The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

I shook my head.

“I never stopped loving you, Sam. Even—and especially—when you least deserved my love.”

“Kiss me, Nix.” He tugged me down to him. Our lips met. His were cold and dry and chapped, and I quivered, wanting to cry with what he’d been through. I pressed feathery kisses around his mouth, chin, and neck, smiling down at him, kissing his forehead one last time.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I fucking live for you,” Sam retorted. “Literally. I’m about to give up a lot to have you.”

“So you should.” I walked away, taking one last glance at him, knowing we were going to have a million more goodbyes.

And a million more hellos, too.

I ran to the waiting room, breaking the good news with a rush of stuttering words. Sparrow squealed and darted toward the room. My parents let out a relieved breath, though I wasn’t entirely sure what my father was doing here in the first place. Was it the guilt of keeping us apart for all these years?

Cillian and Hunter were the only ones who didn’t look visibly delighted by the news. They glared at me hard as I rehashed the moment in which Sam woke up, obviously omitting the lovey-dovey stuff that would make them gag.

“Hey, Ash, can we speak to you?” Hunter cleared his throat, throwing a glance at my parents. “Alone.”

He turned around before I could answer, marching down the hallway. Cillian followed him wordlessly. Frowning, I went after them, something cold and stony settling in my chest. This didn’t sound good.

They stopped when we reached the junction between the elevators and the emergency exit, a good length away from our parents. They both turned to look at me. All I needed was one look to figure out that they knew everything.

“What have you been playing at, Aisling?” Cillian demanded, his voice like icicles dripping down my skin, causing goose bumps to rise in its wake. “We went to the front desk and asked for you when we first arrived here. We couldn’t reach you on your cell, so we thought to go downstairs and check. The receptionists told us there was no Dr. Fitzpatrick in the hospital. Ran through the database. In fact, we went as far as going to the gynecology department ourselves to look for you—maybe you weren’t registered yet because you are still doing your residency—but I’m sure you know we came back empty-handed.”

“You are working somewhere,” Hunter pointed out. “The long hours, the hospital scrubs, your disappearing acts during dinners. What the hell is it you’ve been doing?”

I must have turned pale because even though they still looked at me like they wanted to kill me, they schooled their faces and stopped showering me with questions. I knew I had two options. Come clean and own up to what I did for almost a year or let them live with a half-assed lie. A lie wouldn’t be so harmful. After all, I quit.

Still, I couldn’t lie to them. Not again. My lies were piling up neatly on my conscience. Besides, I could no longer pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Someone tailor-made for my family to ensure they were happy and fulfilled and proud of me.

My parents.

My brothers.

My professors.

Even the late Ms. B molded me into the woman she wanted me to become.

No more.

So I told them. I opened my mouth, and the truth came out. About Dr. Doyle. How we’d met. About Ms. B’s death and how it affected me. About the first time I saw Sam. How it wasn’t the day the Fitzpatricks had invited him over along with the Brennans, but months before that. I told them I had quit. That I couldn’t put myself at risk anymore to help others. That Sam bent my arm and wouldn’t budge.

“It’s the first and last thing that fucker did right,” Hunter mumbled, pulling me into a hug, pressing me close to his heart. “Fuck, Ash, I’m so sorry. We were so wrapped up in our own shit, we never really stopped to consider what you were going through after your governess died. It didn’t help that you always looked like you knew what you were doing. The perfect daughter.”

“He is right,” Cillian said pithily. “We neglected you for far too long. We’ll be rectifying that in the future.”

“So…” I looked between them “…you’re not judging me? For what I did?”

“Judging you?” Cillian lifted a brow. “You just proved to be a true Fitzpatrick. Darkly complex and terribly pragmatic. I’m proud to call you my sister.”

Ten days later, I got out of the hospital. Aisling and Sparrow doted on my ass like I was a baby, fussing over me and checking on me every single hour, dropping my masculinity levels to new lows I was pretty sure only poodles with designer haircuts had suffered.