by Bethany-Kris
“Sorry about that, love,” he said in a chuckle, tucking the ruined silk square away, “but we’re all better now, yeah?”
Evelyn nodded. “Perfect.”
“You’re going to need to get some of that air out of your voice before you get downstairs to say your vows.”
“Your fault.”
“So be it. And your lipstick.”
Evelyn sighed, happy and blissed. “What about it?”
“I smudged it. Fix that, too.”
“You’re such an asshole. I love you, Connor.”
He grinned. “Aye, lass. I know you do; I love you, too.”
No truer words had even been spoken from his mouth. He was sure, other than the vows he would speak in a short while, no truer words would come from him ever again.
• • •
Six months later …
Evelyn peeked into Connor’s office, a handful of balloons floating alongside her. “I need your help.”
Connor closed the folder in front of him, numbers that would never be as important as the woman just a few feet away. “What for? I thought you had the party handled, lass.”
“I do.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not the party.”
Connor raised a single brow. “I need more information to go on, if you really want me to help you, love.”
“The party is fine. One canceled because her daughter woke up sick this morning. The food is here, and the cake is on its way.” Evelyn held up the handful of helium-filled balloons, all with pretty pink 7s and stars on them. “The decorating is almost done, too.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Evelyn sighed. “Ciara.”
Oh.
Well, then …
Connor stood from his chair, and put the folder away for a later time. “Where is the wee hellion now?”
“Hiding in the backyard.”
“Isn’t it cold for her to be outside?”
Evelyn shrugged. “She managed to put a coat on, but even that was punctuated with a glare when I mentioned it.”
Grand.
“I’ll have her in the house and ready to smile shortly,” Connor assured.
Evelyn looked down at her watch. “Within thirty minutes, please.”
“Don’t ask for miracles, Evelyn.”
“You’ll do fine, she loves you, it’s only me that she hates,” his wife mumbled as she walked away.
Connor wanted to call out to Evelyn, and stop that nonsense she was saying or thinking before it took her into an awful emotional spiral, but one thing at a time. Besides, Evelyn did have a point to some extent.
Her daughter—his by adoption, though he adored her just the same had she come from his body—had been living with them for almost a year. In that time, Ciara had only made an effort to push her mother away, or even to hurt her, if she could manage it. Him, on the other hand, the girl was willing to talk to, spend time with, or whatever fit her fancy for the day.
He didn’t know why exactly Ciara was doing those things, but he figured it was simply a wait it out sort of situation. Clearly waiting it out was not working anymore.
Connor had decided enough was enough as he went looking for the girl. He loved the wee child, especially in her quiet moments. Or when she came to sit at his side with a book, to read him one of her favorite passages. Or even when she tried her hand at drawing, simply because it was something he enjoyed.
But he couldn’t have her hurting her mother. He couldn’t stand for Evelyn to be so constantly dejected and rejected by her own child, so much so that she sometimes cried herself to sleep. She would even hide herself away so that he wouldn’t feel guilty for having a connection with a child that wasn’t even his biologically.
Connor couldn’t allow that to continue.
Once Connor had pulled on his shoes and coat, he headed for the backyard. It didn’t take long at all for him to find Ciara in her favorite spot, at the very edge of the brownstone’s back yard, resting against the fence beside his Harley. He was going to have to upgrade the bike soon, but it was low on his priority list.
“All right, lass, time to get inside and get ready for your party and friends,” Connor said firmly.
He always tried firm with Ciara first, and if that didn’t work, he softened his tone until he got what he wanted. Kids—especially girls—weren’t so hard to figure out.
Ciara didn’t even look up from the book she was reading. “Don’t want a stupid party.”
Connor rolled his eyes upward. “First, that’s a feckin’ lie. You begged your mammy for one, and even had a whole list of girls you wanted to invite for a party and sleepover. She’s worked all night and day to make sure this would be grand for you, and where are you? Out here, acting like a spoiled brat.”
“Am not.”
“Give me more than a few words, lass.” Connor made his way over and sat down beside Ciara, ignoring the coldness of the ground seeping through his slacks. Spring was in full swing. “And skip the party excuse, because we both know it isn’t that.”
Ciara had lots of friends, and she loved school. She had been a bit behind at first, but a private tutor fixed that issue right up, and she had no problem fitting in with her pretty face and disarming smile.
Much like her mother …
“Do you miss that woman who looked after you?” Connor dared to ask.
Ciara shrugged, still reading. “Sometimes, but not a lot. She’s not my mammy, you know?”
Connor almost smiled, but managed to hold it back. “Then why do you treat your mammy like shite under your shoe, hmm?”
“I … don’t.”
“Come on, now.”
“I don’t mean to,” Ciara said lamely, glancing up at Connor.
“You fail pretty spectacularly at it, Ciara.”
The girl sighed, closing her book and setting it aside. “I know she loves me, and you, too.”
“Very much, even when you’re being trite and spiteful.”
“But it wasn’t enough before,” she added quieter.
Connor leaned back into the fence, letting out a slow breath. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere now. Keep going.”
“She loved me before, too, but not enough to keep me. Not enough to find me sooner. She let someone take me away, and she stayed gone. What if she does that again? What if she makes me leave again because she doesn’t love me enough?”
Connor took a minute to clear the emotion lodging in his throat, and handed a handkerchief in his jacket pocket over to Ciara so she could wipe her silent tears away. For a good while, he had suspected that Ciara’s issues stemmed from abandonment, if only because as a child, he had understood what it felt like to wonder if your mother just didn’t care, or rather, not enough to stay around. It was a difficult struggle.
It was even worse when you were just a child.
“Aye, she sent you away and kept you away because she had no choice—you know all of these things, because Evelyn has told you,” Connor said, “but I suppose it doesn’t help, when you’re just seven years old and nothing feels very permanent, right?”
Ciara nodded. “I guess.”
“You’ve told her you hated her. You’ve thrown things at her. You’ve ignored her. You’ve screamed, slammed doors, fought, and broken every rule she’s tried to make for you that were only for your safety, just because you could. Because you know she feels guilty, and you can manipulate that to get what you want, Ciara. And I’ve let it go on, because I hoped your mammy would see what you were doing to her, and stop allowing it herself. But the sad thing is, it won’t stop, because she does love you. She loves you too much—she will always love you, even when you hate her.”
Ciara’s gaze dropped to the ground. “I’m sorry.”
Connor stood up. “I am not the person you should be saying that to, you know.”
He allowed the minute or so he knew it would take for his words to sink in, brushed off his pant legs, and turned back to look at the
house. He wondered if Evelyn was looking out one of the windows, staying hidden by shadows, but he decided it didn’t matter much either way. She would never do this, never hurt her daughter to make her understand how her behavior was affecting them all, but he certainly would.
“You can keep behaving as though you don’t belong to us, as though you aren’t ours and we don’t truly love you all you want,” Connor said, glancing back at Ciara, “but you know that simply isn’t true. We will love you regardless, today, tomorrow, and forever. It would be grand if you would make an effort to love us, too.”
“I said I do.”
And he believed her.
“Then you should act like it, lass,” Connor said. “Those who love one another don’t hurt one another, and we certainly don’t send them away.”
Ciara looked up from her hands. “All right.”
Connor nodded. “Your mammy is waiting, I think she said your cake was coming soon.”
The girl pushed up from the ground, grabbing her book and heading for the brownstone. As she passed Connor by, she stopped just long enough to hug him around his waist. She didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need her to.
They only wanted to love her.
He couldn’t force her to love them back, though.
• • •
Two years later …
Connor damn near stumbled over his own two feet as he tried to lock the door to his New Jersey home. He swore no matter how long he owned this damn house, it would never be as familiar to him as the brownstone had been. He’d needed to be closer to his men, more accessible for them, and so a move had been in order, though he hated uprooting his wife and daughter.
Tonight, he’d hated the New Jersey house even more because of a simple feckin’ phone call that had come in, a frantic voice telling him a problem had come up in a Queen’s whorehouse, and that he needed to get there ASAP. Which meant an hour and a half drive there, a feckin’ shite show when he arrived, and a hellish drive back. All for a whorehouse that he had already tried to rid his organization of at least a dozen feckin’ times!
Feck.
Feckin’ feck.
Feck!
Connor didn’t realize it until his own voice echoed back to him in the quiet house, but he’d been shouting his curses as loud as he could manage. That just made him curse more, albeit quieter, hoping he hadn’t woken up Evelyn or Ciara.
Ciara had school in the morning, a private establishment that catered to her talent in dancing, while feeding her mind at the same time.
Evelyn had a lunch date with a curator for an art gallery, a talk to decide which of her pieces would be placed in the business.
Connor glanced up at the ceiling, and sighed. He was about to feck all those plans up right and proper for his wife and daughter with what happened tonight. Ciara might still be able to get to school, but Evelyn certainly wouldn’t be able to take her, and Connor would need to leave to head back to that feckin’ whorehouse to clean up the mess he’d left behind.
“Feck,” he mumbled, tipping his head down and squeezing his eyes shut. “Stupid fool.”
“Connor?”
Oh, shite.
Shite, feckin’ shod, foolish arse.
He turned to find his sleepy, beautiful wife standing at the bottom of the staircase, staring at him with confused eyes. She wrapped her arms around her waist, making her silk robe tighten to her curves as she frowned at him.
“What are you holding, Connor?”
He glanced down at the unmoving bundle wrapped in a stained sheet in his arms, and then back to his wife. “Uh …”
Evelyn stepped forward. “Connor.”
“I got a call,” he said, his voice fainter than he wanted it to be.
“Yeah, you woke me up before you left. A problem, you said.”
He nodded. “At that feckin’ whorehouse I hate.”
“Okay. And?”
Why couldn’t he talk properly?
Why was his throat so feckin’ tight?
“The guy that runs the place called my guy who owns the building saying one of the girls was … uh, something happened.”
“Connor,” Evelyn said louder, drawing his gaze to hers. “Stop rambling.”
She was close enough that he could pass the bundle in his arms over to her, so he did just that, hoping to all hell it would explain what he couldn’t manage to. As soon as Evelyn had the bundle of stained sheets in her arms, he headed for the kitchen.
The blood was still on his hands, and his jacket was ruined.
He needed to get it off.
Connor turned the water on as hot as it could go, and stripped off his coat, shoving it into the nearby rubbish bin. The water stung his skin, but he couldn’t find a part of him that cared or felt it all that much. He scrubbed away, watching red lighten to pink as he dug dried blood out from beneath his fingernails, and washed every bit of blood out of the creases of his knuckles.
Before long, Evelyn had come to stand behind him.
“You’re going to need to explain this baby to me,” she whispered softly.
Yeah.
Yeah, he knew that.
“It’s a boy,” Connor said.
“Okay, but that doesn’t—”
“By the time I got there, he’d nearly beaten her to death, she was choking on her blood and her bed was soaked in it. Not just blood, but the water, you know. The water, Evelyn.”
“Oh.”
“She hid it or something, the pregnancy, but somebody figured it out tonight and let the guy who looks after the girls know. He thought he could beat the feckin’ baby out of her, or maybe he just didn’t give a shite. One of the girls got ahold of the phone and called the guy who owns the place—my guy, I guess he’s a regular for her there—and he called me, because he’s a feck up. Didn’t want to deal with it, didn’t think to let me know what I was walking into. She was—”
“He’s very small,” Evelyn said quietly, “and he’s not making a lot of noise.”
“Big night for him,” Connor mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Getting cut from his mother because she stopped breathing and all. Didn’t even know if he was going to be alive or not, or if he was ready, but she asked before … I didn’t know what to do. Obviously, she’d made a great effort to keep the baby secret, to protect him.”
Evelyn made a sound that tore his heart apart.
“I’m sorry,” Connor said in a fast rush.
He repeated the words over and over again.
Not just for her, but for the baby, and himself, and the woman he’d been too late to help.
Connor didn’t want his organization attached to skin anymore, it was feckin’ killing him every time another issue came up from a whorehouse, or a trader still trying to do business with the O’Neils, even after he refused to partake in things his father had.
It was killing him.
“He’s very pink,” Evelyn said, “so that’s a good thing.”
“Oh?”
Connor didn’t have the first feckin’ clue about babies, especially brand new ones. He let out a shaky breath, but relaxed the moment he felt Evelyn’s hand touch between his shoulder blades softly.
“What now?” she asked.
“I left a mess; a feckin’ fool to bury, a bunch of frightened women, and the baby’s dead mother to get rid of. I have to make some calls and—”
“He needs formula and diapers, Connor. But especially formula, tonight, to eat. A seat to drive safely in the car. Something to sleep in, though we can make due tonight. He needs to see a doctor—a safe one for us, given the situation, you know—so I need you to call Dr. Jensen to come here first thing in the morning at the latest to make sure he’s okay. He’s more important.”
Connor leaned over the counter, resting there with his arms over his head as his trembling increased. “I’m sorry, love.”
“Don’t be. We’ll figure it out.”
Would they?
He didn’t know how, when he h
ad just flipped their whole world upside down.
“He needs a name,” Evelyn said.
“God, lass, that is what you want to do right now?”
“I’d like to call him something, Connor.”
“Whatever you want, Evelyn.”
“Declan,” she murmured. “I’d like to call him Declan.”
Of course, he thought.
For her father, a man who had taken her in as a baby, no questions asked, and named her after his own mother.
Full circle.
Life was just making its rounds again.
Connor turned fast on his heel, reached out to grab his wife by the back of her neck, and brought her in close enough for him to hug and kiss her forehead. Evelyn sighed into his kiss, and the bundled up, bloodstained baby between them finally stirred, crying softly until Connor pulled the fabric away enough to expose his tiny, sweet face.
“Hi, there,” Connor said. “You made for an interesting night, lad.”
The baby stared up at him, hazy eyed and confused. Seemed without even asking, needing, or wanting one, Connor had somehow gained another child overnight. He wasn’t sure how to do this parenting thing—wasn’t even sure he was a decent father to the child he already had, but damn, he didn’t have much of a choice now.
Besides, Evelyn kept him in line.
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?” Evelyn asked.
Connor shrugged. “You’re crazy with me.”
She didn’t even deny it.
It was true.
At least they had each other to be crazy with.
That was love.
The only kind of love he cared to know.
Inflict is my first standalone title in … well, a hella long time, haha. I was a bit worried at first, because my strengths in writing these types of novels often lie in my ability to create the world, build the family, and bring the reader in to sit at the table with the rest of the characters. Inflict, Connor, and Evelyn couldn’t quite be the same, for several reasons, but the most obvious being they deviated so hard from that usual world that I seem to take comfort in. And yet, I found it wasn’t so difficult after all, and maybe my worries were for nothing. The words came easily, and the new tone wasn’t so hard to capture.