Page 87 of Crimson Tears

Boris scoffs. “I do not wish to be in a relationship with you. Only her.” The way he spits the words while pulling away from me and taking our girl from my warmth makes me want to smack him.

Some men really are nitwits.

Nessa whimpers in her sleep and I pull her back to me gently. Boris helps as soon as he realizes what he did. Nessa feels like she is falling apart and needs us to hold her together. And although we know she is capable all on her own, we are her partners. She doesn’t need us fighting like two jealous boyfriends. And as much as I want to hit the old fella, that isn’t right for this moment.

Mostly because it would jostle her, not that he doesn’t deserve a good smack to the head. I know you agree with me here.

I laugh quietly and hold up a hand. “That is not what I meant. Friendship, or rather a sense of understanding of the other’s presence in her life.”

He finally looks at me then, as if searching for my sincerity. When he nods slightly, I know I’ve got him. “I can live with that.”

I rest a hand on Nessa’s side, allowing my fingers to trail back and forth.She’s okay. We made it.

The thought still feels like too much, so all I can utter is a simple, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Boris asks like it is a question. I sigh, shaking my head as I lean in to press a kiss to the top of my girl’s head and take a second to compose myself.

“Yes. Okay, Old Man. When we were alone, she told me she needed you too. I agreed that if we got out of that place, I would find a way to make her happy, tokeepher happy. If that’s with you, then I won’t fight it.”

“You won’t?”

Damn, this man is so suspicious.I know he is an ex-mafia leader of some kind;but holy hell, padre, calm it down a tad. Not everyone is out to get you.

“Nope. But that doesn’t mean I won’t fight to bring her smiles, I won’t fight to be the man who makes her come first. I will fight for her, I just won’t be fightingyoufor her.”

“Well, alright then.” He places a kiss on her head just by where I left mine as we get settled with her between us. My feet are hanging off the bed and Boris looks squished on the side rail, but our girl looks happy. For that, I will endure anything.

“I want to be clear on one thing though.” The old fella starts to whisper as if this is a secret, so I lean in. “I have no interest in you. If she wants to have sex with us together, sleep with us together, that is fine, but keep your body parts to yourself.”

I can’t help the barking laugh that comes out of me. Boris’ forehead wrinkles but I lean over and clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Old Man. I have a distinct taste for redheads only.”

Chapter 27

A warm body pressed against me is the first thing I register as I crack my eyes open, the smell of home surrounding me. It took eight long days of IV antibiotics and wound care before I was able to return to my fluffy bed full of pillows and fuzzy blankets.

Strangely though, things feel more right than ever before. I know it’s Cillian who’s wrapped around me. The corded veins on his long arms give him away. The second thing I notice is that I can’t feel Boris.

Did he leave again? Is it too weird for him now that we are home in our own bed?

Things had been going so well—we were all getting along. Most nights we played cards until I fell asleep, and it was rare that one of them was gone when I was in the hospital. When they had to step away, I felt the aching need to call them the second my eyes opened, just to make sure they were still alive.

I don’t know why, but the fear that my father is going to get to one of them makes me feel crazy, paranoid. Stretching my arm out, I search for Boris. My mind tries to play tricks on me when the bed on my other side is cool to the touch.

Did it become too much for him?

I try to push back the panic that’s beginning to set in. I know this is PTSD and stress making me think this way. But that’s the thing about mental battles that no one talks about. I can sit here and tell myself my thoughts are irrational, that there is no reason for my heart to start pounding or for sweat to be breaking out along my palms. I can remind myself that I am safe and that everything is okay—no one is here to get me.

But that doesn’t mean my mind believes in rationality. And it doesn’t do anything to stop the oncoming panic attack. It might keep it at bay for a few minutes, but once the cycle starts, the only way I know how to stop it is to let it run its course.

Dammit. Maybe I do need to call Dr. K. Boris suggested it, but I figured once we got home and settled, the lingering anxiety would vanish.

I was very wrong.

My breathing starts to come in short, sharp gasps, and I hold onto Cillian like my life depends on it. At some point, I must hurt him because he wakes up with a startle, turning me to face him so that he can look into my eyes. The sudden movement makes me cry out from my very sore ribs being moved.

“I’m such a gobshite! Sorry, Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

The worry in his voice is evident, but I shake my head. He and Boris have witnessed this a few times now. The only thing that seems to settle it is when both of them are near me.

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