Sully: An Irish Mafia Romance (The Brotherhood Book 3) Read online

  And she never was.

  There's a certain amount of peace that settles inside my soul, knowing she tried, at least. And in the end, she tried to protect me. That has to count for something, right?

  But she was never my home.

  By a strange twist of fate, I think I found my home in the same day. Here, with these Fitzgerald boys. Though boys doesn't really fit them, but in my mind, that's what they are. Sometimes they're more like predators in the wild, fighting and snarling at anyone who threatens them. Other times, they embody the gods I often think of them as, staking their claim on the land and its people.

  And I don't mean this apartment is home, though it's a gorgeous place from what I saw. I mean with them. I think . . . I think I might go anywhere with them.

  I peek in the first open doorway and see Sully sprawled out on an extra-wide California King-sized bed.

  “Lainey? That you?” Sully’s voice is groggy, and his eyes are half-open.

  I cross the room to his bed, pulling the bottle of pain medicine out of my pocket and shaking it. “I’m here with pain meds.” Sully groans and throws an arm over his eyes.

  I tap two out into my palm and grab the water bottle from the nightstand, handing both of them over to him.

  Sully cracks an eye open from underneath his arm before he shuffles to lean on his elbow. He swallows the pills with a swig of water and flops back onto the bed. “Thanks, princess.” His voice is soft, and his chest rises and falls in a slow, deep rhythm.

  I spend another minute just watching him before I grab the teal throw blanket at the foot of the bed and cover him up.

  As much as I want to snoop around, the idea of scrubbing the day off of me is more appealing. And knowing the Fitzgerald boys like I do, I can only imagine how extravagant their bathrooms are.

  My skin crawls as memories of the day flash before my eyes like a strobe light. I don’t even know how many hours I’ve been awake, and logically, I know it hasn’t been anything crazy. But everything I’ve gone through makes it feel like it’s been days since I slept.

  And it feels like years since I felt the comfort and safety of home.

  I walk into the en suite bathroom and give myself a moment to pick my jaw up off the floor. I just knew that they’d have something extravagant in here. I’m not sure if it’s something unique to one of them or all of them, but one of these days, I’m really going to take advantage of their spacious, luxurious showers.

  I leave the main lights off, flipping the switch for the soft spotlight above the shower. Stripping off my clothes one by one, I don’t look too closely at them. Instead, I toss them into the garbage can in the corner.

  Déjà vu hits me like a slap in the face, and I stagger backward a step. My gaze swings to the tank top hanging out of the garbage can—and the rusty-brown-colored stain on the side.

  Blood.

  I’m not even sure whose blood it is at this point. I feel my eyes glaze over as I go through the motions of showering. I don’t even get to appreciate the three showerheads or the temperature-controlled panel or the speaker system.

  It takes three times before I feel like the blood isn’t on me any longer.

  The hot water soothes my aching muscles and my bruised heart. I know I’m a long way from . . . processing everything, but I don’t want to unpack that just yet.

  After I’m done, I towel-dry my hair and wrap another towel around my body, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. Everything kind of aches, and I don’t know if I have the mental energy to inspect all my physical wounds and tend to my emotional ones tonight.

  I peek into the darkened bedroom, straining to hear any noise over the exhaust fan whirring above me. Satisfied that Sully’s fine, I pull on the clothes laid out on the countertop.

  I shimmy the black boxer briefs up over my hips, rolling them at the waistband a few times, and pull the white cotton tee over my head. The material is soft against my sensitive skin, smelling of clean citrus. I pull the collar up to my nose and inhale—Rush.

  Of course he would’ve snuck in here and left me his clothes to change into. I don’t think the man knows how not to plan.

  I towel-dry my hair again before braiding it in a loose braid over my shoulder.

  After putting the towels over the rack next to the shower, I hit the switch. The room plunges into darkness, and I take a moment to let my eyes adjust.

  A chill runs over my body as I walk toward the bed, the air conditioning set low in here. Sully’s still passed out on his bed, but instead of being on his back in the middle, he’s scooted over to one side, half-turned over and underneath the blankets.

  He might wake up and need something in the middle of the night, I reason with myself. Or he might get an infection, and by the time one of us discovers him, it could be too late.

  I bite my lip as I stand next to the bed, my fingers itching to push back his unruly hair curling on his forehead.

  “Get in bed, birdie.”

  I jump, turning around so fast my head spins. Rush reclines in a chair in the corner of the room right next to the windows that run from the floor to the ceiling. I hadn’t even noticed it there until now, partially concealed in the shadows of the night.

  I press a palm to my thundering heart. “Jesus, Rush. You scared me.”

  He leans forward, pressing his forearms to his knees, hands steepled in front of his lips. “Sorry, baby. If I didn’t intervene, you’d be standing there all night debating on whether or not to slide into bed with Sully, yeah?”

  I huff, warmth coloring my cheeks. “I mean, I would’ve made up my mind eventually. Besides, I was just about to get in.” A wry smile tips up the corners of his pouty lips. I cross my arms and lift my chin. “I was.”

  “Alright.” His eyes look dark from this angle, but I swear I see a twinkle in them.

  “I was just . . . you know, unsure of the sleeping arrangements. And I, uh, didn’t think he should be left alone tonight.”

  Rush stares at me for a moment before he stands up and crosses the room in three long strides. Standing next to him in his clothes, barefoot, and wet hair, I feel oddly protected.

  He traces a finger along my collar bones, dipping his fingertips underneath the collar of his shirt. “I already told you not to worry about that kind of thing. If you’re happy, we’re happy.”

  “But Sully—”

  “Is an asshole who needs to get his shit together. Don’t worry about Sully, yeah? He’s just afraid to admit it to himself. Besides, near-death experiences are known to change a man.”

  I look to the side, my jaw clenching. “I’m not going to force myself on anyone, Dec. Especially when he’s vulnerable.”

  His quiet chuckle soothes something aching in my soul. He turns my face back to his with a finger on my jaw. “Oh, baby, you’re not forcing anyone, I promise you that. Just get some sleep now, yeah? We’ll talk in the morning.”

  I turn my face and place a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “And where will you be?”

  Rush leans down and brushes his lips over my forehead. “I’ll be right here, little bird.”

  “And Wolf?”

  “He’s making a few calls, then he’ll be in here, too.”

  I nod, and Rush steps back to give me room to climb into Sully’s massive bed. I scoot under the blankets, settling in and letting sleep take me in its clutches.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alaina

  My body is heavy with exhaustion when I open my eyes. The hazy light of the city filters through the blinds, enough to make out Rush’s sleeping form in the same chair he was sitting in earlier. His legs are propped up on an ottoman pushed against the chair.

  I lift up to my elbow and see Wolf sprawled out on the floor, right next to my side of the bed. He’s shirtless with an arm thrown over his eyes, the blanket pulled down to his waist. I watch his bare tattooed chest rise and fall with a small smile on my face.

  Warmth unfurls in my chest. I like that they slept in here, watchin
g out for me—and Sully. It feels right to have all of us in one room.

  I lay my head back on the pillow and look out at the twinkling lights. Their apartment is higher up than my dorm room, and the city looks different from this angle—almost like Christmas lights, twinkling and sparkling. The wide window treatments hang to the side of the large window and the blinds are open, letting the night sky shine into the room. The moon is high in the sky, but only the smallest sliver is dark. I couldn’t have been sleeping for long.

  A full moon is on the horizon, and given the way my life has played out recently, I'm a little fearful of what that means. I scan the sky, looking for any familiar constellations. Grief pierces my heart when I see Ursa Minor.

  It's my father's favorite constellation.

  It was. It was my father's favorite. Isn't it strange that something ceases to be if that someone is no longer here? It was my father's favorite. I wonder what his favorite is now that he's among the stars. My lips tip up on one side as I imagine my mother and father dancing among the stars. Amusement flutters over me as I envision my father twirling her around. She always did smile the most around him.

  A warm hand slides across my abdomen, startling me from my thoughts. A second later, I feel the warmth of Sully's body pressed along the back of mine.

  "What are you thinking about at"—he leans over me to look at the clock on the nightstand next to me—“two o’clock in the morning?" His voice, raspy and deep from disuse, leisurely slides over me to settle on my soul.

  I shift to my back and turn my head to face him. "Do you believe in soul mates?"

  "That's a heavy topic to think about at this time of night."

  "I know," I murmur with a nod. I let the quietness of the night settle between us. It's not unpleasant, but it does feel weighted. Sully and I have done this dance for what feels like ages. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?" I search his eyes for any tightness or pinch of pain. He shouldn't need any more pain meds for three hours.

  "I'm fine. Nothing that won't heal." He sweeps a loose lock of hair across my forehead, his fingertips trailing down my neck and lingering on my collarbones. “I’m glad you’re here. I had . . . some sort of nightmare about you.”

  I reach out and place my palm on his heart, his steady heartbeat reassuring me. “What happened?”

  His gaze focuses on his fingers tracing my skin. “When I was in the alley, after I was stabbed, I had some sort of . . . fever dream or something. We were happy, you and I. We were in Central Park, and you were marveling at the flowers blooming.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and the image of us walking through Central Park hand in hand flashes before my eyes. “That sounds lovely.” My voice is low and hushed, a small smile tipping up my lips.

  He looks me in the eye. “It was. Until you were taken from me. Someone came and took you from right in front of me, and I . . . I couldn’t get to you in time.”

  I encircle his wrist with my other hand, holding him to me. “It wasn’t real, James. I’m right here.”

  His thumb brushes back and forth over my collar bones, eliciting goosebumps. “I know, but it felt so real, Lainey.”

  I nod and wait a moment. “I was so worried about you. So, so worried." I inch closer, so we're face to face, our noses inches apart, and slide my palm to his cheek.

  "I know, princess." He brings my hand up to his mouth and places a kiss on each knuckle.

  "We have a lot to talk about."

  "Mm-hmm. We will. Tonight, let's just"—he sighs—"let's just pretend, yeah? Let's just pretend that nothing else exists outside this bed, this room. And tomorrow—tomorrow, we'll figure everything out."

  "Everything? Even about us?"

  He stares at me for a moment, his lips pressing together in a slight grimace. "I—I've missed you, Lainey. So goddamn much my bones hurt. I feel like I've been missing you my entire life."

  A tear rolls down my cheek. "Jam—"

  He places a finger against my lips. "Not tonight, princess. Tonight, we're pretending, remember?"

  "But I don't want to pretend. I just want you." There's a hitch in my voice, and my words are hushed, but I feel more emotion packed in those four words than I would’ve thought possible.

  "Do you though? Because you have Wolf. And Rush. I'm not so sure there's room for me in that heart of yours." He places a big palm against my heart, and if in response, my heartbeat kicks up a notch.

  "There's always room for you, James. Always. When I'm old and gray and dancing among the stars, there will always be a reserved spot on my dance card with your name on it, James Fitzpatrick.”

  The corner of his lips quirks up. "Dance card?"

  My mouth mimics his, and a smirk dances across my lips. I quirk a brow. "That's all that you got from that?"

  "Well, I'm just curious, is all. Have you been reading that historical romance you used to love so much?" He waggles his eyebrows and smirks.

  I move to touch his shoulder playfully, but he snags my wrist in his hand. "Maybe I want all of your dances. Then what?"

  My smile falls at his abrupt, serious tone. "Sully, I—" I cut myself off and swallow roughly. I look between both of his eyes for a moment before I scoot even closer to him. “I want us to be open with each other, and I don’t want to lose you, but I can't promise you that.”

  He nods once and looks over my shoulder out at the sprawling city. This high up, the noise of the city is virtually indistinguishable. All I can hear is the whooshing of the air conditioning as it filters through the heat vents, the noise soothing.

  He brings his gaze back to me. His ocean-blue-eyed gaze searches mine for a moment before he exhales. "Do you love them?"

  There's something like reluctant acceptance. I wet my lips and search inside myself.

  Such a simple question. Only four small words, and yet it has maybe the most complicated answer I've ever encountered.

  I remember the exact time I realized I could love James though. It was within the first week of our shared time at the New York Public Library, and I had freaked out on him, accusing him of cheating on some girl by kissing me and telling him he wasn’t in my summer plan. I was convinced that there was no way someone like him could be unattached—and interested in me.

  “Sometimes, the best things in life are unexpected. When I’m with you, I’m with you, yeah?” He tilts my head back, so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.

  A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I grasp his wrist with one hand to hold him to me. “I don’t even know what that means, but I think you just went inspirational-quote on me.”

  James steps into me. “It means I like you too. My little punk rock princess.” His lips brush mine with each word as he takes the binder from my arm and places it back on the shelf.

  “Yeah?” I breathe the word into his parted lips.

  He presses into me, aligning our bodies, and I can feel every hard inch of him. My emotions are so close to the surface, unlike usual, when I keep them locked up tight. His hand tightens in my hair, a stark contrast to the gentle kiss he places on the corner of my mouth. “Yeah, princess.” His lips brush mine once, twice, three times before he presses them firmly to mine.

  I try to deepen the kiss, but he steps back. I’m breathless; I feel strung tight and greedy. I can barely believe that the breathy noise of protest came from me. I’ve never felt like this before, like I’m drunk on lust.

  He chuckles and pushes his hands into his pockets. He pulls out a pair of earbuds and his phone. “Patience.” He tsks. “I made a playlist for you.” He puts an earbud in my left ear before putting the other one in his right ear. He scrolls on his phone for a minute before I hear the first few notes of Yeah Yeah Yeah’s “Maps.”

  My breath hitches, our gazes lock and hold as we both listen to Karen O serenade us with her promise that they don’t love you like she loves you. I lick my suddenly dry lips. This feels like a premonition and a promise. When the song ends, the next one starts, and I sink to the flo
or, stretching my legs out across from me. James moves to sit next to me, and we listen to this guy pour his heart out. He sings about the freckles in our eyes being mirror images, and when we kiss, they perfectly align.

  By the third song, I feel warm and tingly all over. I intertwine our fingers, content to listen to this curated playlist he made for me for the rest of my life. By the fourth song, my heart feels full, and I lay my head on his shoulder. This playlist is a peek into James’s soul, and I’m not passing up an opportunity to dive deeper.

  That was the first moment I realized that I could love James if given the time. I think . . . I think I was given just enough time to fall in love with him. But I was sixteen. And it's drilled into us that any sort of "love" experienced at that age isn't real love. It's puppy love, they say.

  But it never felt fleeting. It felt tangible and scary in that sort of free-falling way.

  Of course, I had never had my heart broken until then either. No, those honors also went to James. Maybe that's why it hurt so bad. I’m sure it wouldn’t have hurt as bad if I didn’t care about him as much.

  I bite my lip and come back to the present. “I haven't known them long." It's a copout, and we both know it.

  "That's bullshit, Lainey. You can lie to a lot of people, but not to me. I know you, remember? Or at least I did."

  I nod and whisper, "You're right. It was a copout. And the truth is, I . . . I do. I’m not sure how to navigate this feeling just yet. It’s so new, and I’ve never felt like this before. But what I feel for them—for you"—I look over his shoulder at the wall—“it feels a helluva lot like love. And I think I could definitely love all of you. At the same time."

  Sully doesn't say anything. He just continues to run his thumb over my knuckles in long, soothing strokes.

  “And that feels . . .” I blow out a breath and look at him. “Big. It feels big.”