Page 49 of Highballs & Hexes

Noah scowled. “That’s not a good idea, lo—uh, Fi.”

Hands on her hips, she glared. “And why the fuck not?”

“I’ve been sent to take you home.”

“I’ll not leave until I see Patrick is well, so go on with ya.”

“Fi.” The warning in his tone turned her stomach to lead.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, stubborn to the last. “The O’Malleys can tell me to go all they want, sure, but I’ll stay right here until Patrick tells me himself.”

“It’s Patrick who wants you to leave,” Noah said, not unkindly. Concern for her was in every line of his beautifully sculpted face.

Belated awareness struck. His gorgeousness was another reason she might’ve been afraid of a future with him. She’d believed she’d truly wanted it at the time, but without a doubt, she’d have found a way to sabotage it, fearing he’d leave her eventually. And why wouldn’t he? She wasn’t anyone special, but him—oh, great Goddess above—he was as grand a man as she’d ever seen, and women lined up for miles looking to shag him. His pub was packed to the rafters every night with hopefuls. How could a woman ever feel secure with a man like him?

Oh, for sure, she wasn’t questioning his character. When committed, Noah didn’t stray. It was the others she didn’t trust to not fill his pockets to the brim with jotted-down phone numbers and his head with offers.

Patrick was different. He wouldn’t flirt, unknowingly giving the impression of a willing man. Indeed, his semi-permanent scowl would scare most and send the weak-willed fleeing.

And he loved her.

Her stint in the garden had made clear the truth of it. Many times, she’d replayed their last conversation, torturing herself with “what ifs.” What if she’d just listened to him? Truly heard what he was trying to tell her? What if she hadn’t panicked when he’d allowed a glimpse of the man behind the curtain? Could shehave convinced him to release the others and saved him the self-destructive actions that brought them to this moment?

She’d like to think so.

“Are you going to ignore me, then?” Noah released a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah, and it wouldn’t be the first time,” he teased.

“I’ll hear it from Patrick, himself,” she said, lifting her chin. Noah’s visage blurred, but she received the impression of movement, right before he embraced her.

“Oh, Fionola.” He sighed, and the sound was unhappy. His touch was tender as he brushed her cheek. “What’s to be done about you, woman?”

A sob tore at her throat, and the next thing she knew, she was pouring her heart out to him, there on the ground beside a boxed hedge with birds chirping as if they didn’t grasp the depth of her despair.

With his cheek pressed to the top of her head, Noah rocked her as she cried, rubbing circles on her back as he silently listened to her misadventures. When she was empty, she inhaled a shuddering breath. Fatigue made her lids leaden weights, and after each blink, it was difficult to lift them again.

“Rest, Fi.”

“I won’t leave until I see him,” she argued.

“We’ll stay right here, you and me. When you wake, we’ll storm the castle gates, we will.”

“My reluctant hero.” She smiled as she laid her head on his lap. Staring up toward Patrick’s bedroom window, she sighed. “He thinks he doesn’t deserve love, Noah. That he’s a monster for what he’s done.”

“Isn’t he?”

The lack of snideness caused her to consider the question without prejudice. Noah hadn’t asked out of spite that shecould determine, merely curiosity, and perhaps to force her to contemplate her answer rather than reply in a knee-jerk way.

“I don’t believe he is,” she said. Movement on the other side of the glass caught her notice, and she held her breath, hoping for a glimpse of Patrick. With keen disappointment that it didn’t happen, Fi pressed her lids together, hoping to ease the sting. “He’s grumbly when he wants to hide his softer side. Like you.” Fi patted Noah’s knee, smiling when he huffed out a laugh. “But he’s kind, too. He never electrified those bars, and I don’t believe his intention was to hurt people. The prison was posher than most inns I’ve seen, and all the meals were gourmet. Like a feckin’ five-star resort.”

“But they were still prisoners, Fi. Abducted for the second time. Do you know how that added to their torment? The PTSD is off the charts with some of those puir bastards.”

“He was tormented, too, Noah. Longer than any of them, and multiple times, to boot!” She sat up and turned a beseeching look on him. “You didn’t see him when he recounted those stories to me. We had hours and hours of conversation about Loman O’Connor, that manky fucker!” Swallowing hard, she met his steady gaze. “You’re likely thinking I’ve developed Stockholm syndrome, but I haven’t. I was good and furious when I found out what he’d done, but I’ve had nothing but time to think and recall everything. Playing it all over and over while dissecting it.”

“And you don’t believe your memories are skewed? That you’re recalling what you want and blocking out what you don’t?” Noah asked.

“No.”

How did she tell him it was in the quiet moments, the ones when they cuddled down for afternoon naps or to sleep in the evenings, that she’d felt closest to Patrick the most? The beauty of their lovemaking and the quirky humor they’d shared werelife-changing for her. She’d felt truly seen and appreciated for the first time in her entire life.

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