“The no touching thing. There isn’t some horrible, traumatic back story. I mean, I had challenging parents, just like you. I wasn’t exactly enjoying themed birthday parties when Murph came along and took me. But nobody hurt me like that. I think I was just born this way. My mother always said I was a little ‘off’. After they died, it got worse. Like it was the only thing I could control.”
Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound. I’ve already told him more than I should have.
“My sister was always so adaptable. She could change her accent, her demeanor, whatever she wanted. She blended in everywhere, if you didn’t really get to know her, all the times we moved before and exactly the same after we became Banna property. I wasn’t like that. The more things changed around me, the more I held onto the only things I had. Touching comes with too many textures, anyway. It’s unpredictable. I changed my accent but nothing else, and I can’t imagine changing it back. Just like I can’t imagine letting anyone touch me but her.”
I finally look up at Colm, who looks just as intense as before, but just as still.
“It’s easy to get away with a lot of quirks once you have a reputation as a killer. There’s something satisfying in it. Seeinghow far I can push all these men who pride themselves on being tough and controlling.”
The silence stretches out between us while I wait for him to decide what he’s going to ask.
“Where’s your sister?”
Of course that’s what he wants to know. The hardest one to answer. I have to commit now to lying or not, and while I’ve never hesitated one single second to lie to anyone outside my family before, I don’t want to right now.
“San Francisco. I think.”
I whisper the words, but they land hard regardless.
“Oh, shit,” Colm whispers back.
“Oh, shit indeed.”
Another long pause, while I wait for more questions.
“I’m glad you told me.”
Colm watches me for another stretch, before closing his eyes, making it clear that the conversation is over.
I think it might be the first time that speaking to someone about myself has made me feel lighter, instead of more tense. The ice pack has slid off my face, melted now, and I bat it to the floor before I close my eyes as well.
I should move to my bed. I should. But I know I won’t.
Chapter Fourteen
Colm
Fallow is quiet when we get up the next morning, but he had a sadness to him before that seems like it’s gone. There’s no tension. He doesn’t act like he’s pulling away from me after telling me some shreds of truth about himself, like I would have expected.
The quiet almost seems content. Which doesn’t make any sense, because we’re on a mission and should be thinking about where we’re going and what’s going to happen there. Or we should be worried about who’s chasing us. But somewhere along the way, this started feeling like a road trip instead of a runaway, and I can’t shake it off, no matter how serious I try to be.
At least Fallow seems to be feeling the same thing. Now that I know it’s his sister we’re chasing, even if I don’t know the context, I expected him to be a little more frantic. There’s a lot more story there, though, and until he tells me I’ll let him do his thing without judgement.
The guys would be absolutely ripping me to shreds if they could hear what I’m thinking right now. But without them in myfucking ear all day, and without having to say all the shit they expect me to say to fit in, my own thoughts and emotions are coming more and more to the surface.
So, what if I actually give a shit about people’s feelings. It doesn’t make me a shitty criminal. I’ll kill every fucking Aryan without blinking if Fallow doesn’t beat me to it. I’m not soft.
I just care about him. Even if he is a sex pest.
I started taking back roads instead of freeways so we’re less likely to get seen by anyone following us. It means our trip’s going to be a lot longer than I’d planned, but in all this sunshine, with Fallow napping like a cat in a sunspot next to me, I can’t bring myself to care. We’re both peaceful, for once.
We’ve been driving all day before Fallow tries to make conversation, his voice raspy from his nap when he speaks. The sound of it goes immediately to my balls, but I ignore it as much as I can.
“You’re lucky you did a good job on this wound. If you’d fucked it up, I’d have to put you through your paces making me feel better about it, and I’m not sure you would have survived the process. I do fear dehydrating you, sometimes.”
I refuse to rise to the bait, and chew over what I want to ask him. It’s something I’ve been thinking about, but until today, I never thought he’d take any personal questions seriously.
“Does sex really calm you down that much when you’re stressed? I love a good inappropriate fuck as much as the next guy, but you seem to genuinely use it to chase off other shit.”
