Page 71 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Live to Tell

Chance

I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep won’t be happening tonight.

Not with this rage boiling my blood, not withhimstill out there—some sick ghost from Ant’s past, calling him, threatening him.

No one gets to touch the people I love. Not again. Not after Ma.

I let that monster of a father linger in our lives for far too long, and it cost her everything. I’ll never make that mistake again. I should’ve stopped him sooner. I won’t fail Ant like that.

Like I failed Ma.

I won’t survive the pain of losing them both.

Beside me, Ant starts mumbling in his sleep. It’s low at first, like he’s whispering to someone in a dream. Quickly, it grows louder, choppier.

“No… don’t… no, no…”

His legs twitch under the covers. Then kick. Hard.

I roll onto my side. “Ant. Wake up, baby.”

His head thrashes slightly. He grunts, legs kicking again, more erratic now.

“Ant,” I say louder, placing a hand on his arm. “You have to wake up.”

He screams again.

“No! No!”

His arms fly out, one nearly clipping me in the jaw. I duck back and scramble on top of him, straddling his waist and grabbing his wrists, holding them tight as he flails beneath me.

“ Ant! Wake up!”

I shake him hard. His eyes fly open at the same time the bedroom door crashes open with athud as the knob slams into the wall.

I whip around, scrambling off Ant.

Deacon stands in the doorway, gun raised.

Ant jolts upright, pressing his back to the headboard, his breathing a frantic staccato. I throw up a hand toward Deacon.

“It’s okay, Deek,” I say calmly. “Ant was having a nightmare. I couldn’t pull him out of it.”

Deacon doesn’t move at first, eyes sweeping the room, calculating every shadow. I know that look—he’s good at his job. Silent, methodical. I’m grateful for his presence tonight.

After a tense moment, Deacon lowers the gun, gives a sharp nod.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Deek,” I say, still catching my breath.

He closes the door behind him, and I turn back around.

Ant is staring at me with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“What?” I ask.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Should we make room for him in the bed now? It’s big enough.”

I narrow my eyes. “Over my dead body will anyone else ever be in this bed.”

Ant’s face softens. “Except Little G.”

I let out a short laugh. “Except Little G.”

Ant glances around the room, blinking. “Speaking of… where is he?”

I sigh. “He’s with Deacon. I asked him to keep the little guy close tonight. Figured if anything went down, G would be able to alert him if he happened to doze off.”

Ant exhales hard, rubbing his hands over his face. “Fuck, I hate this.”

I crawl forward on my knees, settle across his lap, straddling him again. I cup his face gently, thumbs brushing the sides of his cheeks.

“Hey.” I press my forehead to his. “Never mind all that. There was a threat, yeah. But it was probably just a scare tactic—to keep you from joining the case. Deacon’s a precaution that allows me to focus on you. Nothing more.”

Ant nods slowly, but he’s still staring at his lap.

“Now,” I smirk, “you wanna tell me about that nightmare, Rocky Balboa ?”

Ant huffs a small laugh. “Oh God. Was I throwing punches?”

I shrug. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He leans back slightly, a sheepish smile pulling at his mouth.

“Come on,” I coax, “tell me about it. Shine some light on it. Might help clear it from your head so it doesn’t show up again tonight.”

He swallows hard, and for a long moment, he just sits there, holding my gaze.

And then, slowly, he nods.

Ant’s palms rub slow circles into my thighs—rhythmic, steady. A little grounding, a little stalling. I can tell he’s working up the nerve to speak.

Still straddling his lap, I reach up and run my thumb gently across the furrow of his brow.

“Hold that thought,” I whisper. “I think this requires some courage—of the liquid variety. Tequila okay?”

He nods without looking up, his hands still lingering on my skin.

I slide off his lap and pad over to the dresser, grabbing a pair of shorts from the top drawer. As I step into them, I hear the low, appreciative hum that’s so uniquely Ant.

I smirk over my shoulder.

“A little late for modesty, don’t you think?” he says, his voice thick.

I glance at him, puzzled, one brow raised.

Ant narrows his eyes at me and continues, “Deacon came busting in here andyouwere on top of me. Naked.”

The corner of my mouth lifts.

“And then,” he says, his voice a little more animated now, “you spun around with your Sullivan just flapping against your thigh. Right in front of his eyes.”

The smile stretches full on my face now.

Ant crosses his arms, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably. “I’m just saying. My screams could’ve been for a completely different reason. ”

I walk back to the side of the bed and bend down, pressing my lips close to his ear, dropping my voice to a low whisper. “I love it when you’re jealous, baby. Take it out on my ass later. Fuck me so hard Deacon busts in here thinking you’re murdering me.”

Ant sucks in a breath. Then he gives me a little shove and groans, “Go get the tequila before I lose my courage.”

I kiss the corner of his jaw, then head for the kitchen.

I feel his eyes on my ass the entire way.

Deacon’s still sitting on the couch, upright and alert, Guinness curled against his side, chewing on a plush hamburger toy. Deek’s scratching behind Little G’s ears when I step out of the bedroom.

“Hey, boss,” he says, eyes tracking me. “I’m sorry about all that. I hope I didn’t scare him.”

I wave a hand. “Don’t apologize for doing your job, Deek. That reaction is exactly why The Doves have you on payroll.”

He gives me a small nod, no smile, but the pride is clear in his eyes.

“Anyway,” I add, “thanks for having our back.”

That gets me another nod as I head into the kitchen. No sense pretending a couple shots of tequila is enough. This calls for the whole damn bottle.

I grab two glasses and the bottle and make my way back.

Ant’s still on the bed, exactly where I left him, only now he’s holding his tablet and reading something. His brow’s tight, mouth slightly parted. Whatever he’s looking at, it’s got him twisted.

I kneel up onto the bed, scoot over on both knees, and hold the glasses out to him.

“Hold these,” I say gently.

I twist the cap off the bottle and pour two heavy-handed drinks. I set the bottle down on my nightstand, take one of the glasses from him, and hold it up.

“To surviving,” I say.

He clinks his glass against mine. “To surviving.”

We drink.

“What’s this?” I nod at the tablet.

Ant tilts it so I can see.

“Detroit Diocese Facing Multiple Abuse Accusations Spanning Decades” — CNN .

“Shit,” I mutter. “This is big news.”

Ant scoffs. “It will be. For five minutes. Then the Church will do what they do.”

I look at him, questioning.

He taps a section of the article, his finger landing on the subtitle:“Priests Relocated.”

I squint. “Okay. I mean, that’s good, right?”

“In theory, yeah.” He sets the tablet in his lap. “It gets them out of the current congregation, so any kid they may have been currently abusing is safe—”

“Where do they put them?”

“In a kind of dorm,” he explains. “Temporary housing while under investigation. Most dioceses have one, or they convert existing buildings.”

He scrolls, reading aloud, “Says here all three priests from my time—Tommy, Francis, and Dean—are housed together at a place called Foster Hall. Apparently, Father Dean had been leading a sister church in the parish after serving under Tommy. Problem is, when they make this go away, they’ll relocate them to another parish. ”

“Okay,” I say quietly, barely containing my anger, “start wherever you want. Tell me about the nightmare.”

Ant’s quiet for a beat. Then, slowly, he begins to tell me.

The bike incident. The way Father Tommy’s car hit him. The way he hovered over him like a predator. The things he said. The warning to keep quiet. The threats.

He tells me about the roles each priest played: Tommy, the head and the worst of them. Francis, overseeing the school and children’s programs. Dean, the youngest, the one training for his own parish. How intimidation was constant for three years.

“Where were your parents in all this?” I ask, already fearing the answer.

Ant sighs. “I tried to tell them. At first. But they were so blinded by their faith…”

He trails off and drops his gaze to his hands. They’re trembling.

“They would’ve rather believed I was just being dramatic. A kid with an overactive imagination. Once, my mom came in and read me scripture about the evils of tempting others.”

My jaw drops. “Wait— what? ”

Ant nods. “Matthew 18:6. I’ll never forget that. She made sure I knew that there were severe consequences for children who led grown men to stumble into sin.”

My rage is barely contained. I can’t take it. I push off the bed and start pacing, dragging both hands through my hair.

“Don’t get all rage-y,” he says, voice quiet.

I shake my head, still pacing. “That must’ve been so lonely for you.”

“It was. I didn’t have many friends. When you’re the priest’s favorite?” He gives a bitter laugh. “It makes you a target. But my classmates were just kids too. They couldn’t have known.”

I stop pacing, sit at the end of the bed, and grab his foot in my hands, massaging the sole, grounding us both.

“My only saving grace was my Nona,” he says. “She lived across the street. My grandpa had just passed, so she was lonely. I’d go over there after school.”

I soften, smiling at the memory I can see he’s reliving. His eyes are always so expressive. “She taught you everything you know in the kitchen, right?”

His smile finally reaches his eyes. “Pretty much every trick she knew.”

“Were you close enough to tell her?”

He shakes his head. “She was even more devout than my parents. She noticed the changes in me and tried to talk to me about it…but I couldn’t risk it. If she’d reacted the same way…” He shakes his head. “It would’ve broken me.”

I nod, a quiet understanding passing between us.

“And the bike incident?” I ask. “He broke your leg, Ant. Did they not believe that either?”

“Nope,” he says with a scoff. “But it scared me enough to beg and plead every single day that summer. I drove them crazy until they finally let me enroll in public school. After that, Father Tommy and the others mostly left me alone. Just the occasional intimidation drive-by.”

He leans back on the pillows and exhales. “They probably moved on to someone else. Maybe one of the victims in the case.”

I climb onto the bed so I’m eye-level with him and frame his face in my hands.

“I don’t know how you’re still standing,” I whisper. “How you’ve gone through all of that and still have the biggest heart I’ve ever known. I’m in awe of you, Beautiful.”

Ant ducks his head bashfully, and I tip his chin back up so I can see his eyes.

“Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

He nods slowly, eyes glassy.

“I want to rage,” I admit on a whisper, “but I’m glad you’re unloading it. Let it go. Give all those demons to me.”

He reaches out and laces his fingers through mine.

And then I hold him.