“Fiona rarely leaves. She’s not good in traffic.”
“You’re bullshitting me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“She followed a man home after he cut her off. She waited behind a tree, and the only reason she didn’t hurt him—” I paused “—was he had a little kid who ran out to greet him. She slashed his tires instead.”
“Damn,” she breathed, then looked away from me. She was thinkin’ hard, worryin’ her thumbnail.
Before she could come up with anythin’ else, I told her I’d be back in a while and went into the office. Keenan was already sittin’ down with a glass of whiskey in front of him. He offered me a glass, and we drank in silence while men started to arrive for the meetin’ he’d planned. It was time we updated the higher-rankin’ men on the situation. Once the weapons were ours, we were goin’ to wage war against the Craigs, not just small skirmishes.
First, we’d sell some of the weapons, offerin’ better deals to his usual business. Second, we were goin’ to turn some of the weapons against him and his men.
Keenan took over the meetin’, as he usually did. My face was the one the men watched while it was Keenan’s voice they heard. They were cautious of me, as they should be. There was no grey area where I was concerned. Either the man was with me or against me.
About twenty minutes into the meetin’, the men had a fresh energy about them, fired up at the new turn in our fortune, when music infiltrated the office. The men grew quiet at the sound of it, then lowered their eyes in confusion as my wife’s voice joined in the chorus. She was pourin’ her heart into the song. It was by the singer I’d stolen in Ireland to sing at our weddin’.
Maybe I should have killed him instead.
I was fuckin’ jealous that she enjoyed his music so much, like I’d been jealous of her hand.
Still was.
She’d lit a fire wherever the fuck jealousy lived in my body.
Keenan coughed into his glass, then said the singin’ voice belonged to my wife. I looked each man in the eye. They’d meet hell before they met her. I’d talk to Keenan after, and we’d decide on a different place to hold our meetings.
Keenan went to say somethin’ else in the sudden silence, but the music started again, and she hit a high note. He dismissed the men and shook his head at me as he left to find Fiona, mumblin’ about a magical singin’ doe in our midst.
My magical singin’ doe could be as loud as she wanted, but the blisterin’ burn moved my feet when I thought of her gettin’ lost in the sound of his voice. The door was shut to our room, but it sounded like it didn’t even have one. The music blared, and she didn’t even hear me come in.
I was suddenly thrust into a much cooler and more heavenly place when my eyes found her.
She’d taken a bath, and her scent clung to the humid air. Her hair was up in a towel, and she wore one of my T-shirts. It fell to her knees, and while she danced around, singin’ and puttin’ our clothes away, she held one of my nicer shirts to her chest. It was like she was singin’ to it or somethin’.
This song was a much more emotional one than the one before. It seemed like a war song. A man puttin’ down the lyrics to it in a letter to his woman while he was off fightin’.
It wasn’t a song to grin at, but I was grinnin’ at my wife. The singer had an Irish accent that came through with the lyrics, and she was tryin’ to sing like he was, even tryin’ to reach his vocal ranges. I leaned against the doorframe, just watchin’ the magic that was Maeve O'Callaghan move throughout our room. As with everythin’ else, she was leavin’ behind sparks that were bringin’ life to the walls.
I realized somethin’ I hadn’t before.
What I thought was jealousy was actually longin’.
In that short period of time, I’d missed her.
I was so fucked.
Keenan already knew it.
She turned around, her eyes shut tight, clutchin’ the shirt to her breast like it was me she was clingin’ to. Her eyes opened and tears slid down her cheeks. She didn’t jump or make a noise when our eyes connected.
She flung the shirt on the bed and ran into my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.
“How long as it been?” she whispered between her mouth crashin’ against mine in a mixture of hard and soft kisses. “Five centuries?”
“Somethin’ like that,” I said, feelin’ as mad as she was. She clung to me so hard, I was able to reach up and wipe her tears. I kissed the lines they made on her face. “Cryin’ over a song?”
“No. Over you.” She sighed, restin’ her head against mine. “I mean, notover you, but…I just missed you. And that song…it felt good to let it out.”
“Felt good?”
