“You are in my heart.”
I close the folder in front of me because the words on the page have become useless. Oisín asked whether I wanted him, and I didn’t answer because the answer felt like a trap. If I said yes, the next question would be what the wanting meant, and I didn’t have a weapon ready for that. Then he kissed me anyway. He gave me a chance to understand without forcing the words from my mouth, then left before I could hide behind my hands.
Bricks stands and slaps one hand on the back of the chair. “All right. That’s enough emotional growth for one afternoon. I’m sweating.”
“You didn’t grow,” Moth pushes out, looking up at the big guy.
“I was nearby. Counts.”
Moth rises too, gathering the pressure map from the desk. “Read Oisín’s notes before you call Harlan. He’s correct about containment.” Moth chucks another folder onto my desk, supposedly what he had needed the other twenty minutes for.
I look at the folder, then at him. “And about the other thing?”
Moth pauses at the door. “Which other thing?”
I give him a flat look, and Bricks grins like the bastard he is.
“The wanting, Moth. Try to keep up.”
Moth considers that. “Yes. He’s likely correct about that as well.”
Then he leaves, Bricks lingering a second longer, hand on the doorframe, his expression more serious than I want it to be. “You don’t have to become Sol just because he taught you the rules.”
Oisín
Sainthasbeenoff.Ever since I dragged him into a kiss and all but asked him how he felt about me, he’s avoided me. He no longer takes, and the absence of that has become its own kind of touch, not the way he used to, anyway. That should feel like victory after what happened in the office, after the public humiliation. I wanted a line, and for once Saint seems to be standing on his side of it. He hasn’t dragged me upstairs to turn anger into bruises. He hasn’t ordered me to my knees during a call. He hasn’t come to bed with his hands already rough and his mouth at my throat like the day can only be survived if he writes himself into my skin before sleeping.
I should be relieved. Instead, I feel hollow in a way that makes me furious with myself.
I just wanted him to respect that line, not avoid it altogether. It’s like I broke something in him, or maybe I only found the broken place and put my thumb against it.
Bricks finds me two days later at the bar while Saint is in a closed meeting with Moth. He sets a coffee beside me, which is alarming because Bricks has never brought me anything that wasn’t either a warning or a problem.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Coffee.”
“I know what coffee is.”
“Then why’d you ask?”
I look at the mug, then at him. “Because you brought it.”
Bricks lowers himself onto the stool beside me with a grunt. “Tally said you looked like shit, and Demo said if he told you that, you’d take it personally. I’m doing community service.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
I take the coffee because refusing would make the conversation longer, and I’m learning that Bricks has a talent for stretching discomfort until a person confesses just to end the silence. He watches me take the first sip, then glances toward the private hall where Saint disappeared an hour ago with a report in one hand and an unreadable expression on his face.
“He’s been off,” Bricks says.
I don’t pretend not to know who he means. “I noticed.”
“You do something?”
The question has no accusation in it, which somehow makes it harder to answer. I run my thumb along my ring and watch the silver catch the bar light. “I kissed him and walked away.”
