Page 120 of Crave Me

I laugh, only to wince when pain stabs my chest. “Everything looks good, Mr. Jonah.”

“It’s Evan,” I tell her. “And if so, I’d like to see her.”

“Let’s see how you do when we get you up to the bathroom,” she says.

Wren

Ma brushes my hair with her old wooden brush, the one with the boars’ hair bristles. It always left my hair smooth and silky. I think the last time she used it on me was to braid my hair all those years ago, back when she’d weave in those satiny ribbons.

How old was I then? Nine, maybe ten? I remember the girls at school making fun of me, telling me I was too old for them. I didn’t care, knowing my mother carved out that pocket of time, just to spend it with me.

“You always had the prettiest hair,” she says, her accent likely just as thick as the day she left Ireland. “Every little girl in the neighborhood used to admire it, wanting to touch it. But I knew we were in trouble when the boys began to notice it, too.” She cocks her head, looking a little bit older, and a little more grey, but it’s the sadness dulling her stare that worries me more. “I wish I would have spent more time braiding that pretty hair.”

Her eyes well. I recognize that it’s not due to my lost childhood, but because she almost lost that little girl whose hair she loved to brush.

“Ma, I’m fine,” I tell her, forcing a smile even though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing.

Christ. Evan was shot. I was, too. But as much as I hurt, it hurt more knowing he’d almost died because of a man I’d forced into his life.

“How’s Evan?” I ask, meeting Seamus’s face because it’s too hard to meet Ma’s.

“He’s all right,” Seamus insists. “He was discharged late last night. Every time he came in you were out cold.” He frowns. “You weren’t doing that shit on purpose. Were ya?”

“No, Seamus,” I reply. “Let’s just say I’ve been really tired.”

I don’t want to remind them why I’ve been so tired, weak, and barely able to lift my head. It must have been something, getting that call that I’d been shot. I think one of us dying has always been our deepest fear, even though we’ve never talked about it. The seven of us, we’re tight. Loud, obnoxious, borderline crazy, but tight as God and this tiny woman brushing the length of my hair intended. One of us going, especially so young, is not an option, even though it’s part of life. And now that some of my brothers are married and have their own families, that fear has extended. That’s a good thing in a way. It means there are more people to love and be scared for.

Curran and Declan poke their heads in, motioning to Ma and Seamus. “Your turn,” I see Curran mouth to Seamus.

It was the same thing Killian said to them. Ma and Angus were the first. The only difference being that it was Finnie who lured them out. At first, I thought they just wanted their chance to see me since they limit visitors. Now, I’m not so sure. Not with the way Ma reacts.

A single tear drips down her cheek. But then she smiles, like really smiles in a way I’ve never seen. She doesn’t show any teeth, but . . .

She presses a kiss to my forehead like she used to do when she’d kiss us all good night. There’s so much—I don’t know, love— behind that motion, I almost well up my damn self. But then she says what she says and it’s like my body sucks the tears back up.

“Don’t fuck it up, Wrennie,” she tells me.

Her accent remains light and pretty, despite the F-bomb she just dropped.

“Ma said, ‘fuck’,” Curran mutters to Declan when she and Seamus step out.

Yeah, she did. I blink back to where she disappeared through the door. “What the hell?”

“She’s been worried,” Declan says. “We all have.” He keeps his gaze rock steady. “How are you?”

“Tired of being here,” I admit. My stare drills a hole into the far wall where there’s a small cabinet stuffed with medical crap to keep saps like me alive. “What’s going to happen to Bryant?” I ask. I haven’t wanted to say his name. It makes what happened more real, I guess. I wish it didn’t. But it does.

“With two attempted murder charges and all the money laundering he’s done for the mob, he’s not getting out, ever. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Except in a body bag,” Curran adds. He shrugs, staring right at Declan. “He was technically a cop. I guess we’ll have to let his new friends at the state pen know as much.”

“I just want him out of my life.” I stroke my hair, feeling how soft it is following Ma’s care and wishing it wasn’t such an effort to lift my arm. “I hate what he did to me, but mostly what he did to Evan.” I shake my head, my misery burning way worse than the residual pain in my shoulder. “I almost lost him.”

“I think he was more afraid of losing you,” Declan says. He crosses his arms. “When we arrived, the paramedics were all over you. They told us they had to pull Evan off you. He was barely conscious, but they found him, covering your body, trying to keep you warm, and afraid to let you go. It looked bad, Wren. But it was worse on the surveillance video.”

“It was bad,” I agree quietly, remembering exactly how much. All the pain I felt was nothing compared to the fear. When I saw he was bleeding, I didn’t care about me dying anymore. I just wanted him to live. I needed him to.

“I want to see him,” I say, a lump building in my throat. “I have to tell him I’m sorry.”

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