Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (29 page)

“Unbelievable,” the announcer barks as the camera zips to the stupid ring girl lifting the Round 2 card above her head. “Finn O’Brien went from
The Walking Dead
to the
Terminator
.”

“Something is definitely up with O’Brien,” the other announcer agrees. “I thought the ref was going to stop the fight within the first few shots Lopez got in―”

“But then it was the bell that saved Lopez at the end of the round!” the other announcer interrupts, like he can’t believe what he saw.

My jaw slacks open when the camera zooms in on Lopez. His eyes aren’t even visible, and . . . holy shit, are his teeth
bleeding
?

I don’t realize I’m on my feet until the bell starts the next round and Finn attacks.

“Oh!” the crowd yells. Finn strikes Lopez with a roundhouse kick that connects with Lopez’s head and sends him soaring backwards.

Finn rushes him, jumping on top of him and nailing him with a hailstorm of hammer fists and elbows. I should be out of my mind excited. But this isn’t a fight, it’s a punishment. Finn is
punishing
Lopez.

I clasp my hand over my mouth. Finn is no longer there. He’s succumbed to that dark place where he relives his trauma and where he’s finally able to fight back.

My hands shake. I fall back onto to the couch when the ref rips Finn off Lopez. Finn staggers backward, his bruised eyes scanning the octagon like he’s not sure why he’s there or how he arrived. Killian races in, so does Curran. But instead of leading him toward the announcer, they lead him out,
fast
. The cameras follow, despite how Finn’s camp surrounds him, trying to shield him and keep the reporters away.

Finn appears to be hyperventilating, shoving his brothers away when they crowd him. He’s not well. My God, something is horribly wrong with him.

My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me. It’s another text from Sofia, one that causes my eyes to sting.

Without thinking, my focus travels to the photo of my mother, taken in a time when I was still her little girl and she could still love me. I have all this education, experience, and drive to help those in need. But it wasn’t enough to help
her
. I can’t shine a light in her dark place, I can’t pull her back into reality, and I can’t help her see what is actually there. And if I could have, I’m already too late.

Tears drip down to splash against my phone as I read Sofia’s text again.

Finn is in trouble. He needs you.

No. I can’t help my mother. But I can still help someone else that I love.

I drive so fast, it’s a wonder I’m not pulled over. The Wells Fargo Center isn’t far, only about twenty minutes from my house. But tonight, it feels like an eternity.

Sofia knows I’m coming. Except now that the fights are over, people are looking to leave, and it’s making it harder to park. I pull into a spot I think is close, but the size of the arena is so huge, I’m still far from the entrance.

My fingers dig into my purse, trying to find my phone as I run toward the building. I curse when something sharp pokes me, but manage to snag my phone and tap my screen to redial Sofia. She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”

Like a maniac, I weave through the crowd of people making their way out, speaking fast. “Sofia, I’m here. But I’m not sure where to go. I’m almost to the entrance. But I don’t have a ticket or-or―”

She hears the panic in my voice and tries to calm me. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll help you. Hold on.” Her voice becomes muffled as she speaks to someone else. “Sol is here. She’s almost to the entrance . . . Okay, where? . . . Okay . . . Okay. . . Sol? Seamus is coming for you. When you reach the entrance don’t go in. Walk toward the left and stay along the edge of the sidewalk. He’ll find you, okay? He’s coming for you.”

“All right, all right,” I repeat. For as gentle as she keeps her voice, I can tell she’s scared, too. I reach the front and cut a hard left. “How is he?” I ask.

The time it takes her to answer speaks volumes, but the way her voice trembles reflects the extent of her fear and almost makes me lose it. “He’s not good,” she answers.

My knees give a little. I don’t know what condition I’ll find Finn in, and I’m not positive my presence won’t trigger more trauma. I can’t even be sure I’m who he needs.

What I do know is that I’m not beaten and I’m not broken.

And neither is Finn.

I lurch forward, refusing to give up on him.

The crowd engulfs me, swallowing me whole. I’m not sure how Seamus will find me, or how I’ll be able to see him. But suddenly he arrives, riding inside a golf cart.

The guard driving punches the horn, parting the large cluster of people.

“Seamus!” I yell, waving and desperate to get his attention.

He sees me, instructing the guard to stop. He gets out long enough to help me into the back and slide in beside me. Seamus looks the most like Curran with the exception of his dark hair and leaner build. He always greets me with a big smile, and an even bigger hug. That’s not the case tonight.

He sits in silence, keeping his attention ahead. Maybe he doesn’t want to say anything the security guard might hear, or maybe the situation is just that serious. Whatever his reasons accelerate my anxiety, making me want to claw at my skin.

The golf cart zips down the lot, stopping at a side entrance where the press and a few reps are gathered. The reporters are speaking into their mics, their cameramen poised directly in front of them. Behind them, a wall of fighters stand with their arms crossed, evidently refusing to let anyone through.

“God damn leeches,” Seamus mutters.

By the way a reporter lunges our way, I know he’s not talking about the fighters. Seamus reaches for my hand, tucking me against him and shielding me as more press scrambles forward.

“Here with us is one of Finn ‘the Fury’ O’Brien’s brothers . . .” one reporter begins.

“Mr. O’Brien, is it true your bother is suffering some kind of emotional breakdown . . .”

I don’t know Seamus as well as the other O’Briens. But as his body grows rigid against me, I know it’s taking everything he has not to yank one of the cameras being rammed in our faces and smash it over someone’s skull.

“Let us in,” Seamus yells when we reach the concrete steps.

The fighters part just enough to allow me and Seamus to squeeze through, sealing their makeshift fortress of bodies the second we pass. As soon as the heavy door slams behind us, Seamus takes my hand and drags me down the hall running. I clutch my purse to keep it from smacking against my hip as we sprint past more fighters leaning against the white cinderblock walls.

As we round the corner, I see Declan, Finn’s older brother and acting District Attorney, standing beside Curran. Their expressions tighten as they speak to a swarm of security guards and officials gathered outside the locker room.

Declan straightens when he sees me, a flicker of what I interpret is relief flashing across his features. “I assure you he’s fine, and that we’ll be leaving the premises shortly,” he tells the crowd.

My eyes round at his words, and at the way Curran’s jaw squares when he spots me. They’re counting on me to get Finn out of here―to talk to him, calm him, or something. But their expression are so aggrieved, I’m not certain I’ll be enough. I only know, I have to try.

Despite my determination, I don’t think I’m prepared for what I see next. My steps feel heavy as Seamus leads me into the locker room. Curran and Declan follow, or at least I think it’s them. I don’t see them as much as sense them behind me.

My focus stays ahead, toward the people gathered along the open area. Wren waits beside Angus. Both glance over their shoulders as I near, and Seamus releases my hand. Wren smiles softly when she sees me, the fear riddling her beautiful face easing slightly. Angus is eerily quiet, the sadness darkening his round face making him resemble a man further into his years, and one who’s used to hardship.

I want to hug them both. But I’m not here for them, not now. So I inch closer, a chill finding its way down my spine when I see Killian.

On the surface, anger appears to dominate his physique. Tack on his large and imposing size and I should only sense his menace. Yet all I feel is a helplessness so heavy, it cloaks his aura like a winter blanket.

Sofia stands loyally beside him, offering her strength and comfort despite the tears looming in her eyes. She lifts her hand, beckoning me closer. I reach out to her, clasping it hard when my stare travels ahead.

Finn is standing with his head pressed against his arm, leaning heavily against the wall. Pieces of broken wood and protective gear litter the tile floor. His hands are soaked with blood, and the skin over his knuckles shredded down to the bone. But it’s his profound breaths and slumped shoulders that give me a glimpse of the pain within.

And it’s awful.

And heartbreaking.

And everything he doesn’t deserve to feel.

“Finn,” Sofia says, leading me forward. “Sol is here.”

The overwhelming emotion claiming the air is fear: fear that Finn is somewhere he can’t recover from, and that they’ve lost the brother they so adore. But as much as I’m scared, too, I know he’s not gone. He’s strong, and brave, and capable. He always has been . . .

So as I approach, there’s no hesitation. All that remains is the love I feel for him. My hand finds his shoulder. “Hi, baby,” I whisper.

My tone is so soft, I’m not quite sure he hears me until he lifts his head. “Are you really here?” he asks, his tone as ragged as his breathing.

“Yes, I’m here with you,” I answer, my voice breaking.

His face, swollen from his fight scrunches tight. “I’m fucked up,” he says, his deep timbre pained. “I’m really fucked up.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get better.” I swallow the aching lump that builds. “Nor does it keep me from loving you.” When he doesn’t respond, I inch closer, losing the space that remains between us. “Let me help you, okay? Let me love you like you need me to.” He doesn’t move, his still form ravishing what remains of my hope.  “Finn . . . please let me.”

Again, his face scrunches, revealing the depths of his torment. He lowers himself to his knees, circling my waist and pulling me to him. I curl around him, clutching his head as he releases his anguish, and allowing myself to release my own.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I’m so damn sorry . . .”

CHAPTER 30

Finn

Ever have a psychological breakdown? If you haven’t let me be the first to tell you they suck. A lot of what happened when I made it back to the changing area is still blocked from my mind. I remember some things: my hands swelling and the skin tearing open as I bust shit up. And lashing out like a crazed beast when anyone neared me.

The voices of my brothers were muffled, like I was somehow being held underwater. It was Sofia’s voice that kept me from becoming fully submerged yet it was Sol’s presence that dragged me from the water. She lifted me out of that hell filled with hate and misery.

I hate Norman Kessler. I hate what he did to me and every kid he got his hands on, every little boy who was afraid to tell on him and who was too small and weak to fight back.

He tore me up. He broke me down. But no way will I let him keep me there. Not anymore.

Sol stays glued to my side as we make our way out of the arena. My family surrounds us, but they’re not alone. Fighters from varying weight classes―some who faced off―but more who just came to watch, gather around us, creating a wall and blocking reporters that dare to edge close.

I hear the questions, all of them. They don’t know much, but they know and saw enough. I ignore them and so does my family. The voices fade in and out as my mind struggles to put one foot in front of the other.

With how I’m feeling, it should take forever to reach Kill’s car. But before I know it, we’re suddenly there. As the door shuts tight behind me, I robotically reach for my seatbelt and snap it in place.

Sol settles against me, resting her head on my shoulder as my arm curls around her. 

“Seamus has your car,” Sofia tells her from the front. “Where would you like him to drop it off?”

She’s asking Sol where she’s spending the night, asking her to make a choice. I keep my gaze ahead as I wait for her to answer, working to keep my hold around her loose. I don’t want to force her to stay with me. I mean, I want her with me, but only if she wants to be.

She lifts her head only long enough to answer. “At Finn’s,” she responds. “I’m staying with him tonight.”

Kill nods his head as if relieved. I almost expect Sofia to ask her if she’s sure, but like Kill, the tension along her shoulders seems to lessen at Sol’s reply.

And they’re not alone.

I keep quiet the whole way back to my place, even as me and Sol follow Wren into the house. All my brothers are there. I can feel them watching me, but I can’t look at them. The rage has lifted, but it left a shit ton of shame behind.

Tonight should have been one of the best of my life. I had the chance to earn my title bout and I got the job done. But from the moment I saw old man Kessler, the experience became something out of a nightmare, one that followed me long after I left the octagon.

Except now with Sol here, I want this night to be what it was supposed to be: A great one. And I want these steps we’re taking to be among the first that gets me to a better place.

My family mumbles their goodnights and goodbyes around me. I’m sure they’re speaking to me. But shame is that wicked thing that keeps me quiet. They keep their distance except for Wren. Once she locks the door behind us she hauls me to her, hugging me close the way big sisters do when they’re scared and they want you to know they love you.

I hug her back because I love her too, keeping my free arm around Sol. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” Wren says, hurrying away when it seems like she’s ready to lose it.