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“Can’t I tell her I’m getting her ice cream or something?” Conor asked, pleading.
The silence that followed his question was answer enough for both him and me.
“I’m not going to be able to look at her today,” he said with a groan. “I’ll tell her if I do. I don’t know how to leave her unprotected during my shift.”
“It’s not your shift,” Kieran said. “It’s mine. It’s always mine. I’m the one leaving her unprotected.”
The guilt in his voice slammed into me, stealing my breath.
I grabbed at my aching chest, but when Beck started talking again, a low, warning whistle began in the kitchen.
I rushed through the living room into the kitchen as quietly as possible, and turned off the stove just as the kettle’s scream sounded through the house—alerting the guys that I was awake.
Forcing myself to breathe slowly, steadily, I scooped coffee into the French press, then poured water in to let it brew.
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I’d just grabbed a mug a few minutes later when the door opened and Beck’s heavy steps filled the house.
I glanced up to ask if he wanted coffee, but paused, sucking in a sharp breath when strong, familiar arms wrapped around my waist.
“Why are you awake?” he asked in that rough tone as he rested his forehead on the back of my head.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I set the mug down to grip the edge of the counter. “Where were you?”
Why didn’t you come back?
Where did you sleep?
Why did you let the mob get between us?
Why can’t you see that it is?
“Outside with Conor.”
His answer surprised me. I was sure he would’ve gone back to his old room in the main house. Or Conor’s room in Soldier’s Row. Anywhere to sleep after such a long job.
“All night?”
“Where else would I go?” I didn’t need for him to say the rest. I’d heard it for years. I need to make sure you’re safe.
What Kieran was saying, and what he had done last night, made the conversation I’d just overheard that much more confusing.
Since that night, I’d never been without one of the guys watching me, guarding me. And now there was a meeting happening tonight that was so important Kieran would pull Conor away from watching me.
But not important enough that Mickey would go.
Or could go . . .
And in that moment, I knew that whatever this meeting was—wherever Conor was going—I needed to go there too.
“You could’ve done that from inside the house,” I mumbled as I grabbed the mug and reached for the French press.
Kieran released me only to grab and still my hands.
“I plan to. From our bed.”
As I said, Kieran didn’t linger on arguments or tears once they ended . . . because he couldn’t comprehend emotional damage.
