Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

Question 13: Potato chips or chocolate?I STIRRED THE tomato sauce in the pan while the pasta boiled. I had the night off from the bar and was making dinner for Connor. He’d left an hour ago to take a run down by the water. He’d started running last week instead of disappearing for hours on his bike. He still disappeared on his bike, but it wasn’t every day anymore.

“Smells great, pet.” Deaglan strolled into the kitchen with light green paint splattered on his T-shirt and jeans. “Do I get fed for painting your porch?”

I raised my brows. “Suddenly it’s my porch, is it?”

He chuckled as he leaned his butt on the counter beside the stove. “Sure. Anything for a home-cooked meal.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve never tried my cooking.”

Deaglan had been scarce for the last week, but yesterday, he’d started fixing the porch. He’d sanded the railing and had moved on to painting it.

“I’m going back to Ireland soon,” he said. “Not sure if or when I’ll be back.”

“Is everything okay?”

He crossed his ankles. “My little brother is causing shit again and the boarding school finally kicked his ass out. I need to do something about it.”

“Oh.” I stirred the sauce as I picked up a handful of mushrooms and red peppers and sprinkled them in the sauce. “He’s a lot younger than you I guess?”

“Seventeen. Cocky. A kickass football player and a genius. Makes for a kid with an attitude.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I just came by to make sure you’re good here, with Connor. Deck is cool with me leaving, but I wanted to check with you.”

The floorboards creaked in the hallway and I stopped stirring to look and see Connor. His expression was tight and his eyes shifted from me to Deaglan.

He was soaked from his run and sweat dripped down his brow. But even sweaty, sexiness oozed. The tattoos on his arms gleamed with dampness making the ink pop and his muscles to accentuate.

“How was your run?” I rested the wooden spoon on the edge of the pan and walked to him. I placed my hands on his chest and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him, but I couldn’t reach his lips until he tilted. The kiss was brief, but still possessive.

“Fine,” he replied. He raised his head to look at Deaglan and I was uneasy as to how he was going to react to him being in the kitchen with me. “Deaglan.” He nodded to him and I breathed a sigh of relief. The tension slowly eased from Connor and I smiled to myself. This was good. A month ago, he’d have been throwing punches and losing his shit.

“Connor. I was just telling your girl that I’m leaving as soon as I finish the porch. I need to head back home, and I’m not sure if I’ll be back.” Deaglan reached for the spoon and stirred the bubbling sauce.

“I heard.” Connor’s hand rested on my lower back. “And yeah, she’s good with me here.”

Deaglan smirked. “Hey, had to ask her. Your track record isn’t that great.” Oh, my God, Deaglan. Shut up. “Plus, I’d like to sell the place soon, so keeping the kitchen cupboards intact would be cool.”

I moaned, clonking my forehead onto Connor’s chest. Deaglan had no filter and was going to get his ass kicked, just like his little brother.

But Connor’s reaction was unexpected as his chest vibrated with a half chuckle. “They’ll be intact and if you need to leave ASAP, I can finish the porch.”

Whoa. What? He would?

Deaglan nodded. “Shit. That would be cool.”

Normal. That was what this conversation was, filling me with hope that Connor was adjusting.

Deck had come by the other day and they talked for ten minutes outside and there were no bruised jaws or shouting, which was a good sign.

Deaglan set the spoon down and pushed away from the counter. “I’ll book a flight then.”

“I’d like to talk to you before you leave for Ireland,” Connor said.

“Yeah. Sure. Anytime.” He winked at me. “Later, pet.” Then he left.

I looked up at Connor. “What do you want to talk to him about?”

“Do you like the house?”

“Yeah, it’s great. It even has a picket fence and wildflower garden. I love that.”

The corners of his lips curved up. “A house by the water. Quiet neighborhood. Picket fence and you like it here.” Was he saying what I think he was saying? “Babe, I can’t promise I’m always going to be here in the morning or hold you when you go to sleep. Fuck, I want to and I’m trying, but even if I need to leave, I swear I’ll always come back. We’re permanent. We’ve never been any other way. And I want you to have a place that’s permanent.”

My heart skipped a beat. They were words I didn’t want to hear and at the same time I did. We were permanent, and yet every single day there was a chance he’d leave. I knew that. But he’d come back and he wanted a place that was ours. Where he could always come back to.