AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Forty-Three
Finn
My weekend had endedafter my brothers and I hashed out a conspiracy theory worthy of a novel and had confessed to enough sins that we were never entering the kingdom of heaven.
The following week started with Baggy, Tink, and Forrest—Brennan’s crew—reenactingRamboas they were given the coordinates to the location where Liam Donnghal was being held captive.
After a brief tussle with the bastards holding our cousin hostage, with Eoghan’s skills reportedly keeping the Five Pointers in one piece, Liam had been freed.
I didn’t get involved with that side of shit, but I’d heard the details, and that was more than enough for me.
Knowing he’d been locked up with some poor Triad kid made me glad that the Points and the Triads had worked together to kill every kidnapper on the compound.
While I was relieved for Padraig’s sake that his son was safe and sound—aside from a partially missing ear and psychological trauma that would haunt him for the rest of his life, small fry in the grand scheme of things—I had my own problems to deal with so I stayed out of the loop.
And if that sounded selfish, then I was fucking selfish.
Aoife was my priority right now, and she wasn’t making it fucking easy on me.
I’d told her about Aidan and Padraig, had even shared the news about Liam being a long-lost cousin who’d been kidnapped, and while she’d listened, she hadn’t really conversed with me about the fuckfest that belonged on a daytime talk show.
I didn’t know if her silence was telling me she wanted nothing to do with the O’Donnellys, or if she was just too grief-stricken to process more family drama.
Either way, stuck between a rock and a hard place—yet again—I’d shared what I could in the interest of being transparent, but it wasn’t getting me anywhere.
Case in point now.
“Aoife?”
She didn’t look up from the bowl of frosting that she was lacing with lemon juice.
“Sweetheart,” I said with a sigh. “You need to eat.”
“I can eat when Paddy gets here.”
Her flat words had me frowning at her because she hadn’t eaten at breakfast, nor had she eaten much last night at dinner.
My curvy wife was starting to look emaciated, and while I was all for her doing whatever the hell she wanted to her body, this wasn’t her choice.
This wasn’t her dieting to fit into a bridesmaid’s dress for Savannah’s wedding whenever the bride decided the wedding would be.
This was her starving herself because she had no appetite.
What scared me the most was that the loss of appetite wasn’t just for food but for life as well.
Strolling over to her, I watched as tension struck her, straightening her spine and stiffening her shoulders.
The physical rejection was something I deserved, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
Even knowing I was skating on thin ice with her, it didn’t stop me from continuing to walk over to her, moving behind and resting my hands on either side of the counter to lock her in.
“Finn, leave it,” she intoned grimly, her hand whisking the thin, syrupy goop in the dish.
It smelled of spring, fresh and citrusy, but my appetite had died with Imogen.
That was the bitch of it.
I understoodwhyshe wasn’t eating, but I still did it.
