Craving Resurrection
Page 51
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Thankfully, the owner of Dillon’s was more than happy to hire me on. I think Casey Dillon had been friends with Patrick’s dad at some point because I’d met him at the wedding reception, and I was pretty sure that’s the only reason he gave me the job. The pub was practically empty when I’d walked in—there was no way he needed the extra help. I didn’t start for another week, but after that I’d be stocking and serving alcohol from five to midnight Friday and Saturday nights. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
I was so excited to tell Peg about my new job that I pretty much danced into the kitchen then came to a comically abrupt stop. My husband was there in the middle of the room, with a small smile on his face and his hands pressed deeply into the pockets of his jeans. I was stunned at first, and then racing to him. Within seconds, I was wrapped in his strong arms. I felt tears hit my eyes as I inhaled deeply and gripped the back of his sweatshirt. He smelled exactly the same, and I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to burrow inside his clothes so I could touch him skin to skin.
“Dat’s a good welcome home,” he whispered huskily into my ear.
His hands were shaking against my back.
“I missed you so much,” I said into his neck.
He shuffled me backward, never letting me go as we made our way out of the kitchen and finally through the door to our bedroom. I knew we were being rude. I hadn’t even said hello to the people at the table—but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
My husband was home. I wouldn’t have cared if the pope himself was sitting at our kitchen table. I didn’t have eyes for anyone but Patrick.
We fell onto our little bed in a tangled heap before I wrapped my legs around Patrick’s hips as tightly as I could.
“Hello, wife,” he said quietly, pulling away just far enough to meet my eyes.
“Hello, husband.”
“Christ, I’ve missed ye.”
I’m not sure which of us moved first, but soon, his tongue was in my mouth, rubbing over my lips and teeth as if to familiarize himself with it once again. My entire body relaxed into the bed as his hands moved over me, never sliding beneath my clothes, but sweeping over me with reverence.
It reminded me of before we were married, when we were dying for each other, but unable to take the final steps. We murmured nonsense against each other’s mouths for long minutes, my hands sliding through his hair and gripping the back of his neck, but eventually reality intruded.
“Tea!” Peg yelled through the house. I could tell that she hadn’t come to the door, but had called from far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to hear what we were doing. Smart woman.
Patrick pulled away slowly, coming back for soft kisses over and over again as he stood up and pulled me up to a sitting position on the bed.
I couldn’t stop staring.
He was exactly the same, but different. I recognized his face as clearly as my own; however, it seemed as if there were new lines around his eyes and his cheekbones had become a bit sharper. His hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, and it flopped over his forehead messily. He looked wonderful and extremely tired.
“We’d better go out dere,” he said, glancing toward the door for only a moment before meeting my eyes again.
“Why are you home? How long are you staying?” It seemed as if the shock had finally worn off and now my mind raced with questions. He hadn’t told me he was coming home.
“I came to see me beautiful wife for a few days, is dat all right wit’ ye?”
His words were mild, but there was an underlying defensiveness to his tone that raised my hackles. What the hell? I immediately thought back to my questions, but couldn’t find anything in my tone or words that would warrant a defensive reaction. If anything, my exuberance should have been a bit funny.
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“Dere a reason ye don’t want me home?”
My brows furrowed in confusion as he watched me closely. What was he talking about?
“Of course I want you home!” I jumped from the bed, but stopped short when he took a step back. “What the fuck, Patrick?”
I watched him take a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair, pulling the long strands back away from his face. He looked like he was trying to calm himself down, but I couldn’t understand why he would act like that in the first place. Where was my charming husband? Why was he so angry?
He took a step toward me, and that time it was me stepping back.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, stepping forward again to reach me. “I’m just tired. I don’t want to fight.”
I let him pull me into his arms, but my body remained rigid. I wanted to wrap my arms around him so badly, but I was terrified he’d pull away again. I didn’t understand how I’d made him mad in the first place, and the anxiety made my heart race.
I didn’t want to fight with him, either. I’d missed him so much that I was past the point of jumping up and down with excitement that he was there—no, I didn’t want to jump, I wanted to cry with relief that I could finally feel him against me. The overwhelming emotion of it all went beyond anything I’d ever felt in my entire life. He was finally there, in my arms, and it felt like he didn’t even want to be there.
Patrick pulled me to the kitchen by my hand, as I tried valiantly to straighten my hair with the other. I didn’t need to broadcast the make-out session we’d just had. When I finally sat down at my place at the table, I realized who exactly I’d seen out of the corner of my eye when I’d been too focused on Patrick to pay attention.
I was so excited to tell Peg about my new job that I pretty much danced into the kitchen then came to a comically abrupt stop. My husband was there in the middle of the room, with a small smile on his face and his hands pressed deeply into the pockets of his jeans. I was stunned at first, and then racing to him. Within seconds, I was wrapped in his strong arms. I felt tears hit my eyes as I inhaled deeply and gripped the back of his sweatshirt. He smelled exactly the same, and I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to burrow inside his clothes so I could touch him skin to skin.
“Dat’s a good welcome home,” he whispered huskily into my ear.
His hands were shaking against my back.
“I missed you so much,” I said into his neck.
He shuffled me backward, never letting me go as we made our way out of the kitchen and finally through the door to our bedroom. I knew we were being rude. I hadn’t even said hello to the people at the table—but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
My husband was home. I wouldn’t have cared if the pope himself was sitting at our kitchen table. I didn’t have eyes for anyone but Patrick.
We fell onto our little bed in a tangled heap before I wrapped my legs around Patrick’s hips as tightly as I could.
“Hello, wife,” he said quietly, pulling away just far enough to meet my eyes.
“Hello, husband.”
“Christ, I’ve missed ye.”
I’m not sure which of us moved first, but soon, his tongue was in my mouth, rubbing over my lips and teeth as if to familiarize himself with it once again. My entire body relaxed into the bed as his hands moved over me, never sliding beneath my clothes, but sweeping over me with reverence.
It reminded me of before we were married, when we were dying for each other, but unable to take the final steps. We murmured nonsense against each other’s mouths for long minutes, my hands sliding through his hair and gripping the back of his neck, but eventually reality intruded.
“Tea!” Peg yelled through the house. I could tell that she hadn’t come to the door, but had called from far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to hear what we were doing. Smart woman.
Patrick pulled away slowly, coming back for soft kisses over and over again as he stood up and pulled me up to a sitting position on the bed.
I couldn’t stop staring.
He was exactly the same, but different. I recognized his face as clearly as my own; however, it seemed as if there were new lines around his eyes and his cheekbones had become a bit sharper. His hair was longer than I’d ever seen it, and it flopped over his forehead messily. He looked wonderful and extremely tired.
“We’d better go out dere,” he said, glancing toward the door for only a moment before meeting my eyes again.
“Why are you home? How long are you staying?” It seemed as if the shock had finally worn off and now my mind raced with questions. He hadn’t told me he was coming home.
“I came to see me beautiful wife for a few days, is dat all right wit’ ye?”
His words were mild, but there was an underlying defensiveness to his tone that raised my hackles. What the hell? I immediately thought back to my questions, but couldn’t find anything in my tone or words that would warrant a defensive reaction. If anything, my exuberance should have been a bit funny.
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“Dere a reason ye don’t want me home?”
My brows furrowed in confusion as he watched me closely. What was he talking about?
“Of course I want you home!” I jumped from the bed, but stopped short when he took a step back. “What the fuck, Patrick?”
I watched him take a deep breath and run his fingers through his hair, pulling the long strands back away from his face. He looked like he was trying to calm himself down, but I couldn’t understand why he would act like that in the first place. Where was my charming husband? Why was he so angry?
He took a step toward me, and that time it was me stepping back.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said, stepping forward again to reach me. “I’m just tired. I don’t want to fight.”
I let him pull me into his arms, but my body remained rigid. I wanted to wrap my arms around him so badly, but I was terrified he’d pull away again. I didn’t understand how I’d made him mad in the first place, and the anxiety made my heart race.
I didn’t want to fight with him, either. I’d missed him so much that I was past the point of jumping up and down with excitement that he was there—no, I didn’t want to jump, I wanted to cry with relief that I could finally feel him against me. The overwhelming emotion of it all went beyond anything I’d ever felt in my entire life. He was finally there, in my arms, and it felt like he didn’t even want to be there.
Patrick pulled me to the kitchen by my hand, as I tried valiantly to straighten my hair with the other. I didn’t need to broadcast the make-out session we’d just had. When I finally sat down at my place at the table, I realized who exactly I’d seen out of the corner of my eye when I’d been too focused on Patrick to pay attention.
