“It had a run-in with a man’s face. In my line of work, physical altercations are an occupational hazard.”
“What is it you do?” Abby’s mother asks.
And I get the distinct impression this is the most conversation these walls have heard in years. Maybe decades.
“Tommy owns a personal protection firm—the same firm that guarded us last year when Father was at trial. It’s how we met the second time,” Abby says. Gazing my way with this soft, adoring kind of expression that makes my cock stand up and take notice.
And I can’t help but think how delectable she would look stripped bare and bent over this lovely antique dining table.
“The second time?” the Dowager Countess inquires.
Abby sips her juice. “Yes. We met in the hospital the first time when Tommy was recovering from an injury. He woke up, just sort of grabbed me and kissed the daylights out of me.”
“Grabbed you?” the waifish sister asks, wide-mouthed and appalled.
When you’re not used to talking, you forget that some things sound better in your head than they do out loud.
“It was a good grab. Just like a fairy tale,” Abby jokes.
They don’t get it.
The funny bone seems to have skipped a Haddock generation. Or all of them.
So I elaborate—might as well put it all out there now. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“She grabbed me back, of course. Then she smacked me across the face.” I give Abby a warm look. “It was a nice shot—knocked the hell out of me.”
“Mummy, Auntie Abigail assaulted her friend.”
Well, that one’s just a little tattletale, now, isn’t she?
“That reminds me,” Abby’s father says, removing his glasses and cleaning them with his cloth napkin. “My partner’s son was in an altercation several nights ago.”
My voice is loose and steady. “You don’t say?”
“It seems he was attacked at a private affair. A random sort of thing.”
“What are the odds?” I click my tongue regretfully. Sorry I didn’t have time to break every bone in the bastard’s body.
“The world is a dangerous place.” I shrug. “More dangerous for some than others.”
And with that, the Haddocks appear all conversationed out. They resume their reading and planner-writing, food-pecking and phone-scrolling—as if they’re in the same room, but separated into solitary worlds by invisible cubicles.
It’s hard to hold on to the anger I’ve been carrying around for them. These people who planted seeds of unworthiness and insignificance in Abby’s perfect beautiful head. It’s clear that they don’t mean to be malicious or indifferent.
Well . . . perhaps the grandmother does.
But the rest of them—they’re just fucking clueless.
They care for her, I suspect they care a lot . . . they just have no damn idea how to show it.
* * *
Showing has never been a problem for the Sullivans.
If anything, life would go smoother if they managed to keep a few things to themselves once in a while. Abby gets a front-row seat to the showing when I take her to my parents’ place for supper the following Sunday.
She stands on the pavement, looking like an angel in a cream floral dress and heels, staring up at the house like it’s going to reach out and bite her.
“I’m not certain this is a good idea.”
I walk around the car and take her hand.
“It’s going to be fine.”
A ruckus of laughing voices comes from inside, then a crash.
“Perhaps I could meet your parents alone? At a nice quiet dinner, just the four of us. And then the rest of your family afterwards. Slowly.”
I chuckle. “At that pace it’ll take you years to get through them all.” I tug her along the path to the door. “My family is like the deep end of a cold swimming pool. It’s better to jump in with both feet. You try inching it, you’ll just end up freezing your balls off.”
“Tommy, I—”
I pull her in, hands on her hips, and I swallow her worries in a deep, slow kiss. I don’t let up until that little moan is purring from her throat and her nervousness has melted away.
And it’s all going to be all right. The day will be different for Abby—loud and unfamiliar—but she’ll see how it’s supposed to be. What it’s like to belong to a living, breathing family. I already know how they’ll react to her.
My brothers will tease—asking what a nice girl like her is doing with a reprobate like me. Bridget will be chatty, Janey will be standoffish but not for long, Fiona will admire her dress and poise. Mum will test her, then she’ll warm up and put her to work. Dad’s going to adore her on sight.
And once they get to know her . . . they’ll love her. I can’t imagine anyone not loving Abby once they know her.
A blast of loud hits us when we walk in the door. Dogs barking, strings of children weaving between clusters of chatting, chuckling adults with drinks in their hands. The air is filled with the scent of warming food and the sounds of music coming from speakers in the back garden.