Craving Resurrection
Page 119

“Let’s get one thing straight, brother,” Slider said, pushing off the wall to stand in front of me. “Malcolm was a sick fuck. That’s not on you. You were the catalyst, and I know that eats ya up—and I understand it, I really do. But ya did what ya thought best at the time, and ya can’t go back and change it. It’s what ya do now that matters, understand?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a nod, not agreeing with anything, but too tired to argue.
“Now, brother, you need a fuckin’ shower and to get back in with your woman.” He slapped me on the back and I grimaced as it jostled my ribs. “Eyes off the bed, Vera’s naked.”
I followed him into his bathroom and hopped in the shower, washing the blood out of my beard and hair. Thank God I had a high tolerance for pain or there was a good chance the last few hours would have gone very differently. It was a wonder that I was still awake and functioning.
I had a small wound on the back of my head where I must have hit a table, my lips were swollen, there was a small cut on my cheek and one on the bridge of my nose, and I knew for certain that one of my ribs was bruised, if not broken.
Phoenix had kicked my arse.
Good boy.
After I finished, I walked quietly back out of their room without seeing Vera’s or Slider’s bare asses, not that I hadn’t seen them both before on different occasions over the years. Living in such close quarters with people, especially drunk people, meant that you walked in pretty regularly on things you’d rather not see.
When I finally reached the door to my room, I saw that Amy had scooted toward the wall, leaving me space on the outside of the bed. At least, I thought that’s what she had done. She was asleep, and the tension lines around her mouth and eyes had finally softened.
I wanted to pick her up and hold her to me, reminding myself that she was there with me, that she was safe, but I didn’t.
I knew how exhausted she was, and if she was able to sleep, I wouldn’t interfere. She’d relived the worst and best parts of her life all in a couple of hours. She deserved the relief.
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants I hadn’t worn in fifteen years, and sat down on the floor with my back against the side of the bed. There was no way I’d be able to sleep that night.
Instead, my mind drifted over thirty years of memories. It hadn’t been all bad, not at all, but I couldn’t see how good memories could ever overshadow the bad ones.
I tipped my head back against the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Chapter 55
Amy
I woke up disoriented but warm, and was surprised to see nothing but Patrick’s head resting beside me on the bed.
The past twenty-four hours had tested me in ways I didn’t understand. I’d watched as I destroyed Patrick with the same poison that had been pulsing through me for years, I’d had to tell my son the truth of his birth—something I’d planned to take to the grave—and then I’d watched as Patrick had told our children his part in all of the horrible things that had happened so long ago, knowing that they could hate him for it, but still not willing to make any excuses.
It felt as if things had come full circle as we’d sat in the room with both of our children the night before—like that’s where we were always meant to end up.
I wanted that to be our future with a fervency that I felt in my bones and a calm sense of acceptance. I was finally in the exact place I was supposed to be.
I relaxed back into the pillow and reached out to run my fingers over his soft hair. It was so long now, and he hadn’t brushed it back into a ponytail before he’d fallen asleep, so it was pooled around his head on the quilt.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly, keeping his head where I could reach it.
“Why are you on the floor?” I asked, equally as quiet.
It was early, the sun barely shining through the sheet covering his window, and the rest of the club was still sleeping, making the morning silent around us.
“Couldn’t sleep, didn’t know if ye wanted me in dere wit’ ye.”
“I did.”
His head nodded slightly. “Couldn’t lay beside ye last night. Too many demons to take into bed wit’ ye.”
“You’ll have to get over that,” I reprimanded, scratching my nails over his scalp gently. “I won’t be sleeping alone again.”
His body turned then, and I got a good look at his face. He’d never before looked old to me, but he did in that moment. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks and lips were still swollen, hidden partially by a wild beard that he must have been scrubbing at for most of the night. I noticed for the first time that the patch of hair just below his bottom lip had turned blonde, almost white, and it was a glaring reminder of just how much time we’d missed.
“Yer sure?” he asked, searching my eyes. “De last time we… Amy, ye cried, me love.”
“I was overwhelmed and exhausted, Patrick, I promise it wasn’t anything more than that. I’ve lived too long without you already,” I answered, grabbing his hand to pull him into bed with me. “I don’t want to go another day.”
“T’ank God,” he said raggedly, pulling me against him and pressing his face into my throat.”
“I’m sorry I covered my anchor,” I said after a few moments of silence. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I cried the entire time.”
“Did ye see what he covered it wit’?” he asked, his voice full of suppressed amusement.