Ramsay (22 page)

I swallowed, his words music to my ears. I
wanted
him to want me over her, but . . . "Does
she
think you want her?"

He shook his head adamantly. "No, no. It's not like that. I've been honest with her. She uses situations like last night to get to me."

"And you let her."

"I have in the past, yes. I admit to givin' in to the guilt I feel when it comes to Courtney. And things were completely different before two weeks ago. I didn't think it would hurt anyone that I provide comfort to her if she needed it, if I spent time with her at social events, things like that. But last night when Courtney showed up, I just needed to spell out the situation for her in private. Because in the past I've been there for her, but I can't and I won't be anymore. I'm sorry, Lydia. I'm sorry for what you thought, what I put you through. But I couldn't talk to her in front of you. It wouldn't have been right to do that—not to her, but mostly, not to you."

I blinked at him. "You . . . told her about me?"

"A bit, not much. She doesn't need all the details of my personal life, whether she thinks so or not."

I worried my lip, considering all he'd said. "I'm not sure what to say." It was true, I didn't. I just needed to digest what Brogan had told me.

"You don't have to say anythin' right now. I'm sorry I've further complicated things. I was unprepared for this. You have to know that. Fionn said this whole thing would go arseways, and he was right."

I gave him a small smile. "Arseways," I muttered. "A complete mess."

He gave me a slight smile and then nodded to where my stitches were under the T-shirt I'd changed into. "How are ya?"
Ha-ware-ya?
His brogue had been pronounced during the telling of his past.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch. And you were right—I shouldn't have gone out, especially not to Stuart's. I was so hurt and . . . stubborn."
Stupid really. I took responsibility for this.

Brogan stood up. "I was negotiating this morning with the men who hold Stuart's loans, but I hadn't agreed to their terms yet. I have now. It's done."

I blinked. "So you did buy more time for Stuart?" I asked, hopefully. "Thank you, Brogan."

"The debts are mine now."

Confusion rushed through me. My mouth opened to speak, but when I realized I had no idea what to say, I shut it again. Finally I managed, "Yours? I don't . . . I don't understand."

"I took on Stuart's debt. He's free and clear, and I have their word they will not extend him more credit."

"But . . . but, why?"

"Because I set this all in motion, and because I will not risk ya, that's why."

My heart sped up.
I just want you.
I stared at him, not knowing exactly what to say, feeling overwhelmed with all the information he'd just given me and experiencing what felt like a hundred different emotions at once. I put my hand on my stomach as if I could hold myself together from the outside.

"You must be starving," he said and though he had misinterpreted my movement, I was grateful he'd changed the subject. I needed time to process. I was completely overwhelmed in every way.

"I am actually," I said slowly.

He smiled, the first real one I'd seen since he'd arrived home the night before—what now seemed like a million years ago. "Then let me feed you."

Brogan

I leaned back on my pillows, halfheartedly watching ESPN, considering everything that had happened since yesterday afternoon.
Jaysus.
Courtney showing up had been the cherry on top of a shit pie. I'd wanted to claw my eyes out at the situation. But what could I do except take Courtney to a place where she'd calm down, and I could explain to her why she was
not
allowed to come barreling into my apartment anytime she wished, demanding I cater to her emotional needs?

Of course, once I'd gotten her upstairs, she'd made it clear her needs were of the physical nature, too, as they usually were, and I'd practically had to fight her off me.

I'd always deemed her touch tolerable. But I'd been comparing her to the other women I'd been with and in that regard, she
was
. But
now
, I was comparing her to Lydia and the difference was drastic enough to make me cringe when Courtney put her hands on me.

I'd made a mistake when months ago, at the time I was planning on taking over De Havilland Enterprises, I'd first seen Lydia as she exited the building after work one evening. I'd stood across the street watching her, my heart lodged in my throat, my emotions all over the place. She'd laughed as she'd called out a couple words over her shoulder to a man in a suit who obviously worked there, too, and the man had laughed back, waving, continuing to look over his shoulder at her even as she walked farther down the block.

I'd been shaking with what I had called anger at the time, but now knew was the longing she’d always elicited in me. It was still there, after all these years, and that knowledge
burned
clear to my bones. I'd felt confused, hopeless, and I'd gone to Courtney's. I'd told her a few surface details about my plans to ruin someone who had done me wrong long ago, and she'd offered words of comfort that had eventually turned physical.

It was the first time I'd slept with her in years, and the first time ever without money exchanging hands, but it still left me feeling dirty all the same. I'd hated myself for what I'd done. Not only did it leave me feeling dissatisfied and empty, but it had encouraged her. It had been wrong. And the truth was, it wasn't even sex I had wanted that night. I just hadn't wanted to be alone.

I sighed. Of course, I hadn't mentioned that to Lydia, but what good would it do and did it really matter? If she had been sleeping with someone months ago, I wouldn't want to know the details.

Courtney hadn't been happy about Lydia, not that I'd told her much, but at least she hadn't thrown the fit I'd imagined she would, and I'd walked her out an hour after she'd arrived. Of course, by that point, Lydia and Fionn were passed out drunk on my couch.

And now . . . not only was I taking responsibility for Stuart's debts, I was paying them off by doing something I vowed I'd never do again. I was going to help the mob cook their books and launder several large sums of money.

I'd been negotiating simply to pay off Stuart’s debts with cash, but it hadn't been what they wanted, and what choice did I have? I'd made a deal years ago to buy my way out by making them several large investment deals that had paid off in spades. And I'd set up accounting systems that other men could run. I'd gotten out, but I'd still stayed in their good graces, and they’d allowed me to gamble in their underground clubs even though they must have suspected I counted cards.

I'd promised myself I'd never again
have
to do anything that wasn't of my own choosing, that I'd never again find myself beholden to anyone, and here I was, right back where I'd started.

I raked my hand through my hair. I'd made a bloody mess out of everything. I was going to participate in illegal activity again to rescue the man I'd set out to ruin. I would laugh my arse off if I could summon the humor.

Thinking of what they'd done to Lydia, though, had me grimacing rather than laughing. If I hadn't been stubborn, if I'd made a deal with them thirty minutes before she was attacked . . .

And now it was my arse on the line instead of Stuart's, mine and Lydia's, and perhaps Fionn's and Eileen's too.
Jaysus fecking Christ.
Of course, the difference was, I had the means to repay what was now
my
debt.

Bile rose in my throat as I thought back to watching Lydia fall to her knees from across the street and knowing that if they had wanted, she'd be dead. She'd be dead and it would have been my fault for hesitating in agreeing to their terms. Again,
my
hesitation, my unwillingness to take action, would have cost someone else physical harm—only this time it would have been Lydia, and it would have killed me, too.

I heard a scuffling in the hallway and got out of bed, muting the TV.

Lydia was standing on the other side of the door, and she startled when I pulled it open. "Hey," I said, "you okay? Is it your side? I could change your bandage if you need me to."

She shook her head. Her blonde hair was loose and falling around her shoulders, and she was wearing a pair of small cotton shorts and a tank top. My blood heated instantly. "No, my side is fine. Honestly, it really only needs a Band-Aid. I guess I'm having trouble sleeping because I slept so much this afternoon." She moved from one foot to the other, biting her lip uncertainly.

My breath caught and hope soared. "Do you . . . do you want to join me?" I asked, opening the door wider. "Or we could go downstairs. I'm just watching TV in here. But I could turn on a movie or something."

She smiled, nodding her head and looking past me at the TV in my room. "That sounds good."

She joined me on my bed, and I flipped through the movie channels, both of us agreeing on a comedy that had recently come out. "I could make some popcorn," I said, smiling over at her.

Her eyes went to my mouth and seemed to soften. "I love to see you smile like that," she said. "It seems so rare."

"I've been doing it more since you've been around," I said honestly.

She moved closer, fluffing the pillows behind us. "No popcorn. This is perfect." She settled back, stretching her legs out next to mine.

I wasn't sure how I was going to manage being on my bed with Lydia and focus on a movie, but once she started laughing at the funny parts, I couldn't help but to laugh with her. The movie wasn't even that funny to me—a sort of stupid, slapstick film, but Lydia was laughing so hard it was contagious, and I found myself laughing, too.

It didn't seem like the laughter was hurting her side so I decided not to bring it up. I didn't want to put a damper on this lighthearted night by mentioning what had happened earlier today. I had to trust she'd know her own physical limits. And watching her now was making me happy.

Lydia was always laughing when she was a teenager. I remembered her flitting from one place to another like a brightly colored hummingbird, full of life and laughter, flirting with everyone who crossed her path. But looking back at it now, not through the eyes of a besotted seventeen-year-old boy who thought he could never have her, I saw it was harmless flirting, the kind that let everyone around her know she
enjoyed
them. I also understood it better now because Fionn was the same way. He charmed everyone he came into contact with, because he truly
enjoyed
people and he couldn't help letting them know.

I smiled over at Lydia, overjoyed to see that carefree part of her personality on display—even if only for a couple hours. After the day we'd had—after all my doubts and fears over telling her the details of my past—relaxing and watching a movie with Lydia felt like a small miracle. It felt like she might be giving me a second chance, but I didn't even dare ask her.
Nor expect it.

I watched as she grinned at the screen, that wide smile that I hadn't seen on her face since she was sixteen, the one she'd always seemed to quickly amend when it slipped through, as if she didn't like something about it. She wasn't hiding it now though, and I let my eyes linger on her, soaking it in.
Beautiful.

When the movie was over, I flicked it off, still chuckling. I lay back on the pillows and Lydia turned toward me, smiling. "That was terrible," she said.

I laughed. "You seemed to be enjoying it."

"I did, but it was still terrible." She laughed, but then went quickly serious, the wheels in her head obviously turning. We stared at each other for a minute. I wanted her, but I was afraid to make a move after she'd suffered an attack today, not to mention what happened the night before. Plus, I'd revealed so much to her earlier. I still felt insecure and unsure about what she thought of me, about where we stood. But would she be in my bedroom if she wasn't interested in me physically anymore? Was she thinking the same thing I was? That she wanted to make love more than she wanted to breathe?

"Lydia—"

"Let's talk," she said.

"Talk?" I blinked.

"Yeah, like, let's have a sleepover and stay up talking."

"A sleepover? Stay up talking?"

She nodded. The sleepover part sounded promising, the talking, not so much. "Yeah. Didn't you ever have sleepovers when you were a kid?"

I shook my head. "My mam was sick for a long time."

Her eyes widened and she frowned. "You were robbed of so many things," she said sadly. She took a deep breath. "Okay, well, it's never too late. We can make up for the sleepovers you never had."

I wanted to tell her that the only sleepover I was interested in with her was the one where we were both naked and her legs were spread open, but I was pretty sure the sleepover she was talking about was of a different nature.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"First,” she said, "you need to get in your PJs and we need to get under the covers."

"My PJs?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah, your PJs. Your pajamas."

"Do men wear pajamas?"

"You don't?" She frowned.

I raised a brow. "I'd think you'd know that better than anyone considering you took inventory of my clothes."

She laughed softly. "Hmm. Now that I think about it, you're right. How about sweat pants?"

"Workout shorts?"

"There you go. Perfect. Go get changed and come back."

"Sleepovers seem to have a lot of rules," I grumbled, mostly due to sexual frustration. Not only did this sleepover involve lots of talking, but it also involved clothes. But I did as Lydia told me to and changed into a pair of workout shorts and returned to bed. Lydia frowned. "What?" I asked.

"No shirt?" She shook her head and licked her lips.

"I think it's a better idea if we both wear shirts." That buoyed my spirits. She was still affected by me, too. Maybe this sleepover would turn into something more than . . . talking. I grabbed a T-shirt and put it on. Although, if I was really going to make an issue of it, I'd mention that her tank top really didn't leave much to the imagination and I was having a particularly difficult time not letting my eyes wander down to her cream puffs.

Lydia turned the covers back and slipped under them. I joined her, turning toward her on the pillow. She reached over her shoulder and flicked off the lamp, casting the room in near darkness.

"I've never spent the night with another woman," I said.

She tilted her head on the pillow, blinking at me for a moment. "You haven't? Never?" She paused. "Brogan, haven't you been with anyone other than . . . those women."
Those women.
Funny, that's how I thought about them, too.

"No."

"No," she whispered, sounding disbelieving. "Haven't you dated at all?"

"No. I mean, not unless it was for your benefit." I shot her a small smirk, and she let out a breathy-sounding laugh, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"Well, but . . .
why?
"

"I guess I've been so focused on accumulating wealth."
Safety.
"I haven't really had time." I was quiet for a moment and Lydia waited, watching me. "And I guess my past . . . maybe I just . . . wanted to distance myself from it for a while . . ." That felt right although I wasn't sure I wanted to delve into it too much—not right now at least. 

We were quiet for a moment before she said, "You have to find a way to release it, Brogan. The women, your choices, the shame, you have to find a way to let it go. Learn from your mistakes, but don't let them define you now. Find forgiveness, for them and for yourself."

I let out a breath. "I've tried. I just . . . I can't hold on to the emotion."

She shook her head. "Forgiveness isn't an emotion. Forgiveness is a choice. And sometimes it's one you have to choose again and again." She licked her lips. "For instance, take my stepmother,
ex
-stepmother that is. I wanted her to be a mother figure to me so badly, or at the very least an older sister figure, an aunt, something, anything." She paused. "I realize now she just wasn't capable. I've forgiven her for the things she wasn't able to give me, but if I see her at a party, I throw back a lot of alcohol and avoid her like the plague. And I have to choose again, in that moment, to forgive her for the ridiculousness that comes out of her mouth." I chuckled and she smiled. "I'm just saying, you don't have to be best friends just because you forgive a person. It's really about setting yourself free of the hold they have on you."