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Oh. Niall nods to me, pulling out of the parking lot, our typical silence settling in the vehicle. I don’t think he was supposed to tell me any of that. I have no idea why he did, but I’m not about to tell anyone –even Fiona. I will take it to my grave if Niall has seen fit to tell me a secret.
When Niall parks at my apartment building, I sigh, rubbing my hand over my eyes. Instead of silently watching me walk to my door, he speaks to me.
“Ye look tired, lass.” I blink at him in surprise as he lifts a hand, his fingers brushing beneath my eye.
I am tired but feel an electric jolt between my thighs at his touch. He’s staring at me, his hand dropping away, waiting for an explanation.
“It’s May.” I shrug. He watches me with his inscrutable eyes. “Goodnight, Niall. Thanks for the lift.”
I shove out of the SU V, hurrying to the door before he can continue the conversation.
I dash up the stairs before he pulls away from the curb for the first time. Usually, I watch him leave. Snapping the apartment door shut behind me, I let out a heavy breath, fetching a beer from the fridge. My purse lands on the coffee table as I drop onto my sofa, clutching a beer and dialing into my voicemail.
“Darling.” My mother’s slurred voice fills the room. “It’s May, darling. You shouldn’t be alone. When are you coming to visit?”
Why would she give a fuck if it’s May? She’s just trying to make it all about her, as usual. The voicemail is still running, a stumbling sound as Mom mutters a low curse, continuing to leave her message.
“I’ll expect you next week, shall I? We can do lunch. Your Hart will be overjoyed to see you, darling. We miss you. Kisses!”
I drop the phone like it’s poisonous, taking a large swig of beer to rid my mouth of the taste of bile.
I won’t be going to Beacon Hill this May or any time in the foreseeable future. And I sure as shit will not be goinganywherenear Hart Remington. The very thought of him turns my stomach.
I make it to the toilet bowl just in time to empty the contents of my stomach. Lying on the cold blue tiles of the floor, I hug my knees to my chest, stifling a sob as I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Six
NIALL
May. Mellie gets tired in May. I drive around the block, parking and strolling back to her building, letting myself inside using the key I had the super make me.
The kitchen light in her apartment is off, so I pick the lock, quietly letting myself inside. Her purse isn’t on the little kitchen table where she always leaves it. I wonder why.
I move through the silent apartment, straightening items as I go. Mellie’s purse is lying on the coffee table next to a half-empty beer bottle, her phone on the floor beside it. Frowning, I pick it up, turning it over in my hands. Why would Mellie drop her phone on the ground?
A light is shining underneath the bathroom door, and I freeze, barely breathing. Jesus fuck. Is the lass still awake? I can’t have her catching me in here. She’d freak the fuck out and run as fast as she could away from Oracle.
Silently stalking over, I press my ear to the door. My fingers itch to rip it open as I hear the lass purge into the toilet. She didn’t seem unwell in the car. Tearing away from the door before I go inside and gather the lass in my arms, I pluck up the beer, sniffing it.
It smells fine. Setting it down, I cross to the door again, resting my ear against the wood. She’s finished purging, but she’s sobbing like her heart is breaking. My fingers flex again.
I stand at the door, listening until her sobs fade away. There is no noise to suggest she is going to exit the bathroom. Finally, after what feels like an age, I slowly, silently turn the handle.
As it opens, the door makes a small creak, but Mellie doesn’t call out. Peering in, my eyes take in the lass, curled up on the floor, tear tracks down her cheeks as she sleeps, occasionally hiccupping. Jesus fuck.
I move into the room, kneeling and carefully gathering her into my arms. The lass doesn’t wake, her face nuzzling my chest, murmuring so softly I can’t make out what she’s saying as I take her into her tiny bedroom.
There’s only space for a full-size bed, the base almost touching the closet, and a narrow bedside table. The lass’s coverlet is green and white, a spring-like pattern. It suits her.
Setting her down, I straighten, my lips compressing as I stare at her. I can’t leave her sleeping like this. Kneeling beside the bed, my eyes lock on her face – in case she wakes – and I slip her shoes and socks off, placing them at the base of the closet.
My mouth is dry as I unbutton her shirt, easing it off her shoulders and draping it over the end of the bed. Her jeans follow, but still, she doesn’t wake. I fold them, placing them on her shirt, standing and sucking in a breath as my eyes sweep her sleeping form.
Jesus fuck. This is torture. She looks so fucking perfect in her bra and panties. It is taking everything I have not to wake her up and fuck her. I have to cover her before I lose my head.
Gently tugging the coverlet down, I lay it over her, smoothing her hair off her face with my fingertips.
“Sleep well, lass,” I murmur, turning and letting myself out of the room.
