Page 10 of Sweet Vengeance (Sins of the Father #2)

Ollie

Why am I holding Cillian O’Shea’s hand?

Using my free one, I reach for my glasses, which now have one broken lens, and push them on.

I stare down at it, at him. He’s slumped forward in the chair, face tucked in his left arm, his right crossed over in my direction and beneath mine.

Did he sleep like this all night? Well, what was left of the night after everything.

I don’t know what time it is or how much we actually slept, but that absolutely can’t be comfortable.

Speaking of uncomfortable, my bladder is about to explode, my body feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck, and oh yes, I’m still holding the hand of a mini-mob member.

I try to pull away slowly, but Cillian sits up, jerking his hand back faster than I can. Well, clearly, he doesn’t like the idea of touching me either. All this is his fault, though. He’s the one who insisted on staying here with me and decided he also had to be so close.

“You’re still here,” I say, sounding more accusatory than intended.

“Good observation.”

“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”

Cillian rubs a hand over his face. “I’m not grumpy, Kitten. I’m just saying.”

Kitten. What the hell is that? What is his fascination with giving me a nickname? Him and Rory both. “Stop calling me that. And I need to pee.”

It’s hard to hold back my wince or to ignore the pain as I attempt to get out of bed.

“I’ll call the nurse.”

“I can pee without medical intervention. If I want to go home today, I have to show them I can do things on my own.”

He sighs and mumbles something that sounds like, “So fucking stubborn.” Cillian stands and comes around to the other side of the bed, where I’ve managed to sit up. “Well, at least let me help you.”

“Are you going to hold my dick for me?” My cheeks heat the second the words are out of my mouth. Why did I say that? I’m not in the habit of mentioning my cock to other guys, especially if I’m unsure they’re queer.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He winks.

My stupid, traitor stomach flutters. He’s teasing me, making fun of me. That shouldn’t be turning me on. Nothing about him should be doing that. “You’re a jerk.”

I try to breathe through the pain that’s mostly in my chest right now, while pushing to my feet.

“You’re not wrong,” Cillian tells me, staying close. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I don’t ask, pretending I have no say in the matter as he stays close to me while I slowly walk with the IV pole toward the bathroom.

“About what?”

“Me being a jerk. All of us are, really. But shit like this? What happened to you? We don’t do that.”

I stop moving, surprised he’s bringing this up. Isn’t his lifestyle supposed to be secret? I mean, it is and it isn’t. “Never? You don’t steal cars?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fuck no,” he says as if that’s beneath him.

“You’ve never hurt someone who’s innocent?

” I ask next, then hate how I swallow down a lump in my throat.

How I want him to be able to tell me no, though it would be nothing more than a lie.

“See? That’s what I thought,” I answer when it’s clear he’s not going to reply.

“What you do is wrong, Cillian. There’s no excuse for it.

I’d like to go to the bathroom alone, please. ”

He watches me, blue eyes studying, dissecting…and maybe a little sad. The sadness throws me for a moment, confuses me.

Cillian nods and steps back.

Shuffling into the bathroom takes some time, but eventually I get there, closing the door behind me and collapsing with my back against it. It takes me a moment before I can breathe, which is more uncomfortable than it should be.

Still, for a reason I can’t explain, the sadness in his ocean gaze lingers in my mind.

*

Cillian is waiting for me where I left him when I exit the bathroom. He stays close but doesn’t touch me, like he’s trying to be there in case I need him but not overstepping the lines I drew.

“Thank you,” I mumble once I’m back in the bed, wanting him to know I understand what he did and I appreciate it. We don’t see eye to eye on…well, anything, but I need to give credit where credit is due.

“I’m missing class today.” I close my eyes, trying to ignore the pain, both mentally and physically.

“You’ll be back soon.”

A nurse comes in, this one a beautiful Black woman with twists. “How are you doing?” She smiles.

“Good,” I reply.

“What do we need to do to get him home today?” Cillian asks, surprising me.

“The doctor needs to see him. I can’t promise they’ll discharge him today.”

Each of her words twists my stomach into another knot. I open my mouth to let her know I’m not staying here another night—I can’t be in this place any longer than I have to—but Cillian speaks first. “He’s going home today. Unless it’s life or death, he needs to go home.”

I whip my head in his direction—and wish I didn’t because it hurts. Why is he advocating so hard for me to go home? Last night it was the opposite.

As if feeling my eyes shooting questions at him, Cillian glances my way and gives me a smirk. “I keep my word, Kitten.”

I really, really wish warmth didn’t skate up my skin over that stupid nickname.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the nurse replies, but her tone says she’s not happy about it.

I understand. She’s only doing her job and wants what’s best for me, but these four walls are feeling like they’re closing in on me.

I hate hospitals. Even if I didn’t, the longer I’m here, the more it’ll cost, and I’m already freaking out about that.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Cillian tells her.

She finishes her morning check-in, taking my vitals and asking questions.

The hospitalist comes in right after, giving me a brief exam.

Cillian asks questions, which surprises me, about what the doctor is doing and how he feels I’m doing.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to stop, that it’s not his business and I don’t need anyone to speak for me, but words never leave my mouth.

My behavior around him and the way I respond to him are a mystery.

“Do you live alone?” Dr. Hill asks.

“He’s staying with me,” Cillian interrupts.

“I can speak for myself.” I’m absolutely one hundred percent not staying with him, but I’m also smart enough to know that I shouldn’t say that in front of the physician. They’ll want to make sure someone is there if I need them.

“This is what we’ll do,” Dr. Hill says. “I’d like the neurologist and pulmonologist to see you this morning.

We’ll run another scan of your head and chest, and as long as those are clear, we’ll discharge you into Mr. O’Shea’s care.

We need to make sure your lungs don’t fill with fluid.

That’s always a worry with rib injuries. ”

Worry swims in my already aching head. I don’t want to get sick. I don’t want to be hurt. I just…I wish this never happened. Not the stepping-in part—I don’t have it in me not to do that—but that those guys hadn’t tried to hurt anyone at all.

Those guys, who are like Cillian.

Cillian, who is also here, missing school to be with me.

Cillian, who slept slumped over in a chair, holding my hand.

Cillian, who does kind things too.

“That sounds good,” I tell the doctor.

Once Cillian and I are alone again, I whisper a soft “Thank you.”

“What for?” The frown curling his lips tells me it’s an honest question. Does no one ever thank him?

“For this. Being here. Sleeping here. Telling them I’m staying with you. Everything.”

“You are staying with me, and you’re welcome.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Try again, Kitten. Either you’re staying at the house with us, or I’ll be in that dorm room with you. I’m not leaving you alone, not only because of your health, but because I don’t know if those guys will be looking for you.”

Oh…oh. How could I have forgotten that detail? I’d like to shove it back into whatever box it was in so I can pretend it’s not true.

“I’m thirsty,” I say instead of responding.

Cillian gets up and walks over to a table behind me. There’s a pitcher and a cup on it. He pours water into the paper cup, grabs a straw, and stops beside my bed. “Here.”

I watch as he moves the drink closer, holding it for me.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.

I’ve been independent all my life. While I always had my parents, and then just my dad, I’ve also always been able to fend for myself. We had so much to worry about with Mom, I didn’t want Dad to have to take care of me on top of that.

There’s no reason I can’t drink from this cup on my own. No reason I should be letting Cillian O’Shea help me, but I lean in, mouth on the straw, and take a couple of long, deep pulls. It immediately quenches my too-dry tongue, and I take more.

He’s watching me. He’s always watching me, in this way that makes no sense, but I don’t call him on it. Just drink all the water until Cillian pulls it away and asks, “Do you need more?”

“No. I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Stop saying that. It’s annoying.” He sets the cup down.

“Being nice is annoying?”

“Yes. You’ve met my friends, remember? As you pointed out earlier, asshole is our default.”

I believe I said jerk, but still. He’s not wrong, and yet he also is. The things Cillian has done for me today aren’t things a total jerk would do. All of them coming here last night for me isn’t either.

Don’t do this. Don’t excuse his bad behavior.

Getting me water doesn’t change who he is or the things he’s done.

“I’m here to take you for a chest X-ray,” a man says, startling me.

“I’ll be right here waiting for you, Kitten.” Cillian grins.

“You’re not gonna stop calling me that, are you?”

His voice is low and sultry when he says, “Why would I do that when you like it so much?”

My gaze darts to the X-ray tech, then back to Cillian. There’s definitely some…thing. Something sexy in the way he just said that. What I don’t get is why he’s talking to me that way…and in front of someone else.

“I never said I like it.”

“Your eyes don’t lie.” Cillian reaches out, brushes his thumb over the pulse in my throat. “And neither does this. You like it. Now go get your X-ray so we can get you home where you belong.”

He steps out of the way, the tech clearing his throat.

Cillian watches while I’m wheeled away.