded over his chest. He looked like the younger version of Killian. Dark hair cut short on the sides and spiky on top, and the same electric-blue eyes. Straight nose. Chiseled jaw. Equally beautiful. With one dimple, instead of two.
The tattoo sleeve on his left arm was birds in flight and fish that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle inked in blue and black.
“M.C. Escher,” Connor had said, when he’d caught me staring at his tattoo sleeve the day we met. “It’s based on Sky and Water.”
Killian pointed the remote at the TV and turned it off, plunging the room into silence. “I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo,” he said.
I perked up at that. I’d become a big fan of ink, especially on Killian’s body. He had the perfect canvas to work with. “Where?”
He took my hand in his, curled it into a fist, and held it over his heart. “Will you design it?”
My breath caught in my throat. A tattoo over his heart, and he was asking me to design it. That was kind of huge. I turned my head to look at his face. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you design. Connor can work from your sketch.”
A tattoo designed by me and inked by his brother. I knew Connor had designed all of Killian’s tattoos. I also knew Connor was supposed to paint the wall of Jared’s shop. Jared had let it slip. The other day, when I was alone with Connor, browsing through his sketchbooks, I’d asked him if he was okay with it. I felt like I’d stolen something that had been promised to him. Connor had assured me he was cool with it, and it was his own fault for skipping town.
“Connor was supposed to paint the wall,” I said.
“He told you that?”
“No. Jared did.”
“You weren’t supposed to know about that.”
I ran my hand down his chest. “I was right. Underneath that tough exterior, you’re a marshmallow.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You were trying to protect my feelings.” I put my fingers over his lips. “Don’t even try to deny it.”
He growled and bit my finger. “Let’s go upstairs.” Before I could respond, he was off the sofa, hauling me to my feet and dragging me up the stairs.
“I’m surprised you don’t pull me around by the hair.”
“Would you like that?”
I laughed. “No.”
He kicked his door shut, swept me off my feet, and tossed me on the bed. Then he was on top of me, his body covering mine. Arms wrapped around me, he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him. Cool, damp air came in through his open bedroom windows. Outside, the skies were gray, and the rain had tapered off to a drizzle, but the backyard looked like a mud pit.
I rolled off him and tugged up the hem of his T-shirt. “Take it off.”
His lips quirked in amusement, but he pulled the T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. My fingers danced across his bare chest like I was playing a piano, a finely tuned instrument. I studied the tattoos on his upper arm and imagined the design extending to his left pec. I smoothed my hand down his chest, over the ridges of his muscles, his skin smooth and warm.
Propping my head on my hand, I traced the curves of his face with my fingertips. I knew his face and his body by heart now. If I were blindfolded and could only identify it by touch, I’d know it was him. I thought he brought me up here for sex, but now I realized it was more than that.
He rolled onto his side to face me. “Eden, what you said before…I don’t want to break your heart. I don’t want to do anything that will ruin what we have.”
“I won’t let you,” I said.
“Promise?”
“Promise. I love you, Killian.”
His eyes searched my face, and I held my breath. I hadn’t planned to say that, even though I’d known it for a while. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The room was so still and quiet, the air heavy with my words still hanging between us. “I love you too,” he said so softly, I almost didn’t hear him. “You own me, Eden. Body, heart, soul. I’m yours.”
I nearly wept at his words. He turned his head to look at me. “That’s some pretty deep shit for a lazy Sunday.”
I laughed, and he pulled me on top of him, wrapping his arms around me, my cheek pressed against his chest, right above his heart. “So, what’s this tattoo gonna be?” he asked a few minutes later. I’d just been lying on top of him, breathing him in, lost in my own happy love bubble while his hands massaged my back, making me purr like a kitten.
“My name,” I teased.
“Yeah?”
I laughed. “No. I’ll give you something better than that.”
“You can work it into the design.”
“You’d tattoo my name over your heart?”
“I love your name, so…yeah.”
Wow. Just, wow. Ink was for life. This was almost more monumental than hearing him say “I love you.” Hearing him tell me I owned him. I didn’t think anyone had ever owned Killian. I lifted my head, and he tipped his chin down to look at me.
“Killian,” I whispered.
“I know.” He put his head back down on the pillow. “This is all kinds of crazy.” He started laughing, his chest rumbling under my body, the sound filling up the quiet room. I was laughing with him, and I had no idea why, but it felt good to be this happy. My heart expanded like a balloon, filling up so much, I thought it might burst from joy.
Our laughter was interrupted by a pounding on the door. Connor yelled up the stairs that he’d get it. I heard the door opening, followed by a voice I knew all too well, even though it had been months and we’d only spoken for a few minutes in a noisy bar.
“What do you want?” Connor asked, sounding so much like Killian.
“Stay here,” Killian said, heading for the door.
“Where have you been, you piece of shit?” Seamus asked Connor.
Downstairs, I heard a scuffle, followed by a grunt.
“Get your hands off him,” Killian roared.
I hopped off the bed and stood in the open doorway, listening, my heart racing.
“Just like old times,” Connor said. “Why did you do it, Killian? Why did you always need to be the hero?”
“Shut up, Connor,” Killian warned.
“Shut up, Connor. Hide in the closet until I come for you, Connor,” Connor mimicked.
“Why are you here?” Killian asked.
“I told you to call me when your brother got back. I had to hear it from someone else. Answer me. Where have you been?”
“You really have no idea?” Connor asked.
“Don’t play games with me, boy. Where’ve you been?”
“Just took a road trip to nowhere special. Traveled around. Kept moving.”
Connor was lying, but Killian didn’t deny it. I didn’t catch Seamus’s response, but I heard the next part loud and clear.
“Saw you and your little girlfriend the other day over at the tattoo parlor,” Seamus said, and I tensed. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Artists are fucked up. Look at your brother here. Screwed up in the head. Got their wires all crossed.”
“Whatever sick and twisted game you’re playing, leave her out of it,” Killian said.
“You’re the one who’s screwed up in the head,” Connor said. “What did Killian do to piss you off so much you attacked him with a broken bottle? There was so much fucking blood. He was unconscious.”
My hand flew to my mouth. Oh my God. No. His father did that to him?
“Shut up,” Killian warned.
“That’s not what happened, boy,” Seamus growled. “It was that junkie. You know that.”
“He was twelve years old,” Connor said. “You made everyone believe it was that junkie. We kept your secrets. Told lies to protect you. Killian hid all his bruises, and everyone thought it was another street fight. He was scared nobody would believe him if he told the truth. Scared we’d go into foster care and get separated. That’s why he took it. Over and over and over. How many punches did you take, Killian? How many times did he knock you out? Break your ribs? Leave you unconscious on the kitchen floor?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seamus said. “You’ve done so many drugs, your brain is scrambled.”
My feet carried me to the stairs without my permission. I sat on the top step and leaned my shoulder against the wall, getting a clear view of the hallway and the three men standing in it.
“You tried to break him, but you couldn’t,” Connor said. “I’ll never forgive you for what you did to him, and I’ll never forget. You can go fuck yourself.”
Seamus lunged for Connor, but Killian blocked him and pinned Seamus to the wall, getting right in his face. “You touch my brother or come anywhere near this house or my girlfriend, and you’ll regret it.”
“Is that a threat?” Seamus asked.
“It’s a promise.”
Seamus shoved Killian away and glanced up the stairs. Our eyes met for a split second. I hoped he could see how much I hated him.
“Think long and hard before you mess with me, boy,” Seamus threatened before letting himself out and shutting the door behind him.
“Killian—” Connor said.
Killian held up his hand. “Don’t talk to me.”
“It needed to be said,” he called after Killian, who was charging up the stairs, his face murderous. “You can’t keep pretending it never happened.”
“Not. Another. Fucking. Word.”
I made myself small to let Killian pass and looked down the stairs at Connor. He hung his head and leaned against the wall. I was torn between wanting to make it better for Connor and going after Killian. I chose Killian and stood in the doorway, watching him.
“You ready for work?” he asked, pulling on a black T-shirt.
“Work?” I repeated.
“You have five minutes.” He pulled jeans out of his drawer. Socks. His combat boots from the closet.
I stood there, staring at him, my feet rooted to the spot while he got dressed as if nothing had happened. His face was shuttered, and now I understood why he’d perfected the art of locking it down. My heart was breaking for the boy he’d been, for the man he’d become, burying all the hurt and lies and secrets deep inside.
“Killian—”
“I’m leaving in three minutes,” he said brusquely.
I glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “It’s only three forty-five.”
He pulled out his wallet, laid a twenty-dollar bill on the dresser, and sat on the edge of his bed to put on his boots.
“What’s that for?”
“Taxi money.”
“I don’t need your money. We need to talk about this.”
“Either you come with me or you take a taxi. Your choice.” He stood, and I slammed the door shut, blocking his exit with my body.
“I’m not talking about the taxi and you know it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you to stay in the room. You didn’t. I told you to get ready for work, so I could give you a fucking ride. You’re not doing that either.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Silent tears streamed down my face. “You claim you love me, but you kept this huge secret from me and—”
“I don’t have time for this shit.” He lifted me off the floor, set me down, then opened the bedroom door and walked right out. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, his boots hitting every step in staccato like he was sprinting down them.
“If you leave now, I’m packing my stuff and leaving,” I said loud enough for him to hear. I didn’t want him to leave, and I didn’t want to leave him either. His footsteps stopped, then started again. “Please come back,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself.
The front door opened, and I strained my ears, listening. There it was…the sound of the door closing behind him and the locks clicking into place. I lowered myself to the floor, drew my legs to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, Connor’s words echoing in my head.
How many punches did you take, Killian? How many times did he knock you out? Break your ribs? Leave you unconscious on the kitchen floor?
You tried to break him, but you couldn’t.
My silent tears turned into sobs that wracked my body.