Page 98 of Unrequited
Seamus doesn’t speak right away. His jaw locks tight, that familiar twitch in his cheek giving him away. He stares at Colm like he’s not sure whether to thank him or break something.
Then, finally, he gives a single nod. “Tomorrow, we’ll go.”
My heart stutters. Tomorrow. It’s not just a looming possibility anymore, but a promise. A plan.
We’re leaving this little pocket of stolen peace. Walking straight into the fire, into the center of all the fury and judgment waiting for us. What we’ll find on the other side, I can’t even guess.
Separation, maybe. Or worse.
Colm exhales, and there’s something gentler in him now. He turns to me with a nod. “Pleased to meet you, love,” he says, and there’s a softness in it I didn’t expect. Then he’s gone, turning on his heel and slipping out the door without another word.
The lock clicks behind him, and Seamus is already moving, bolting it. He presses his forehead to the frame, his breath shaky and low.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I wait… letting the silence bloom around us.
When he finally turns back to me, that same weariness clouds his eyes, but they’re still alive. Still burning for me, even when everything else in him looks like it’s cracking.
“Come here, angel,” he murmurs tenderly.
So I go. I step into his arms like I’ve always belonged there. He wraps them around me, and I press my face to his chest. I fit perfectly. Like we were carved for this, made for each other in a world that wants us apart.
“Listen, Seamus,” I whisper. “We’re going to survive this, aren’t we?”
“Of course we are,” he says immediately, like the idea of failure isn’t even a possibility. That fire I’ve come to trust flares in his voice.
“Then let’s get it over with. We know what we need to do.”
He pulls back just enough to see me. His gaze digs in, searching, wanting more than just agreement; he’s looking for belief. He lifts his hand and brushes a knuckle under my chin, so soft it aches.
“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me what you think we should do.”
There’s something raw in him now, unguarded. As if this moment, this invitation to be his equal, costs more thanblood. Like letting me carry even a fraction of his burden is the most intimate thing he’s ever done.
And I feel it. God, I feel it.
I swallow, my eyes locked to his. “We need to have a baby.”
His eyes widen like I just set a star in his hands. Shock cracks through him but not fear. No, it’s something gentler. Hope, maybe. Wonder.
“We do, don’t we?” he says, his voice barely above a breath.
I nod. “Even your father… even my brother. They won’t be able to argue with that. If we join our families?—”
“Right,” he cuts in, the spark catching hold. “I know it. A baby,” he repeats, like he’s still trying the word on. “I never thought I’d want one. Never been one for babies… But with you, darlin’…”
He trails off, shaking his head like he can’t believe where his own heart has led him.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “A baby. I know it won’t fix everything. I know what we’re about to face. It’s going to be dangerous. Brutal.”
I run my thumb along the line of his jaw, feeling the coarse heat of his stubble, the warmth of him. He catches my hand, presses a kiss to my thumb, and then sets both hands on my hips, grounding himself in me.
“We do,” he agrees. “My family’s wrath. Branson. And whatever your brother decides.”
“My family,” I say. “I’m stalling. As long as they think I’m safe… they won’t strike. Not yet.”
He nods slowly. “I know you believe that.”
