Page 126 of King of the Cage

It felt nice. More than nice. That tightness in my chest eased as I stuffed my empty belly with creamy potatoes and gravy.

“How have you been holding up?” Aoife asked.

I raised an eyebrow at her. “With?”

“Life? None of us make it out alive, you know?” Aoife chuckled.

I nodded. “I suppose we don’t. Though, I also suppose that we’ve met before… but I don’t remember, right?”

Aoife let out a long sigh. “Thank fuck I don’t have to pretend not to know you. I’m terrible at it. You look like death, my love. You need to come home.”

“I am home, I mean, I’m out of the hospital. I’m staying at home.”

“You won’t be home until you’re back here, in Hell’s, where you belong, with the person you belong with.”

“Don’t tell me. You know the O’Connors?” I teased, already guessing as much.

“Bran is the O’Connors’ youngest. The dreamer, the troublemaker, the one who never cut his heart off quite so thoroughly as his brothers. It’s that beating heart you fell in love with.”

I stared at her.Love? That word again.

“I’m not sure how it came to be that we got married, but I’m certain, hand on heart, that we didn’t love each other. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“You are. I’ve seen it. You’ll remember. Sooner or later, you’ll remember.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” I muttered, a chill running down my spine as a cold draft blew in the door when someone opened it.

Aoife shrugged. “If you never recover that place in your heart where he lived, then just fall all over again. Bran’s there. He’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t know him.” The words felt like a lie, but they weren’t to me right now, were they? The toddy had made my head feel soft, and the food had made me sleepy. I leaned my head back against the wall.

“Maybe we can remedy that.” Bran’s voice slid over me like a warm wave.

I stared up to find him lounging against the bar, watching me. I had no idea how long he’d been there. He was more handsome than he’d been that day at the hospital. Indecently so. In dark jeans, a plaid shirt with a leather biker jacket on top, and his long hair pulled back, he was a far cry from the polished suits and shiny shoes of De Sanctis made men. He was a different breed altogether.

He gave me a lopsided grin, and my heart flipped over.

“Welcome home, wee one.”

“You’re terrible at this,”I teased Bran as he nearly knocked down the entire Jenga tower for the fifth time.

“You try playing this game with these fingers,” he protested mildly.

I glanced at his long, thick fingers. His knuckles were scarred, evidence of many bare-knuckle fights, and the backs of his hands were tattooed. My cheeks felt hot, and I pressed my cool palms against them.

“I see you have a disadvantage, so I take no pleasure in beating you so easily,” I said, moving my hands away from my face before confidently sliding a wooden piece out of the tower.

“That’s fine. Next time, we can play something of my choosing,” Bran said quietly.

His gentle brogue stroked over the words, infusing them with something I couldn’t read but only made my blood burn hotter.

“Do you have any questions for me, Giada?” Bran asked. He watched me, not the game.

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“Don’t you want to know how we ended up married?”

I knew now that we were actually married, because Elio had confirmed it. It still felt surreal.

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