Lust Is the Thorn

by Jen McLaughlin

  I stepped into the room slowly, taking time to judge his mood. One thing living with an abusive asshole of a father taught you? How to weigh a man’s mood from his movements. Thorn opened the mayonnaise, and his grip was firm but smooth, without a hint of jerkiness. He gently set the lid down and picked up a butter knife, his knuckles not whitening. His jaw was tight, but he wasn’t grinding his teeth. Not too angry, then. Good.

  He lifted his head, those bright amber eyes of his that I loved so much locking me in place. “Hey,” he said. When I stared back, not speaking, he raised a dark brow. “Are you okay?”

  “A little sore…” I shook myself out of the stupor I was stuck in, and forced a smile. “But yeah. I’m fine.”

  “Did you take a painkiller?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. It’s kicking in.”

  “Good. Still craving a smoke?” he asked quietly, arranging the bread in front of him on the gray granite countertop.

  “What do you think?” I cleared my throat and forced a carefree smile, even though I was the furthest thing from okay. “What are you making? It smells delicious. I’ll put that in my mouth instead.”

  He glanced down at the mostly odorless sandwich he’d made, clearly aware I was grasping at straws for idle conversation, and just as clearly willing to accept it for what it was. “Cheese sandwiches,” he said drily. “With bread.”

  “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse…” I shoved my damp hair out of my face. “Not that I actually would.”

  Shrugging, he returned his attention to the bread. “What brought about that change in you, anyway? Why become a vegetarian?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it started because I watched my parents beat the shit out of me and Mikey our whole lives, so when I left, I decided I didn’t want to hurt anything like they hurt us…not even animals,” I said, shrugging and coming closer. “So I just kind of stopped eating meat on a whim, and I never really missed it. I never lack food or meals, when I have the money, and my conscience is clear.”

  He lifted his head, staring at me with such intensity that he stole my breath right out of my lungs. “When you have the money? What does that mean?”

  “Really?” I snorted. “Out of that whole speech, that’s the thing you focus on?”

  “Rose.” He set the knife down and caught my chin. I barely refrained from flinching at his soft touch. “Are you going hungry out there?”

  “Sometimes, yes,” I admitted, refusing to glance away from him. “I mean, I live on my own, off what I can make doing bullshit jobs. What the hell kind of life do you think I live? Yes, there are days I don’t have enough money for food, or a bed, or even some coffee. And yes, sometimes it sucks. But that’s life. Sometimes life fucking sucks.”

  “But—” His fingers on me tightened, and this time, his knuckles whitened. He gritted his teeth together, his nostrils flared, and he leaned in closer, looking like he was ten seconds from punching someone or something. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I stiffened instinctively and took a step back, putting some distance between us even though I knew that anger wasn’t directed at me. Even though I knew he was the only man still living whom I could count on never to hurt me. “Why would I? You’re not exactly rolling in money yourself, you know.”

  “No. But I have a roof over my head, and I get food through the school.” He pressed his lips together. “There’s no reason for you to go hungry with me in your life. I can send you money, or share my food. I don’t know. But I can do something. I would do anything to get you somewhere safe and warm. Anything.”

  I lifted a hand and pressed it to his beautiful face. “You do so much already. I couldn’t ask for more, or accept more. We get together every week. We talk, and laugh, and for that short time…I get to forget about the rest of the shit life throws my way. You have no idea how much that means to me, or how much I value that hour you give me, even though you have a new life now. One without me. I’m so proud of you, too—of what you’ve become. Of what you’ve done.”

  He swallowed hard, looking a little pallid. “I haven’t done anything worth being proud of.”

  “You got out. You made a life for yourself. That’s not something that a lot of people from our part of town get to do.” I smiled and patted his cheek before pulling back. It was safer if I didn’t touch him. “You escaped.”

  “You could do that, too.”

  “I’ve tried. Every time I try to leave, I get pulled back in.” I twisted my lips and sat down on the stool by the island, directly across from him. “I’m not made to leave Englewood, and that’s okay. But that won’t stop me from having a good life. I’ll get there someday. I’m sure of it.”

  “I want to help you get that life,” he said quickly.

  “You already help me. So much.”

  We locked eyes again, but he quickly glanced away and returned his attention to the sandwiches, taking his soft touch with him. I immediately missed the way his callused palm had felt against my cheek. “Not enough, Rose. You’ll never go hungry again, or have no place to live. Not if I have a say.”

  Shaking my head, I didn’t argue.

  There was no point.

  He might think he could wave a magic wand and make things better for me, but he couldn’t. I’d tried to get more reliable jobs. Ones that paid more than a couple of bucks an hour plus tips. They all required a college degree, when all I had was a GED. Mom and Dad hadn’t been big on schooling, so I’d gotten that piece of paper on my own.

  My dream was to go to college. To get a degree and a real job. Not that I could afford a college education when I could barely afford food and housing…but I would do it.

  Some way. Somehow.

  No matter how many times I got beaten down or broken, I would get a good life for myself. I’d fight for it, tooth and nail, until I finally succeeded. And I would never take it for granted like everyone else seemed to.

  “Speaking of which…” He slid a plate toward me, and I caught it automatically. “Eat. You need food to go with that Percocet you took.”

  I glanced down. The plate had a sandwich on it, sliced diagonally, just the way I like it. “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, still not lifting his head.

  “So where will you go?” I asked, picking up my sandwich—the piece without the top crust. I always saved that for last because it was the best part.

  “What do you mean?” He closed the mayo, grabbed the cheese and knife he’d been using, and headed for the fridge. “Where will I go when?”

  “When you take your vows?” I said, taking a big bite of my sandwich. “Will you stay local to this part of Chicago?”

  “I don’t—”

  Closing my eyes, I chewed and groaned out loud. It might just be a cheese sandwich, and I might not have eaten since last night when they gave me crackers in the ER, but this was the best damn cheese sandwich I’d ever had. He had a way with the ratio of mayo to cheese to bread that made it an art form. “Oh my God. This is so good.” I took another bite, groaning even louder. I couldn’t help it. It was so fucking good.

  Something hit the floor and clanged.

  I jerked my eyes open.

  His neck was corded, his fists were curled, and his stare was so hot it was a miracle he didn’t spontaneously combust and set this whole fancy house and me on fire. The second he saw my lips part, he knelt and picked up the knife he’d dropped with a trembling hand, showing me his back. “Sorry. It slipped out of my grip.”

  I swallowed the little bit of bread I still had in my mouth, but my throat was bone dry, so it got stuck halfway down. For a second, I thought this might be the way I went out—with a piece of cheese sandwich lodged in my throat. I covered my mouth and finally succeeded in swallowing it. When I could speak, I croaked, “That happens to me all the time, too. I’m so clumsy sometimes.”

  But we both knew it wasn’t true.

  Gallaghers aren’t clumsy.

  He put the knife in the sink, still not fa
cing me. By the time he turned back around, he seemed…resigned. Resigned to what, I wasn’t sure. “If I could get you out of Englewood, would you go?”

  I set my sandwich down, my pulse racing. “How would you do that? Take me with you when you move to wherever the church sends you?”

  “No.” He frowned. “I can’t do that. I can’t have a woman living with me. Especially not— I mean, I just can’t.”

  Especially not you. Or more specifically what he wouldn’t say, which was especially not a gutter rat like you. “You never answered my question.”

  “That’s because I’m asking you one.”

  “I asked first,” I said, frowning.

  “Yeah, okay.” He dragged a hand through his hair, his entire body giving away his agitation and frustration no matter how calm he tried to appear. “Which question?”

  I leaned forward. “Where will you go when you take your vows?”

  Dropping his hand to his side, he settled on the stool across from me, scooting it back a bit. Well out of arm’s reach. “If I take my vows. I told you, I’m still waiting for my sign.”

  “You’re gonna do it,” I said stubbornly. Picking up my sandwich, I pointed it at him. “If you don’t, I’ll kick your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week. And then I’ll do it again, and again, till you get your head on straight.”

  He choked on a laugh and picked up his own sandwich. Awkwardness? Avoided. “I’d like to see you try, little Gallagher.”

  That’s what all the teachers back home had called me. They hadn’t bothered to learn my name, because I was Mikey’s little sister, so they’d all assumed I was trouble before I even walked into the room. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m tougher than I look.” I took a big bite of my sandwich and chewed slowly, eyeing him the whole time. “I was taught well.”

  Shaking his head, he smiled sadly. “I know that. Always have.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I finished off the last bite of the first half of my sandwich and swallowed hard. “Now answer my question.”

  He chewed quickly, then said, “I’m not sure. There were whispers of uptown Chicago.” He tugged on his collar. “Or…maybe a suburb about an hour and a half from here. But if I went there, then I could still visit sometimes.”

  That’s so far away. Too far away. “Wow. Suburbs, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He locked eyes with me. “I’d still see you.”

  No. He wouldn’t. I knew how life works, and how friends drift apart when distance is inserted between them. He’d be too busy. I’d move on, and so would he. But I wouldn’t burst his bubble if he chose to float in it. I whistled through my teeth, ignoring his assurances. “I think I would die of boredom all the way out there. There’s no nightlife. Nothing fun to do. You would probably love it, though.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m boring?”

  “No. But I think you’re not going to be clubbing or roaming bars looking for your next chick as a priest.” I raised my brows. “Am I wrong?”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course not.”

  “Therefore, it would be good for you.”

  “I guess,” he muttered, frowning at his sandwich again. He’d only taken two small bites, and I was on my second half. “Your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “Answer my question.” He leaned in, examining me as if he was seeking out all my thoughts and secrets. “If you had a way out, would you take it?”

  “Of course. I’m not stupid.” I turned away from him. “But I don’t, and I won’t. Not right now, anyway. So I’ve adjusted my expectations.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” he said, his tone hard.

  “Yeah, well, news flash: not all people get to live out their dreams. Some of us just have to make do with what we can get, or take, or steal, and that’s fine.” I held on to the edge of the granite counter that probably cost more than I made all yearlong. “But I stopped stealing years ago, so now I’m just fighting for my fair share. I’ll be fine with living in Englewood, as long as it’s on my terms. I can work with that. That’s a reasonable dream.”

  He took a deep breath, held it in, and released it in a slow, exaggerated breath. “I think you missed the memo—dreams aren’t supposed to be realistic or reasonable. They’re supposed to be dreams.”

  “I didn’t miss the memo. I grew up and realized I wasn’t a fairy-tale princess, and I wasn’t going to live happily ever after with some prince who will never hurt me. I realized that more than likely, I would live kind-of-happily-for-now—with or without a guy, because who the hell says a girl needs a guy to be happy—and that’s okay.”

  Growling, he set his sandwich down. “Being hungry, having no one to help you, is not okay. Having no one there to save you is not okay, either. But that ends now. I want to help you by—”

  “Hold up.” I tossed my food onto the plate angrily. “You’ve got it in your head that I’m this helpless woman who needs saving. A damsel in distress who can’t take care of herself, who needs a big strong guy to come save me, or something equally as nauseating as that. Well, I’m not. I don’t need saving, and if I do? I can damn well save myself, thank you very much. I don’t need a man to do it for me. And I don’t need you and your savior complex crashing into my life out of some sort of misplaced sense of duty to my dead brother.”

  “This isn’t about duty, Rose.” He stood, slammed his hands on the counter, and stared me down, breathing heavily. “I’m not just some man. I’m all you’ve got, and you’re all I’ve got, and I care about you more than you’d ever be able to comprehend. I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by idly while you suffer. I’d sooner put myself up on a cross and crucify myself than watch you suffer for one more fucking second.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and gaped at him because…

  For the first time in my life…

  I was struck speechless.

  Chapter 7

  Thorn

  Well, great. I hadn’t meant to admit all that, especially in quite that way. Yeah, she meant a lot to me. And yeah, I wasn’t too dumb to recognize the feeling inside of me, ripping me in half, for what it was. I loved her. But it didn’t really change anything between us, that knowledge. Despite the earlier fiasco in the bath, when I had lost all sense of reason and control and let the beast inside of me take over until I didn’t even recognize myself or my actions anymore, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—have her.

  In the bath, I’d forgotten all that. Forgotten all my promises and plans, and something had happened that had changed me in an instant. It had made me something else. Someone else. Someone I didn’t even know anymore.

  And I didn’t want to.

  No matter how beautiful she was, or how badly I ached to veer from my established path, I couldn’t take a detour. I was man enough, mortal enough, to admit that Rose was my weakness. Now I had to be man enough to overcome that weakness, too. When Mikey died, I had sworn I would change my life for the better. To never get high again. To never hurt someone like I’d hurt him. It had been my last promise to a dying man, and I refused to break that promise. I’d joined the seminary because it was the only way I stood a chance of being forgiven by God, Rose, and Mikey. The only way I could find peace—and I had found it. I just hadn’t found absolution. Not yet.

  I’d fought hard to get where I was, to put my past behind me, and I couldn’t forget it all now because I’d realized I was in love with Rose Gallagher. If anything, that love should push me forward even harder. Love is fleeting. Love dies. Love breaks hearts. Destroys lives. Look what it had done to my mother. She’d been a loyal wife. She’d loved my father with all her heart and soul.

  She’d given him everything she had to give.

  And then he’d taken even more.

  When he left us, she’d stopped reading the Bible to me at night. She’d taken down every cross, taken every Mother Mary off the tables, and needles with heroin lay scattered in their places instead. She’d taken all the devot
ion she’d given to my father, and to God, and instead devoted herself to ruining her life….

  And mine.

  But even after years of watching her sleep with men for money or a quick high, nothing erased the mother she’d been before Dad left. The mother she’d been when we prayed the rosary before she tucked me in at night. And after Mikey’s death, when I’d been trying to decide between ending my pathetic life or getting clean, I’d found myself going back to those roots by kneeling at the altar of Saint Paul’s Roman Catholic Church, tears running down my face.

  Father John had found me there, and he’d listened to my story before taking me under his wing. He’d literally saved my life. So I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing the same thing for people like me. I wanted to make a difference in this world. Going to the seminary to become a priest like Father John was the best way I could think of to accomplish those goals. I wouldn’t fail. I wouldn’t go back to being the boy I’d been.

  I wouldn’t be like my mother.

  Clearing my throat, I eyed Rose nervously. She’d been quiet for two full minutes. That had to be a record of some sort. I sat back down. “Excuse my outburst. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

  Still, she remained silent. After a long pause, she finally asked, “Which part shouldn’t you have said? The curse, or the part about caring for me a lot?”

  Squaring my jaw, I pushed back on my stool. “Both.”

  “Why?” She reached out and tapped my chin. “Worried I’ll think you’re saying you’re in love with me, and can’t live without me, and must have me now?”

  Leave it to Rose to hit the nail on the head. And leave it to her not to realize how close to the truth she was. I stared at her, not speaking.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered, picking up her sandwich again. “Even if you weren’t becoming a priest, we both know we would never be together.”

  She was right. She was absolutely right. She was off-limits to me for more reasons than one. I should leave it alone, and not poke the bear. But still—“Why not?”