“So, how was Christmas?” Angelo asked everyone as he slowly tugged Kara closer. She let him pull her right up to his side, and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
“Good, but it would have been better if you had been there,” Dante said. “Any news on when you can come home?”
“Maybe tomorrow? They’re still checking my liver and my white blood cell count, or something like that. So far so good, but I still have to get through another day.” He paused for a moment then said hesitantly, “Would you all mind if I talked to Kara alone for a few minutes?”
Francesca ushered everyone out of the room, leaving the two alone.
“We have to talk,” he said softly, still stroking her hand.
“Okay.” She felt like she was standing at the edge of a terrifying black abyss. What was he going to say? And why did it seem to matter so much? What if he wanted to break things off? What if he didn’t want her to pretend to be his fiancée anymore, and she’d have to go home and pack up her stuff and return to that awful little apartment? The endless parade of what ifs terrified her.
“Kara, earlier today someone dressed as a police officer came into my room. They asked questions about you. Then he attacked me.”
Of all the things she had expected Angelo to say, it hadn’t been that. It took her a moment to process.
“Why? Are you hurt? Why would he…?” She searched his face and body but didn’t see any signs other than his bandaged hand.
“I’m all right, but the point is someone came here looking for Kara O’Brien.”
O’Brien... Oh God, no.That name had been the black spot of her life, a spot that had bled out further and further at the edges until it had covered her entire existence.
“I…” Her throat had gone dry and she swallowed thickly.
“Here, have some water.” He offered her an unused cup and she poured herself a glass from the pitcher on the table. She drank greedily, as if the act would somehow wash away the name.
“I... I have to go.” She set the glass down and turned to leave, but Angelo’s grip tightened.
“Kara, please don’t go. I want to help you.”
Kara sagged. Those words were something she’d wanted to hear for so long from someone, and yet… “You can’t. Please, I have to leave.”
“And then what?” Angelo asked, then sighed. “Look, if you want to pay me back for what’s happened, then just tell me the truth. Maybe I can’t help you, but maybe I can. You need to be honest with me. No lies. It’s just you and me in this room, okay?”
She glanced at the closed hospital room door and nodded. He was right. If nothing else, she did owe him the truth. At least then he’d understand why she had to leave.
“My last name isn’t O’Brien.” She waited for him to interrupt her, but he didn’t. Instead, he took the hand he was holding, which was now trembling, and covered it with both of his. Her heart lurched, feeling strangely safe at that moment, even though she knew she wasn’t.
“O’Brien was my father’s name. Sean O’Brien. He died less than a year ago.”
“And Gallagher?” he asked. “Was that your mother’s maiden name?”
“No, it’s her great-great-grandmother’s. My mother was Irish, so was my father. She met my father at a bar when she was twenty-three. When she found out she was pregnant with me and realized what kind of man my father was, she fled Ireland. She changed her name and gave birth to me here in the states. She died five years ago, but I’m still hiding.”
“Hide from your father?” Angelo’s warm brown eyes held her face, unafraid of what she was telling him. She envied that bravery, but that would change once he heard everything. Yet part of her hoped it wouldn’t.
She had been scared for so long that she didn’t remember what it felt like to be anything but afraid. Sometimes she was convinced her fear was the only proof that she was still alive, because she couldn’t feel anything else except when Angelo touched her. He made her feel so much. It scared the hell out of her, but she couldn’t convince herself to leave.
“So why are you hiding from your father?” he gently prodded. “Did he abuse your mother?”
Kara almost wanted to laugh, because the idea that something so horrible would actually be animprovementon her situation was so absurd it was funny. “My father was a bad man. My mom didn’t realize it until later. He’s…”
She stopped. Sweet as Angelo was, brave as he was, and as much as she wanted to believe he truly wanted to help her, this was the point where he’d realize he was in over his head. She couldn’t blame him, of course, but part of her desperately wished that it wouldn’t matter. And another part wasafraidit wouldn’t.
“You can tell me, Kara,” said Angelo.
“My father ran one of the most dangerous mobs in Ireland and New York. Have you heard of the Westies?”
Angelo shook his head.
