He kissed me on the top of the head. “Fuck, baby.”
I sat up so I could look at him. “I’ve always wanted a home. Somewhere I could settle and decorate and make memories. You know, like notches in the tree outside marking the kids as they grow. I’ve always wanted lots of kids.” His brows lifted at that. “Well, at least two so they could protect one another.” His body tightened and a darkness blanketed the brilliant green in his eyes. “I know you don’t want kids, Killian.”
He sat up, taking me with him, then lifted me so I straddled his waist, his hands on my hips. “I don’t. And, Savvy, no matter how much I want you, I can’t give you that.”
I nodded, my chest tight as I tried to hold back the tears. Because I didn’t know where that left us except on different paths.
He inhaled a ragged breath and his gaze held mine, tortured and pained. “I had a brother.” I tried to conceal my reaction, but my body stiffened and eyes widened. “In Ireland. Emmitt. He was a year and a half younger than me. A really good kid, and I swear he had your good bits scattered all through him, Savvy. There wasn’t a mean molecule in his body even when he had a reason to be mad at the world.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head back to rest on the headboard. “But not Emmitt. He accepted who he was and accepted everyone else and who they were.”
I sought out his hands, linked our fingers together and rested them on my thighs. He squeezed, and I knew this was really hard for him to talk about, but he was giving me this. A part of him.
“He even accepted my dad, although he didn’t always like him, but not for what he did to him, but for how he treated me. Emmitt had Tourette’s and our dad thought my brother could control the spontaneous blinking, but of course, he couldn’t. He’d make him practice in front of the mirror for hours which only made it worse. But it was football where my brother found his place. His freedom. God, he was so good at it and was going to go far and my dad knew it. Everyone did. He was a natural, and it’s where he was happiest, with a ball between his feet.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew where this was going wasn’t good and it pained me to hear his voice crack as he spoke.
“He was teased all the time. Bullied constantly by kids in school. Kids on the other football teams. I tried… fuck, I tried to protect him from it. I was his brother. I was supposed to protect him.”
He swallowed as if he were having trouble getting the words out. “I was kissing some chick. That’s why he walked home alone so I could stay late in class with the girl.” He released one of my hands and ran it down his face before he rubbed the inner corners of his eyes. “I found him on my way home later. He was face down in the river. Dead.”
I choked back the sob, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood.
“A few days later, three kids confessed that they’d chased him through the fields, throwing sheep dung at him. It was raining, and he slipped on the wooden bridge and fell through the rope rungs into the river. They took off instead of helping him. The fall didn’t kill him. The coroner said he was likely unconscious and drowned.”
I reached up and stroked the side of his face, unable to say anything. It had to be over fifteen years ago, and from his expression, it was like it happened yesterday. He carried so much guilt and pain with him.
For something he wasn’t responsible for. “You fought the bullies in school because of Emmitt.”
He nodded.
Oh, God. He blamed himself, and it was his way to try and ease the guilt. No wonder he’d been so angry all the time, and why I never saw him with any girls. “What happened to the kids?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. It was deemed an accident. A year later my dad moved us to Toronto.”
Sorry, wasn’t enough for losing someone. No words were. “Your brother, he sounds like an incredible person. I wish I’d met him.”
“Me too, Savvy.” He lifted me off his lap and climbed out of bed, then offered his hand. “Shower.” He was closing the subject. “Then we’ll go for breakfast before you go to the hospital.”
“Okay.”
I was volunteering and then working at the club. He’d yet to mention me working there, but I was pretty sure it was on his mind. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t happy about it.
I wanted to ask him more about Emmitt, about what happened to his mom, about the animosity between him and his father. Had it stemmed from Emmitt’s death? But it wasn’t the time, and I didn’t want to push him.