by V. Theia
She sighed. “I know. I don’t know where to begin to be truthful. Can I just … can I sleep, Danny? I’m so tired.”
He frowned and again those predispositions fought inside his head.
Hold her. Cradle her. Rock her to sleep. Make sure nothing will put that weary look on her face again.
He did nothing, because he couldn’t.
It was all nonsense anyway. Just echoes of a past best forgotten.
He would help her though.
What else could he do?
Danny Murphy was hard wired to always take care of Aoife Flanagan.
He was once convinced he was only born to keep her out of trouble.
Only now their dynamics were different.
No longer was he her everything.
The man who would hold her while she fought tears and shared dreams of when they were grown.
He was just a man she’d left behind.
“Make sure you eat. There’s more bottle formula for the little one in the kitchen and we can make mashed up food too. You can help yourself to anything. And there’s clean towels in the bathroom.” He rasped the words out through the bolder of feelings in his throat.
At the door he turned, found her eyes on him.
He swallowed and tried to see her as any other parishioner in need.
He’d give her the help and then watch her leave again.
“But be sure, Aoife, that we will talk tomorrow.” He warned, and she nodded. Then sighed. “Are you leaving?”
“Aye. I’ll just be over in the church locking up.”
“You’re a pastor, Danny. It’s like I’ve stepped into an alternate life, so I have.” She half-smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.
He couldn’t return it.
He would agree with her.
Life had shook them up, and then gave Danny a purpose and now they were thrown to earth again and left in a giant heap.
And he had no idea what to do next.
He lived an insular—steady, reliable life that was as far from drugs and scoring as many hits as humanly possible.
Was it conceivable for a heart to explode? He was about to find out.
But watching the former love of his life holding her baby while she sat on his bed was not in Danny’s wheelhouse of strengths.
Did she know just by looking at him how much he’d missed her?
He was after all, still a man with a healthy working body.
And Aoife had always been his one temptation.
THREE
“My heart is missing the Danny pieces.” – Aoife
The morning didn’t bring her any peace as the sun crested through the blinds at the double window and woke her from turbulent dreams of being chased through the streets by menacing shadows.
No guesses for what her psyche was trying to tell her.
Saved from any more stupidity, Misha began to wail at her side.
She’d made a makeshift crib on top of the big bed with pillows and for the first night in what felt like weeks, she slept soundly, only waking when the baby needed her.
“Hey, there little girl. Don’t you look pretty? Yes you do.” Misha instantly quietened. She was such a good baby, hardly made a fuss at all, as if the tiny one knew of her traumatic life.
Aoife frowned, picking her up, giving her good morning cuddles and kisses on top of her good smelling baby head.
She needed all her baby things.
Running for one’s life meant you couldn’t stop for the luxuries of even a toothbrush or comb.
She slipped out of bed, used the bathroom as best as she could while holding the baby. First things first, she needed to make Misha a bottle and some soft food.
“Are you hungry, sweet girl? Yeah, me too. Shall we go on an adventure downstairs?” A little fist batted against Aoife’s chin and she took that for agreement.
She’d slept only in her panties and camisole, so before she went anywhere she laid Misha on the bed and slid her legs into a pair of gray sweatpants folded up on a chair, along with a white T-shirt, fluffy socks and a hoodie. The clothes were comfortable and simple, and she was so grateful for the man who left them for her.
Last night when he’d left the bedroom she’d only managed to eat the grilled cheese, take a fast three-minute shower and then she’d fallen exhausted into bed.
Now she was more alert, she knew she had a lot of explaining to do.
Where to start, was the problem.
What the morning did bring was the wafting smells of hot buttered toast and coffee.
Both scents rumbled Aoife’s belly until she had no choice but to follow the smells.
With the baby tucked neatly into her chest, snug as a bug in a rug, she ambled down the staircase, listening carefully for any sounds.
Aoife needn’t have bothered tiptoeing through the house in hopes of not disturbing Danny at such an early hour; not even six am yet, because she found the man himself pottering around the kitchen.
She could barely stand under the attack of feeling crashing around inside her chest.
It was both pain and elation vying for the top dog position.
The room was so nice and cozy, so as to settle her rampaging nerves, she looked around setting her eyes on the clean countertops and over all the appliances. Functional and used and the idea of watching Danny wielding the stove and pots and pans made her belly go through a series of jolted flips.
It hit her all of a sudden how grown he was.
Danny was the kind of handsome that left a profound and unparalleled impact low in the belly when you looked at him.
It didn’t matter how unattainable he was.
The girls back home all wanted Danny and he’d only ever had eyes for one.
Most people would revere him anyway, just because he’s so damn pleasing to look at.
No longer the sandy haired boy who wore an easy smirk and an even easier thirst for life. He was a fully-grown man. Responsible for more than himself with a whole town to look after.
The thought terrified her and gave her comfort.
She was happy for him. He’d found his peace after all.
And here she was bringing trouble to his door.
If she possessed an ounce of bravery in her she would walk away now and take her trouble with her.
But she needed him.
Needed his help, she amended quickly, though that first thought sprouted hopeful wings and bloomed all through her body, until she felt like she might literally be on fire.
She would be ridiculed from one end of the River Corrib to the other if any of her old crew could see her now. Aoife Flanagan the least likely to achieve anything other than having a brood of bairns around her ankles.
She paused in the doorway just to take him in.
She’d never set foot in this modest house before, and yet she felt like she was out of a scene somehow, watching him command everything he touched. Danny standing at the stove flipping an omelet and filling cups with coffee.
Who was this man she knew and yet a complete stranger at the same time?
His back was wide. Much wider than her memory remembered. He’d always been lean, but now it was honed down to the last inch. Strong shoulders, forearms like rocks with a fine dusting of the same sandy brown hair on top of his head, with those protruding veins.
Make a sound. Let him know you’re there. She shouldn’t be caught perving on him, to be sure she would be cherry red if he saw the way she unobtrusively watched him fill two plates. She watched how his legs held him up and the tilt of his head when he buttered toast.
He’d grown into a fine man.
Something caught in her throat—a tumble of words, air and want.
Her body buzzed … alert …awake.
More awake than she’d felt in forever.
An off the charts kind of buzzing just from watching how he moved his body.
God. He was beautiful. So beautiful that every part of her ached.
It was probably the sexies
t four minutes she’d spent in a long time and air whooshed out of her lungs.
“Will you be standing there long, or do you want to come and eat, Aoife?”
Oh, God. There went her cheeks rushing with blood and Aoife, like she’d been raised in monkey school, stumbled fully into the room, with the gurgling girl in her arms as her only shield.
He turned then, and the breath caught in her throat.
Thank God he didn’t offer a smile, or she might have died on the spot.
“I’ll eat, thank you,” she answered, feeling timid in front of him in the daylight.
Which was crazy. No one knew Danny better than she did.
“Can I make a bottle for Misha?”
“Already done,” he nodded to the table where a bottle was cooling along with a small bowl of what looked like smooth oatmeal.
Something cracked in her chest.
“Thank you, Danny.” She croaked.
She was afraid if she said more now, her words would be an incoherent messy jumble through sheer exhaustion and fear. She’d grown up in what anyone would call a rough life. Her parents were no good drunks. Her two brothers were thieves and con men who didn’t think anything of stealing from Aoife if they thought they could sell it on for a profit.
She was given to a man she loathed in order to do right by her family and still the fear she’d witnessed this week was something brand new.
It put a coldness in Aoife’s bones until she heard only the rattling inside her skin.
Every step she’d taken over the last seven years had been wrong.
It was as if she couldn’t find her way back to rightness again.
She was so lost and had been for the longest time, that was a certainty.
She had no family worthy of asking for help.
This whole craptastic show started because of them.
Her da was a drunk, her mother not much better. Alcoholics ravaged through families until there was only waste land left and her family was littered with them. Aoife knew that more than most, it was the one reason she never took a drop of alcohol.
If there was a gold medal for addiction, Flanagan’s would be on the podium… if they could find their way out of the pub. Thankfully, both of her parents were across the world and she was in no rush to ever see them again. Did that sound cruel for a daughter to say? Maybe if they hadn’t sold her to the highest bidder to pay off gambling debts she could think more favorable.
Misha was almost finished with her breakfast when she realized she’d sat there for minutes not saying anything. It was only when Danny pushed himself off from leaning on the counter that her heart stumbled over itself, watching him from the corner of her eye.
“Let’s be seeing how that blister is,” he said nonchalantly, unaware he’d set off a stampeding thrumming throughout her limbs. The tingling sensation only intensified when he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her and Aoife bit back her whimper.
He smelled incredible. Cedar and fresh linen.
The smell of a man she remembered as much as she did her own skin.
How could he be so nice to her after everything she’d said and done?
I can’t marry you, Danny-boy. We were stupid kids making grown up plans.
Because her begging heart longed for any passage of kindness, she let him roll up the leg of the pants and clean her blistered ankle once again. The brush of his long fingers were torture and if not for the baby draining the last of her milk within her arms, Aoife might have done something so stupid by touching his hair, his cheek, his very grown up kissable lips.
She was a woman who loved him … would always love him … and didn’t have the right to express it.
The way he went on glancing at her, felt as it always had … old souls reconnecting.
There was no statute of limitation on heartbreak.
And not a heart she’d broken herself.
It was perpetual pain.
“Thank you, Danny,” her voice, held together with pins, was strained as she avoided his eyes when he rose back to his feet and placed the medical box away in a cupboard. “Thank you for everything.”
She meant her whole life.
Every single solitary second he’d been in her life as her love and protector.
“Do you want me to take your baby while you eat?”
“Oh…” she blinked, looked between Misha and Danny. Her unsettled heart flopped over. “She’s knocked out again. If you could hold her real quick, I won’t be long.”
“You never took long to eat,” he smiled and devastated her into laughing lightly.
It was true. In her house if she didn’t eat fast, she didn’t eat at all.
Her brothers are gannets, so they are.
Seeing him holding Misha like a natural, completely eradicated her appetite.
He looked so good.
What was it about good looking men holding a young’un that melted a woman’s ovaries into scrambled eggs?
God, he shouldn’t look this sexy rocking a baby.
He should be a father already, she mused, and felt the punch of it.
She couldn’t accept Danny Murphy as a father to anyone else’s kids if they weren’t hers.
She was a selfish witch and no other woman deserved him.
Only, they did.
Any woman would be three times as lucky to land a man like him.
Without thought, and before she could change her mind and to stop the runaway train that was her convoluted brain she blurted. “I’m on the run, I am, Danny. And I’d be obliged if you could put us up for a few days. I know it’s asking a lot, but you already know I have no shame. This is me at rock bottom, Danny, or I wouldn’t be here at all.” A pushing started behind her eyes but what would crying solve? Nothing. This wasn’t of her making but she was definitely on a game board now and her only choice was to make sure her and Misha survived.
“I’m asking a lot … considering.”
Finally he spoke as he leaned against the counter with his legs crossed and holding Misha, looking like he was born to have a baby in his arms, and it wasn’t in a tone she’d heard before. Thick and raw and just a little distant.
“We can get to considering another time. I’m more worried what has you running at night with not a bag to your name for you or your daughter. What trouble has found you?”
Not; what trouble are you in. What trouble has found you. It was what he’d always say when she ran to him to fix something.
Rocks stuck in her throat. Frightened to tell him everything. Scared he’d kick her out if she didn’t. “It’s Misha’s father. He wants her and he… he’s not a good man, Danny. You’d call him the devil, I’m sure, in view of your new… or not so new status with religion.”
Both of his brows pinched in the middle.
It didn’t make him any less handsome as he concentrated a gaze on her.
She wanted to crawl across the floor and do stupid things like beg him for forgiveness and ask if now he was a man of faith did he have it in his heart to give a sad girl a second chance to make things right.
She didn’t, of course.
Not only because Misha started fussing.
She rushed up and took Misha from him, using the baby again as a buffer as she gently rocked and shushed her back to sleep.
Behind her, Danny moved to clear away the plates.
“You said your husband is dead.”
Oh, God.
“He is,” she confirmed, retaking her seat.
Aoife held her chin high and kept her eyes on him. “He isn’t Misha’s father…”
FOUR
“Saint Peter is the funny one.” Danny
Someone was testing Danny until the inside of his skin burned molten hot.
He wanted to look up at the ceiling and shake his head.
He wanted to walk through the yard in his bare feet across to his church, sit in a pew and have a serious talk with his boss and ask what was he being punished for?
; Hasn’t he atoned enough?
Probably not.
But to put Aoife in his path and not expect him to react as a man would, by taking her onto his lap to comfort the obvious tears she was holding back, was asking too much of his resolve.
He didn’t want to think about her dead husband or the father of her daughter.
He concentrated on what was most important and that was what brought her running in the snowy night with a baby and no luggage.
“I’m making tea, do you want one?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just stuck a tea pod in the machine and fixed cups and creamer. His ma would balk that he wasn’t using tea bags, but he wasn’t about to confess now. When he sat at the table, his knee brushed hers and she visibly shuddered and drew her leg back.
Frowning, he looked at her again. Closer this time. Dark circles colored under her eyes as though she hadn’t slept in a month of Sundays. She’d always been a skinny girl, though she could eat him under the table.
Fuck, don’t think about her eating me.
“I need the full picture here, Aoife. Stop drip feeding me. Who is chasing you? Why are they chasing you?”
He wanted to throw a million questions at her. Starting with why the hell she was here of all places? Did she know he was here before she came to Colorado? What does this all mean?
He watched her cradle in the little girl as she snoozed off her milk coma, making a mental note that she’d need so many more things for the baby than he had on hand here at the parish.
What did it say about him that he wanted to jump in and rescue her again? No questions asked, his brain was already ten steps ahead getting everything she’d need for a comfortable life. A safe life, one that would take the haunted rabbit in the headlights look from her face.
“Okay. Okay… here is it. Misha’s father is called Grigori Kuznetsov and he…..”
Swear to God, the moment he heard that name the blood turned to ice in his veins and everything Aoife said after that drifted off into the white noise of Danny’s alert brain.
He put down the cup that had been half-way to his lips
She was involved with the Russian mob.
His stomach fell down to his feet.
And suddenly her situation became a million times worse than he could have ever imagined it to be.
