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"I threw her mother's death in her face."
I winced. Tommy and Cassidy's mother had been killed in a car bomb meant for her husband over a decade ago, and the fallout drove the family apart. Connor couldn't have picked a worse point if he tried. "Shit."
"Yeah."
"How long ago was this?"
Connor absently spun the wedding ring on his finger. "A week ago. I've been so caught up with Moretti and this goddamn mole that I haven't had time to try to talk to her about it, not that she'd let me. She's so goddamn stubborn."
"Pot, kettle,” I said, dryly. He seemed really torn up about Cassidy, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say my best friend was dangerously close to falling in love with his wife.
I picked at the bed sheets and tried to sound nonchalant. "Where's my phone?"
"Tommy's keeping it safe.Bothyour phones." Connor wouldn't meet my eyes, which meant Tommy was going through them. Perfect. Thank God I'd had enough sense not to put her number in my phones, even if it left me without a means to check on her.
Connor clapped me on the shoulder. "Rest up. Cass said she wants you flat on your back for at least 24 hours, and to take all the meds she left you. Do you think you can handle that?"
I grimaced. "Will do, boss."
Getting shot sucked. Waiting was even worse.
24 hours turned into a week, because, apparently, the pavement behind a dumpster isn't the most sanitary place in the world. The ensuing infection wasn't too bad, but it left me shivering and sulking and absolutely miserable, unable to think of anything else but Emilia.
I thought I'd been a lovesick, sorry bastard before, but that was nothing to the level of desperation I was at now. Her face was the last thing I thought of every night, and the first thing on my mind when I woke up in the mornings, when I wasn't stuck in a drug-addled haze from the painkillers. Not hearing from her for so long left me in a tailspin.
What a fucking mess my life was. I spent all my time lying on my back with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and think about her, our brief time together running on repeat in my brain. Especially those last moments. That one, heart-stopping moment of terror when I thought she'd been shot, followedby relief that quickly soured when I saw how scared she was. Running from her family with my blood on her hands. I didn't know if she'd gotten home okay, or if her stepbrothers suspected anything. Luca seemed like he'd had the bit between his teeth that night, and I wanted to believe that he would make sure Emilia was all right, but believing it wasn't the same as knowing it.
And most of all, I didn't know if she'd ever want to see me again.
I couldn't have illustrated our situation more poignantly if I tried. Two families, divided. Out for blood. Her on one side and me on the other.
Sounded like a story I knew. One didn't end to well.
I loved her. I wasn't sure if I could live with us never being together. But the thought of her getting hurt--or worse--because of me was too much to bear.
I was unraveling at the seams.
I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. The only time I felt anything close to normal was when I was taking the pain meds, and even then, everything was muted and dulled. My world had narrowed to the pain in my leg and the longing in my heart. I hadn't spoken to anyone in days, and they'd let me be. I was thankful for that. I couldn't stand to be around people right now, not like this.
I stared blankly at the ceiling. The sun was going down, and it cast the room in long shadows. The bedside clock read 8:53PM. My leg throbbed, and I glared at the line of pill bottles on the bedside table.
Fuck this.
I flipped off the covers and tried to stand. My leg shrieked in protest, but after dry swallowing a double dose of pain pills and a couple extra antibiotics for good measure, the pain retreated to something I could live with.
My head swam as I dragged myself across the room to the closet, but the room leveled out after a couple minutes. I pulled on some clothes, not caring what they were, just hoping I could walk out of here without being followed. The last thing I grabbed was Emilia’s battered copy ofPride and Prejudice, the book that started this whole thing. I was going to see her, and I wasn't about to let anyone stop me.
Lady D's was starting to fill up. I lurked in the stairwell and waited until Sloane was at the other end of the bar before limping down the hall. I kept my head down, eyes scanning the crowd for anyone I recognized. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be occupied with other things. I ducked out the back door and into the night air.
I flagged a cab. I wasn't about to walk to the North End, not in my current condition. I gave the driver the address for Emilia's bookstore and stared out the window, watching the city blur past the darkened windows. The pain killers had started kicking in, but I didn't care. All that mattered was seeing her.
The car stopped. I paid him and got out, pulling my hood up as I did. I felt like a goddamn criminal, sneaking around like this, but I had no other choice.
I was just going to check on her. Nothing else. Just going to make sure she was okay.
The bookstore was lit up, a warm, golden glow flooding the street from the front windows. I circled around to the alley. With a lurch, I realized light was spilling out into the alley, too.
Emilia had put the brick back.
