Page 7 of Mob Saint

His brow furrows, and I can tell he’s retreating. He’s not the mobster he was a moment ago. He’s the gentle giant who helped me to my feet and was careful not to touch my ribs when he pulled down my shirt. He was both when he did that—a gentle giant mobster. That’s an oxymoron if ever there were one. Right up there with giant shrimp.

“It was presumptuous of me to call you by anything other than your name. I’m sorry for that, too.”

“You’re being nice to me now, so why do you ruin it by teasing me?”

I didn’t mean to say that. I meant to accept his apology and leave. I meant to hide how much it bothers me. I meant to walk away and not look back.

“I never teased you. I don’t understand.”

He’s genuinely baffled. I can’t help it. I chuckle. But he retreats even more. He hasn’t moved a muscle, but I can tell. His gaze changes. It’s like a curtain just dropped, and I can’t tell anything about what he’s thinking. I don’t explain fast enough because he steps back farther.

“I shouldn’t have said anything then or now. Put the arnica on three times a day for a few days. Again, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

“I might not know exactly what I’ve done, but it’s obvious I’ve offended you. I didn’t intend to, so I’m sorry for that.”

He glances around. We’re two of the last people on the pitch. It’s dusk, and I want to head home to soak in a hot bath. He nods before turning toward the bench with a bag still on it.

“Thank you, Seamus. The arnica and helping me up were kind.” Even if you made me feel shitty the rest of the time.

“You’re welcome, Tiernan.”

I gather my stuff and head toward the gate. I notice he’s slow to gather his own gear and put it in his bag. I head out toward the subway stop, and I hear him behind me. I turn the corner to find the woman who kicked me in the ankle and the guy who landed on me talking.

“You know it’s just a club sport, not the Olympics.” The woman’s gaze runs up and down me, and it’s obvious she doesn’t think I’d make it to the Olympics. That just makes the insult worse since she’s implying I’m not as good as I think I am.

I nod and step off the sidewalk, but they turn to follow me. Are we in high school, and they’re meeting me behind the bleachers to fight?

“She just got lucky, Emily. You know she was showing off for O’Rourke. Trying to impress him.” He looks me up and down with a mocking smile. “You’re not his type.”

“She doesn’t need to try. She impressed me ages ago, Randy.”

Seamus’s hand is light as he rests it on my hip. It’s on my uninjured side. He’s mindful of how he touches me. But his hand tightens when he senses I’m about to step back on the sidewalk. He’s practically in the middle of the road.

He did that to protect me.

It dawns on me he isn’t just coming to my defense. He’s physically shielding me from cars getting too close. He doesn’t want me to move because then he can’t keep his arm around me. There isn’t enough room on the sidewalk for him to step up without bumping into Emily. He doesn’t want me closer to them, even though we all know they wouldn’t do anything to me. I don’t believe they’d do more than insult me if he wasn’t there.

“Go home. I’ll speak to you in the morning, Randy.”

The guy goes ashen in a heartbeat. He gives a jerky nod before he grabs Emily’s hand and practically drags her away. I step onto the sidewalk, and he follows me. I look up at him, confused.

“He used to work for me.”

“How long ago?”

“Until two minutes ago.”

Chapter Three

Seamus

I watch Tiernan’s head swing in Randy and Emily’s direction before looking back up at me.

“Oh.”

She knows what I am. She knows what that means. I keep telling myself that. As a reassurance—I guess. I don’t know why it’s so important that I reiterate it to no one but me.

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