I wasn’t so dumb as to think Gerald and Jane Fitzpatrick would share their daughter’s enthusiasm at seeing me on their doorstep. That suited me just fine. I was more than capable of climbing into windows, which according to all the movies and shows I had definitely not watched with Sailor and Sparrow, it was deemed hopelessly romantic.
Nix was a romantic.
I was in the best shape of my life.
It was a no-fucking-brainer.
Parking in front of the mansion, I noticed the lights were already out. The Fitzpatricks wrapped up Christmas early. I rounded their house, detecting Nix’s window. The light was turned off there, too.
Breaking into her room was like taking candy from a baby. Avebury Court Manor was built low and spread out rather than tall and narrow. And there were columns fucking everywhere. The snow was not ideal. Then again, I’d managed climbing my way into places in worse conditions.
I threw a rope over the bannister between her window and one of the columns, and when it fell back through the other side, I tied a tight knot, tugging at it to ensure it was firm before ascending up the column while holding onto the rope, rock-climbing style.
When I reached her window, I knocked on it a few times, peering in through the double-glazed glass. She was sound asleep, unmoving in her bed, her midnight hair fanned across her shoulders and face. A dark angel.
I rapped the window again, watching as she stirred awake, her eyelashes fluttering before swinging her long, lean legs over the bed and walking over toward her door.
For the third time, I banged on the window, exasperated. Pretty sure Romeo didn’t have to deal with a woman who had the hearing of a fucking air fryer.
She jumped in surprise, turning around, her eyes meeting mine from across the room. When the sight of me registered, she ran toward the window.
Atta girl.
Nix was coming back to the arms of her favorite monster.
She unlatched the window open, and in one swift movement put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me with all her power, sending me flying back down. Quick on my feet, I grabbed onto the gutter, hanging onto it for dear fucking life, my legs swinging in the air.
“Merry Christmas to you, too. I see you decided to gift me a crazy bitch this year. I’ll take it.”
“You expected a gift?” she spat out from somewhere above my head, sounding … well, not half as glad as I thought she’d be to see me. “What on earth are you doing here, Brennan?”
Luckily, I put a lot of effort into ensuring my upper body was strong and did suspension exercises and pull-ups with Mitchell four times a week, so I knew that as long as the gutter wasn’t going to split in two, I could hang on it for a while.
Of course, I might lose my fingers in the process because of fucking frostbite.
“Well, I thought it would be a good time to talk now, after you’ve processed everything that’s happened.”
I was fucking obsessed with her. It made no sense at all. You were not supposed to crave what was offered to you in abundance.
“You mean you backstabbing my family and me, making my life a living hell, causing the very near wreckage of my parents’ marriage, and bringing destruction upon us that would take decades to emotionally reconstruct?”
When she put it that way …
“Grow the fuck up, Nix. I played with your daddy a little. It had nothing to do with you.”
“It had everything to do with me! You hurt the people I love and care about the most, knowing how many issues I had with my mother and about her mental state, and you kept it from me.”
“I had a good reason,” I grunted, pulling myself up and settling on the roof outside her window like a goddamn dog since she wouldn’t let me in. Aisling crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. She wore horrible flannel pajamas with ferrets on them. I knew she used to have a ferret—Shelly—and wondered how the fuck I ended up being consumed by a woman who, despite her declarations of love for me, never tried to change her quirky weirdness to fit the mold and please me.
“Aw, you had a reason.” She clapped sarcastically. “This should be good. Let’s hear it.”
“Your father had an affair with my biological mother.”
“So did the rest of Boston. Allegedly,” she drawled. “Didn’t she work in the most ancient profession in the world?”
Ignoring her snark, I trudged through with the story that was frankly beginning to bore even me to death.
“Earlier this year, in November, the day I bailed on you—”
“Another prime example for why I shouldn’t give you the time of the day,” she added, “or night.”
I ground my teeth together, trying to keep my cool.
“I didn’t show up because Catalina had died, and I needed to fly to Atlanta to sort through her shit. I found some letters she wrote to your father. Letters in which she accused him of impregnating her then causing her to miscarry through beating her up. She claimed he was the one who forced her into leaving me behind when she left.”
That stopped her from unleashing another unhelpful remark my way. Aisling’s already milky skin paled further. She stepped back, biting her lip to prevent her mouth from falling in shock. I raised a hand, shaking my head.
“Are we…” she cleared her throat “…related?”
I was very close to falling from her roof and breaking my spine.
“What? Aw, fuck no, sweetheart. I’d be puking buckets into next year if that were the case. No offense. Their affair happened way after I was born. Point is, I discussed it with your father. Most of it wasn’t true, but some of it was. At any rate, that was why I wanted to torture him.”
“You could have told me,” she said finally.
“No, I couldn’t,” I groaned. “What would I have said? ‘Oh, by the way, I’m responsible for all the shit your family is going through. Now must be a good time to put my dick in your mouth.’”
“No need to be crass.”
“Look, I’m sorry it happened this way. I don’t apologize often—correction, I don’t apologize at all—so I suggest you take it, run with it, and accept it. I came here today with a proposition I think you would very much like.”
She pursed her full lips in dissatisfaction, and again I hated myself for taking her for granted all these years. Even when I didn’t touch her, I knew she was there, waiting for me, fantasizing about me. It was almost as good as having her. Knowing that I could.
Now, she looked like she wanted to finish the job the Bratva started that night she ran away from the cabin.
“A proposition?” she asked.
“I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me, seeing as with you it could also mean anal sex.”
I chuckled. “I’m willing to have you.”
“You’re willing to have me,” she repeated flatly.
“Yes. As whatever-the-fuck. Girlfriend? Partner? What’s the correct term for people who are over twenty-five?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m not your anything, Brennan. You had your chance. You blew it. Ten whole years I waited for you to make me yours. All you needed to do was give me the time of the day. I’ve wanted you for so long, I don’t even remember what it feels like not to want you. Well, I’m about to find out.”
She didn’t want me.
I had never taken a scenario like this into consideration.
Nix’s love was always in the background for me. Available and ready whenever I was.
Now, I’d fucked up and needed to deal with the consequences.
“I’m not the type of guy to take no for an answer,” I warned, meaning it.
“I’m not the type of girl to give a dang about what kind of guy you are. You want me, you’ll have to win me.”
Feeling my jaw ticking with annoyance, I took a deep breath.
“That should be easy. I only win.”
“You’ll have to chase me,” she corrected.
“I don’t chase,” I reminded her quietly.
“Well, then I guess you won’t have me. Work for it. Treat me as your equal. No. Know what? Treat me as your better. Because I am. I know you hate women. I know you are leery of them, but unfortunately for you, I am one. I will not accept anything short of a fairy tale, Brennan, even if it’s with the monster in the story.”
Dumbfounded, I stared at her, waiting for … what exactly? Her to change her mind? She wasn’t going to. She wanted a fucking fairy tale, and so far I gave her a nightmare with a side of betrayal.
“Now leave,” she said primly.
“Nix—”
She slammed her window in my face, drawing the curtains shut for good measure.
She kicked me out.
Made new rules for our game.
Now I needed to play by them or admit defeat.
The first thing I did when I got back to my apartment was fling the pantry door open, nearly sending it off its hinges. There wasn’t much food there. And by ‘much’ I meant at all. There wasn’t any food there period. Only packs upon packs of Marlboros imported from Europe, because American cigarettes tasted like farts on fire.
I stared at the piles upon piles of what Aisling had referred to as cancer sticks, wondering if I was really about to do what I was about to do.
I was.
Fuck it. I took six bullets in my lifetime. I could do this.
I grabbed all the packs and shoved them into four recycling bags, including the pack that was in my pocket, and tossed everything into the building’s dumpster.
Then I went back upstairs and stared at the empty ashtray on my coffee table.
Proving to Aisling that I took her seriously just might turn into my idea of a nightmare.
And so help me God, she better come around fucking quickly or heads were going to roll on the streets of Boston.
CHAPTER 15
AISLING
My phone started ringing in my skirt’s pocket while I hugged Mrs. Martinez goodbye at the clinic door. Tugging it out, I was surprised to see Sam’s name flashing on the screen. I had saved his number that time he came in with his injured soldiers just in case but never expected him to call me. I drew a firm line between optimism and stupidity, and that seemed like the threshold for it.
What did he want?
“Everything okay?” Mrs. Martinez’s face clouded as she drank in my expression. Her hair had begun to grow again, fluffy and strewn about her head like little clouds now that she’d stopped her chemotherapy treatments. She was feeling better. Sometimes it worked that way after chemo. She opted to stop because her doctor had told her there was no hope for remission. But we now had new hope. She was taking an experimental drug that was supposed to shrink the tumor on her pancreas.
I was feeling hopeful she could live a comfortable life for months, maybe even a couple years.
“Yeah.” I smiled brightly, nodding as I all but pushed her out the door. “Sorry. I just had a moment there. Everything is fine.”
“You know …” She stopped, digging her heels into the floor, grinning. “I never asked you if you are married. Are you, Dr. F?”
I hadn’t given any of my patients my real full name. I needed to take safety measures to ensure my tracks were covered in case things went south.
“Not even remotely.” My fingers tightened around my phone, which kept buzzing. “I’m morbidly single, I’m afraid.”
“Hmm.” She looked thoughtful. “There is nothing morbid about your situation, dear. You will be married soon.” Mrs. Martinez winked. “I know about things like that.”
“You do?” I asked, my smile thin and distracted.
Please, lady, let me answer this.
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Absolutely. I was a fortuneteller my whole life before I retired. Traveled around with Aquila Carnival. Do you know it? They stop every summer just outside the city.”
Aquila Festival was where the most monumental part of my life had happened. Where I met Sam.
“I predicted I’d get cancer, all the royal weddings and divorces, and the exact order of Kate and William’s babies by gender…” her chest puffed proudly “…and let me tell you, my sweet, you will get married and soon. Maybe even to the person who tried to call you right now.” She jerked her chin to the phone I was clutching.
I dropped my eyes to it and realized I missed the call.
“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Martinez rose on her tiptoes, kissing my cheek. “He’ll call again. He has something important to tell you. Goodbye.”
I closed the door after her, frowning at my phone, willing it to ring again.
Sure enough, it did.
He has something important to tell you.
Swiping a finger across the screen, I received the call.
“What do you want?” I put on the most bored tone I could find in my arsenal of voices.
“You, spread eagle on my bed, wearing nothing but whipped cream and my favorite please-fuck-me-Sam expression,” he said darkly.
I did not reply. Responding to his banter would suggest I’d forgiven him.
“I need your help,” he said after a beat.