by Monica James
“I fucking knew it!” he declares, slamming his fist on the bar. “Y’ve always been a good lad, Punky, and now, yer a man, a man yer da would be proud of. Whatever ya need from me, know that my loyalties are with ya.”
I don’t know how to respond to his claim, so I nod, needing a moment to take it all in.
If Brody is extorting Ollie, I’m certain he’s doing it to many others, and this is what I need to use to reinstate the Kelly name.
Connor never exploited his friends—he took care of them as well as Belfast. But now, this town is a fucking mess. Brody has no ties to Belfast. It’s merely a place of business for him. But this is my home, and I’m taking it back.
Ollie is someone I trust. He has no reason to lie to me.
“Tell those who will listen that I’m back,” I state firmly, adrenaline and hope coursing through my veins. “And that I’m goin’ to return Belfast to her former glory. I’m the new leader now, and I will protect yousens against them Doyles, and any other fucker who wants to take what is rightfully mine. What is ours.”
I can’t let Ollie know about Sean.
“Now we’re suckin’ diesel!” Ollie hollers, his eyes wild with excitement.
“A’ll be in touch soon. There are a few things I need to arrange. But don’tcha be worryin’ ’bout anythin’. Brody Doyle’s days are numbered.”
I shake Ollie’s hand, as this conversation is over for now. When we talk next, it’ll be away from prying ears.
I leave Ollie smiling, the man I knew returning because I’ve just given him something we’ve all been robbed of, thanks to Brody Doyle—hope.
Someone who isn’t smiling, however, is Babydoll, who still hasn’t noticed I’m here. She simply sits like a statue, occasionally sipping her pint.
Taking a seat opposite her, I lean back in the booth. “Drinkin’ alone is minus craic, Babydoll. And from the looks of it, I think y’ve had enough alone time.”
She snaps from her daze, her glassy eyes attempting to focus on me. She is completely blootered. “What makes you think I’m alone? And I’ll be the judge of when I’ve had enough.”
She draws the glass to her lips, spilling most of the pint down the front of her dress as she attempts to act like she’s in control.
“All right.” I reach over the table and lower her hand. “That’s enough. I’m takin’ ye home.”
She recoils violently, her drink sloshing all over her and the table. She’s a mess—both inside and out.
“Why are you even here?” she slurs angrily, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“’Cause ya called me,” I retort softly.
“I did not,” she argues, but we both know that’s not true. “I don’t even know your number.”
“Fine then, ya didn’t call me and yer not absolutely hammered. Let’s go.”
I go to stand, but Babydoll leans back, folding her arms across her chest in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I hate your stupid face.”
“Aye, I hate my stupid face too,” I agree, wishing for this conversation to be over with. “So the sooner we leave, the sooner ya can stop lookin’ at it.”
She merely turns her cheek, refusing to budge.
Leaning across the table slowly, I grip her chin and turn her face so our lips are inches apart. A breathless whimper escapes her. Every part of me wants to eat her alive.
“You can either come willingly…”
“Or?” she challenges, her sweet breath tempting me to lean forward and steal it from her.
“Or I’ll throw ya over my shoulder and carry ye out, kickin’ and screamin’.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she snarls, eyes narrowed.
A smirk spreads from cheek to cheek, as this dare is one I will take great pleasure in seeing through.
When I lunge for her, she yelps and scoots across the booth. “Don’t touch me you fucking savage.”
The moment she stands, she almost falls on her arse. I reach out and grip her forearm, ignoring the way my body responds to her because right now, all I need to focus on is getting her out of here. We’ve caused enough of a scene.
She thankfully lets me help her through the crowd as we walk toward the exit. The moment we’re outside, she shrugs from my hold and commences a stagger. I stand back, shaking my head in amusement at the spectacle.
She groans in annoyance and leans against the wall as she fumbles, attempting to take off her high heels. All she manages to do is sway from side to side.
“Ach, let me help.”
Before she can protest, I drop to a squat and roughly take off one shoe. She has no choice but to place a hand on my shoulder for balance. I repeat the action with the other shoe, but when I look up, I’m left speechless because the look in her eyes sets me on fire.
She doesn’t remove her hand from my shoulder. Instead, she slowly moves it toward my nape and toys with my hair. Her touch is everything I want and need, and I surrender before her.
I place my hand over hers, interlocking our fingers behind my neck. She licks her lips, her cheeks turning a scarlet.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers so softly, I almost didn’t hear her. “I lied. I did call you. And I don’t hate you. I like your stupid face. A lot.”
I don’t know what to say. I thought keeping the truth from her would keep her safe, but as I run my thumb over a raised scar on her wrist, I realize I’ve done the complete opposite. She tries to pull away, but it’s too late.
Furiously yanking her wrist in front of me, a hiss leaves me as I see the pain I’ve caused, in the shape of a three-inch scar. There is a matching scar on the other wrist.
“What’s this?” I ask, gripping her wrist tighter as she tries to escape. “Answer me!”
“Let me go!” she exclaims, writhing madly.
But I will not.
“You did this to yerself? Ye…slit yer fucking wrists, is it?”
Every sense is sharpened as the thought of any harm coming to Babydoll has me losing control.
“Are ya all right, love?” someone asks, their concern clear.
But all I see is a threat, yet another person trying to come between Babydoll and me. I spring to my feet, shoving the man against the brick wall, ready to rip out his fucking throat.
“Punky, no!” Babydoll cries as I feel her frantically trying to pry me off the Good Samaritan.
But I can’t stop.
Rage overtakes me, and until I can hurt someone to expel this pain inside me, I’ll never stop. I elbow him in the face, blood instantly gushing from his nose. The sight only feeds my demons, and they’re hungry for so much more.
Just as I raise my fist, ready to punch away my anger and pain, Babydoll wraps her arms around me and presses her chest to my back.
Her frantic heart is in sync with her words as she pleads, “Please…stop. I can’t lose you again. I’m so sorry. For everything. Please don’t do this.”
Her shaky breaths match mine, and as she squeezes me tighter, begging me to see reason, her demons subdue mine, and I let the man go. He slumps to the ground, groaning in pain.
Ollie appears, obviously hearing the ruckus just outside. “A’ll take care of it,” he orders, looking at the bloody man. “Go before the peelers come.”
He’s right. I can’t be caught here.
Babydoll takes my hand, and we rake down the street, everything a blur as I lead us toward my truck. She’s breathless, and I realize she has no shoes on, but she doesn’t stop or whine. She follows me, protecting me, just how she always has.
I open the door and practically throw her in, sighing in relief when she’s safe. I get behind the wheel, and the truck roars to life as I start it and drive away from a mess which I should have avoided. I know better than to lead with emotion, but this is what happens when Babydoll and I are together.
Our love is toxic and causes nothing but destruction.
No one speaks. We both need a moment to process what just happened.
Babydo
ll leans her head against the window. “I’m sorry, Punky.”
“Stop apologizin’,” I snap, clenching the wheel. “Y’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes, I do,” she argues, a tremble in her voice. “When you left, you took a part…no, you took all of me with you. I was so lonely without you, and the worst thing was, I had to stop myself from feeling that way because of what we are.
“I felt so helpless. I wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how. Each letter, each visit which you refused to acknowledge, I just…I lost myself. I know that’s pathetic and weak when you’ve been nothing but strong, but I just…I just missed you. So much.”
I let her vent because I need to know why she’d attempt to end her own life.
“I was at the lowest point in my life, and I thought…I could make the pain, the constant void go away. This was something I could control. So like a cliché, I slit my wrists in the bathtub. It’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. I was so selfish. I didn’t even leave a note for my mom or my sister. I’m a coward.”
My stomach turns in anger and also, in sadness.
“Rory found me, and he called an ambulance. He saved my life. I owe him everything,” she says, still refusing to look at me.
I now understand what Cian meant when he said Babydoll worked until it made her sick. She was at the end of her tether because of me. I also understand why she and Rory bonded. He did what I could not—he saved her and kept her safe.
I failed her. I failed them all.
“I fell in love with him because, how couldn’t I? He saved my life.”
The break in her voice hammers away at my heart because the thought of her not being here is a life I don’t want to live.
“Yer not a coward,” I say when I think it’s safe to speak without my words betraying me.
“Then what am I?” she asks, turning slowly to face me.
Her desperation for validity wounds me. My world has been filled with nothing but darkness; Babydoll was the light I needed to guide me through the dark. Her light is now snuffed out because she is lost. So lost.
But now, it’s my turn to be her light and help lead her through the dark times.
“Yer human, Cami,” I say, using her name for the first time. “And yer a fighter. You being alive is proof of that.”
She bursts into tears.
Thankfully, the castle is near, and I turn into the drive, heading straight for the stable yard building. The moment I kill the engine, I drag her over the console and onto my lap. She comes willingly, weeping into my neck as she wraps her arms around me.
“Shh, it’ll be all right,” I assure, rubbing her back and allowing her to cry. “I’m sorry for leavin’ ya. But I had to.”
“W-why?” she stutters, her body vibrating with her shudders.
I never wanted to tell her this, but she was honest with me, so I will be honest with her.
“’Cause Brody threatened yer lives if I spoke to youse again. If I didn’t take the fall, if I didn’t give Belfast to him, he’d kill everyone I…love. I wouldn’t hurt youse like that. Better I suffer than yousens. I deserved the punishment for everythin’ I did. I just wish I could have stopped yer pain,” I confess, hating how many people I’ve hurt. “So, if anyone is a coward, it’s me.”
Babydoll’s cries cease, as do her breaths, and she becomes frozen solid.
“What?” she wheezes when she can speak, gently pulling from our embrace to face me. “He blackmailed you?”
I nod. “Among other things.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, the tears cascading down her cheeks. “That motherfucking asshole. I hate him. I hate them all.”
She opens her eyes, and what she says next has me barely holding on. “Hugh, he did things to…me.”
“What things?” I ask, dangerously low.
“He never, he never crossed that line, but he was…sick. He didn’t act like we were brother and sister.” She chews her lip when realizing what she just said. “I want Liam and Brody dead, just how Hugh is. Did he suffer?”
Nodding, I wipe away her tears with my thumb.
“What did you do to him?” When she reads my hesitation, she presses, “Please, I need to know.”
With a sigh, I reveal the real me. “I tortured him, and then I set him on fire.”
She’s silent, and I’m afraid I’ve said too much. But with the slowest of movements, she lowers her lips to mine, kissing me.
I refuse to give in to temptation because this isn’t about that. This kiss is letting go. “Thank you,” she whispers against my lips.
The kiss isn’t a lover’s kiss but, rather, a kiss filled with love. It’s the first chaste kiss we’ve shared, and I realize it’s because by telling me the truth, she has let go.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
“What ’bout Rory?” I ask, brushing the hair from her cheek.
She leans into my touch, her lips parting. “I’ll deal with him tomorrow. Now, I just want to be with you.”
Against my better judgment, I nod, condemning us both to a fate that was always sealed with a bloodied kiss.
I open the door with Babydoll still clinging onto me. She’s so delicate, so light. I walk us toward my home and unlock the door. “I’m sorry the place is a mess,” I say, kicking aside the mop and bucket.
She merely snuggles closer to me.
I walk us toward the bedroom, wishing I had something nicer to offer her. All that’s in here is a double bed mattress on the floor. “I haven’t had a chance to get a proper bed,” I explain, but she shakes her head.
“I don’t care.”
I lower her onto the mattress, and she untangles herself from my arms, slipping under the blankets sluggishly. Her long brown hair contrasts with the white pillow. She looks too perfect in my bed.
Needing a breather, I go into the bathroom and grip the sink, taking a moment to compose myself. Looking into the mirror, I wrestle with my emotions—should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her Brody is not my father?
I thought keeping the truth from her would spare her further pain, but the scars on her wrists detail the pain she carries is a part of her always. I decide to sleep on it because telling her when she’s half-cut is not the best plan.
Brushing my teeth, I undress down to my boxers because I can’t sleep with anything else on. Switching off the light, I pray that Babydoll has succumbed to sleep, but when I walk into the bedroom, I see she’s wide-awake.
She turns her head to look at me, and with the full moon beaming in from the window, it allows her to see I’m only in boxers. She quickly averts her gaze, embarrassed.
Pulling back the blankets, I slip into bed and shift onto the edge, needing to put as much space as possible between us. My back is to her, which I know is rude, but it’s been so long since I shared a bed with anyone, I don’t know how to act or feel.
“Ex favilla nos resurgemus,” she whispers, reciting the tattoo across my chest, reciting our parting words to each other ten years ago. “From the ashes we will rise. It’s so appropriate to what’s happened over the past ten years.”
When I got the tattoo, I felt connected to it as I could relate to every word. It seems Babydoll can as well.
“Do you think we will ever live a normal life?”
I ponder over her question. “I thought gettin’ married to the man of yer dreams is supposed to be normal?”
There is no sarcasm behind my words, just genuine curiosity. When she sighs, I risk turning over to look at her.
She appears torn, and I wonder why. “Rory is everything I could ever ask for. He’s such a good man. He loves me.”
I try not to let my hurt show.
“But he’s not that.”
“Not what?” I ask, confused.
She licks her lips before inching toward me. Like two magnets, we’re drawn to one another without choice. “Not the man of my dreams.”
I don’t ask who is because I know.
&nb
sp; She places her hands under her cheek and rests on them, looking at me closely. She’s waiting for me to reply, but I don’t. I won’t do that to Rory. He deserves happiness, and Babydoll once believed she could find happiness with him.
Me being back has just brought up old memories which are better left buried.
I need to be strong. If I surrender to what I want, I will hurt my best friend. I’ll also hurt the only woman I’ll ever love.
Babydoll’s breaths are uneven. I know she’s nervous. I also know if I were to give in to temptation, she wouldn’t stop me. But come morning, she’d feel nothing but guilt for betraying Rory and also, herself.
Instead, I offer her what I can.
Gently drawing her toward me, I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. “Sometimes, the wrong choices bring us to the right places. Rory is the right place for ye, Babydoll.”
She sighs, understanding that I will always be the wrong choice…no matter how right this feels.
“Where’ve ya been? And where are yer shoes?”
Closing my eyes, I brace the door handle, wondering if I still have time to make a run for it. But I’m done running.
Shutting the door, I forget about why I fled Punky’s house early this morning and walked back to Rory’s flat, needing the fresh air to help clear my head. I owe Rory an explanation.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I got caught up,” I explain, turning around and trying my best to smile.
Rory’s hair is sticking up like he’s run his fingers through it over and over again. His eyes are bloodshot, hinting he’s not slept a wink. “Caught up doin’ what? We had dinner plans with my parents. Did ya forget?”
No, I didn’t.
The thought of spending an evening with Rory’s parents while pretending that everything is okay literally drove me to drink.
I can’t shift this weight in my chest. It’s been here since Punky returned. I can barely breathe.
I shouldn’t have called him last night, but they say the truth comes out when you’re drunk, and boy, did I disclose a lot of truths last night.
The words spilled from me before I could stop myself, but I didn’t regret them. I wanted Punky to know how I feel. He may be able to pretend that everything between us is fine, but I can’t. I can’t stop feeling the way I do about him.