Micah
The funk that Tadhg fell into after the incident with his asshole ‘coworkers’ has been concerning to say the least. He doesn’t want to talk to me any more than he has to. Any opening I saw to talk about his life has been completely shuttered, and we suddenly feel like two strangers sharing an apartment.
At first, he just slept. He’d been sleeping like the dead, which worked for me because his body still has a lot of healing to do. But the past two or three days, I don’t think he’s been sleeping at all. He’s trying to hide it from me, but I can tell.
He’s jittery and on edge. His hands twitch a little, and he’s constantly consumed by some sort of dark, introspective cloud that he refuses to let either of us acknowledge.
I’d be worried about withdrawal, but I’ve been so careful with all the meds I’ve doled out, and he’s had the lowest possible doses of painkillers. Unless he had something he was hiding from me. But I know the signs of every street drug there is, andnothing about his behavior before gave me an indication that he was under the influence.
It doesn’t make sense. But it’s got my stomach twisted in knots with worry. The more his body heals, the worse his mental state seems to get, and the farther out of reach my brother is. If he heals much more, he won’tneedto be here anymore, and I may lose him for good.
Unacceptable.
What’s also not helping is that I’m completely out of PTO, as well as the good graces of my department head. I have to go back to work, which means leaving Tadhg unattended to do god-knows-what. Even if it’s just stewing in his own abstract misery, it’s not a good idea.
But I’m out of options. Not only has my PTO dwindled to nothing, there’s a bad flu going around the hospital, which has left them in a staffing nightmare, needing emergency coverage. When I get off the phone call where I was just informed it’s time to get my ass back to work tonight or find a new job, I walk out of my bedroom to let him know. But instead of finding him sprawled on the couch in a semi-catatonic daze, or sitting up and staring at the wall, fidgeting and anxious, he’s… dressed?
Sort of. He’s trying. And there’s another fucking mafia moron in my living room.
At least this time it’s Colm, who is the only one of them who doesn’t give me the ick. They turn and stare at me as if I’m the one invading their space, and I’m stuck watching Tadhg attempt to get a plain black t-shirt over his head with fumbling fingers.
Colm doesn’t help him, and I want to offer, but I know it wouldn’t go down well. He might if we were alone, but definitely not in front of the other Banna. Instead, we both have to stand there as Tadhg swallows down his grunts of pain and tries to stretch out muscles that are still repairing themselves.
Lifting his arms over his head must be agony. He’s already white as a sheet and sweating, but I know nothing I say will stop him.
“Going somewhere?”
I try not to sound too much like an angry sitcom housewife when I say it, but I don’t know how much I succeed.
Tadhg grunts in my direction, refusing to meet my eye when the t-shirt finally slides down over his face. When he doesn’t respond, Colm is the one to break the long, awkward silence.
“There’s a meeting. I’m driving him. Should be back in a couple of hours.”
His tone is just as gruff as the rest of them, but at least he looks me in the eye when he speaks to me.
I don’t know what to do. If I make Tadhg feel like I’m henpecking him in front of his men, he’ll withdraw even further. But there’s no way he should be up and moving around right now. Especially in a situation where he will be unwilling to show any ‘weakness’.
“Tadhg, can you help me for a second before you leave?” I’m scrambling. “I need to steal your strength for something before I go to work.”
To make my point, I raise my hand and wiggle my fingers. I’m actually a fuck-ton stronger than I look because I haul people around for a living, but I have long, elegant-looking fingers, so you wouldn’t guess it at first sight.
Colm takes the hint, thank fuck.
“I’ll be outside.”
It’s all he says before disappearing through the front door like a ghost. Is this what it’s like to have a bodyguard?
Not wasting any time, I hurry over to Tadhg and speak to him in a harsh whisper.
“You cannot do anything strenuous. Do you understand me? You’re healing, but you could still really fuck yourself up if youre-injure yourself. You shouldn’t be going to this at all, but I know telling you not to would be a waste of oxygen, so I’ll tell you this instead: sit as much as you can. No sudden movements. Absolutely no lifting, bending or twisting. And if you’re not in this apartment when I get back from my shift in the morning, I will call the fucking cops.”
Tadhg raises his eyebrows at me but stays silent.
“I’m not kidding. I’ll do it. I’m not letting Patrick undo all my hard work by having you spend the night digging graves or beating people up or whatever the fuck you do for him.”
My brother snorts, and it’s the closest thing to mirth I’ve seen from him in days.
He watches me in silence for a moment that stretches out like syrup until something in his hard eyes softens.
