Page 48 of Dublin Brute

I set two places at the table and put our coffees there. Hers is a vanilla latte with whipped cream, like she ordered at Cuppa Jo Friday night and mine is an Americano. I’m hoping that brings her back to what an enjoyable time we had.

The water turns off and the tension in my chest tightens. Not long now. I take another look around. The table looks nice. The coffees are good. The spread Cora prepared is perfect—fresh buttermilk biscuits, ham, and eggs, fruit…even those fancy yogurt parfait things the old girl loves making.

It’s good. It’s all good.

Hearing the bathroom door opening has my heart rate kicking up double-time.Fuck. Breathe. I can do this. When have I ever gotten this wound up about a woman? Never. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.

Nora comes into the living room wearing jeans and a baggy beige sweater. I thought it would look like a sack on her, but Piper ignored my objections and told me to shut up and trust her.

My sister-in-law wins the day because Nora looks fucking adorable in it. It’s not baggy, it’s cute and looks cozy. I take her in from her thick socks to her flaxen-blonde hair and it’s clearer to me every time I see her.

I’m a fucking goner.

The way her damp hair falls in waves around her shoulders. She looks beautiful, uncertain, and utterly fuckable. I want this woman—not for a night or a few months. I want this woman until the end of my days.

“Morning, angel.” I gesture to the kitchen island. “Hungry? I thought we could make plates and have breakfast. You fell asleep before we could talk last night, and I really want a chance to explain a few things.”

She takes in the feast and whatever wall she was putting up seems to weaken. When she meets my gaze, there’s more tenderness there than I expected. It’s just breakfast, after all.

Why does it feel like this is yet another thing no one has ever done to take care of her? My poor angel. If she’ll just give me the chance, she’ll live a life of being cherished.

“You did all this?”

“It was a group effort. Finn took my sister-in-law, Piper, shopping and they swung by Jo’s for the coffees. And my brotherBryan brought over the food. I asked our housekeeper, Cora, to send us over a selection. And, I guess, that’s about it. I would’ve done it myself, but growing up with Cora taking care of us, I can barely manage toast without burning it.”

That earns me a small smile. “You didn’t need to do all this.”

“Uh, agree to disagree. Here I’ve been putting my best foot forward for the past week and at the first sign of turmoil, I went caveman and threw you over my shoulder and locked you down. I’m sorry about that. Truly. I don’t want you to ever be afraid of me.”

The soft chuckle that invokes surprises me. “I’m not afraid of you, Brendan. I’m afraid of your life and what it means that you’re a Quinn.”

I’ll need to pull that apart a little more, but one thing at a time. “Let’s eat.”

We fill our plates in companionable silence and settle in at the table. I wait until she’s had a few bites before diving in. “Did you sleep all right?”

She sets her biscuit down and brushes her fingers on her napkin. “I didn’t realize I was as exhausted as I was, but then it all drained out of me last night and there was no fighting it.”

“Grief and fear can do that. It’s been one hell of a week.”

She studies me for a long moment, then picks up her fork again. “It has.”

Right. Here we go.“The first thing I want to clear up is that I had nothing to do with the shooting at the Confession Box. Our family takes every precaution to keep violence off our streets. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but Sean asked me to check in with one of our guys who was meeting an informant.”

“Sean’s the biker brother, right?”

There’s no judgement in that. It’s simply a question. “Aye. He’s two years older than Bryan and me. He’s a little rougheraround the edges than the other four of us, so staying out of the spotlight and running the MC works well for him.”

“Was he there last night?”

I swallow a sip of my coffee and set my mug down. “He worked the security cameras in the back. With his face scarred up like it is, he stays behind the scenes during public events. People often get the wrong idea and get judgy. It bothers him—has since we were kids.”

“Kids? You mean he didn’t get scarred doing family business stuff?”

“Yes, and no. If Da hadn’t been Cormack Quinn, it wouldn’t have happened, but it was nothing Sean did or deserved.”

“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Getting into the private workings of my family isn’t something I do, but the whole point of this conversation is to show her that my family isn’t a pack of monsters. We’re just five brothers who were born into a legacy that was set by our father and his father before.

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