“A kiss then?” He clutches my face and forces me to look up at him.
“Dax,” I softly protest.
“One kiss.” He leans in, and I’m fucking done for. Our lips meet with no interruption this time, and I’m assaulted with the strong taste of whiskey and the potent smell of man. I try not to crumble as we intensify the embrace. Both our tongues becoming hostile, aggressive, and fighting for control. Pent-up frustration floods the room, flowing out like a river of hedonistic need. Before long, we are battling for breath, all while struggling to stay connected. Declan tries to push me down onto the bed, but I stop him.
“One kiss,” I remind him breathlessly.
“One more. While I’m inside you.” He grabs his cock that’s straining and hard. Screaming for me.
As much as I want to, something is stopping me. “Not tonight.”
“If not tonight, then when?” Declan puts his hands all over me, groping and grabbing every part he can.
“When you’re sober and there isn’t a chance of you passing out.”
“I could be on my deathbed, and I wouldn’t pass out while fucking you.”
“Reassuring to know. Lie down.” Declan doesn’t skip a beat. He lies down on my bed, and his eyes roll all over the place. “I’m getting you a drink of water.”
“And then sex?” His lids immediately close.
“And then sex,” I make an empty promise.
I take my time getting the water, and when I get back to my room, Declan is in a coma. I’m getting too good at reading his drunken signs. Too bad that raging hard-on had to go to waste. I could use a thorough fucking. And Declan can fuck better than most all of them.
I cover him up and close the door, anticipating he’ll be out for a good part of twenty-four hours.
I drag myself into his room, ready to fall into a coma myself, but when I sneak inside, there is someone waiting for me. Aisling cries as soon as she sees me, and so do I. This can’t be happening. She reaches for me, and shockingly, my heart breaks. I pick her up and feel the heat steaming through her clothes. I put her forehead to my lips, and realize she’s burning up.Fuck.Tears of exhaustion dribble down my face as I head into the bathroom and destroy the medicine cabinet until I find the baby acetaminophen. Thank God for March’s foresight. Half the shit he sent wasn’t even on Declan’s list.
I place her on the floor, and she just continues to cry as I measure out the medicine. Miraculously, she drinks it without a fuss. I praise Jesus. Scooping her up, I bring her into the kitchen, where I make a cold sippy cup of juice. She drinks it down like she’s abandoned in the desert.
Poor little thing. Now we know what all the crying was about. I sit down on the loveseat and cradle her against me. She’s so hot, and limp, and helpless. I hold her close, wanting her to feel safe. And I wonder if she does as she lays on me weakly, clutching her cup, softly weeping.
A strange sadness creeps over me as we sit there in the dark. It’s an emotion I haven't felt in ages. A feeling I hoped I wasn’t capable of anymore. Something I thought I had blocked out. But holding Aisling, it invades me. And I hate it. I hate myself. The most disgusting spell of self-loathing makes me crumble, and I start to cry. Cry like I haven't cried in years. Clutching Aisling as tightly as I can, I use the little girl as an anchor to my sanity, sobbing into the night until neither of us have any tears left to shed.
10
Declan
I wakeup buck naked to the sound of birds chirping.
Looking around the room, I realize it’s not my own. Something either went terribly right last night or terribly wrong.
I sit up with only a mild head rush. My face hurts a bit, and my hands look a little worse for wear.I try to recall what happened, but only bits and pieces come back. Drinking, fighting,and Fallon. Undressing me? Where is she? Where is Aisling? Where the hell am I?
I get to my feet and wobble across the hall to my bedroom.Oy,shit-ass whiskey. I rub my forehead. Hits like a hammer every single time.
I pull on a pair sweatpants only after realizing Aisling isn’t sleeping in her pack ‘n play. A sense of panic hits, and I rush out of the room.
“Fallon? Aisling?” I stop short when I see them sleeping on the loveseat. I bend over, resting my hands on my knees with an overwhelming wave of relief. My girls . . . my girls are safe.
Then I appreciate exactly what I’m seeing.My girls.That’s right. They aremine. I sit quietly on the recliner and just watch them sleep. It looks like such a perfect picture. So peaceful, so sweet. If I were a man who wished for things, this is what it would be for. Fallon as my wife, raising my child as her own.
What a fucking fantasy, aye?
Two cold-blooded killers living the American dream? Could you see that? Can you picture it? I sure as hell can’t. No, this is as close as I’ll ever get to happiness. Or normalcy. One single, quiet moment of what could have been.
Fallon stirs, making sure to keep Aisling comfortable.
