The Marriage Contract (13 page)

“Nope.” He pushed to his feet. “I don’t suppose you have any clothes that would come close to fitting me?”

She huffed out a breath. “You’re not going to be reasonable about this, are you?” When he didn’t answer, she threw up her hands. “Fine. I think I can scrounge up something. Try not to fall on your face while I’m gone.”

He waited until the door shut behind her to shuffle to the bathroom and turn on the shower. As tempting as it was to ask for her help to wash off, he had too much pride for that shit. He couldn’t follow through on any sort of desire right now, and it would be a damn shame to waste the opportunity if he got Callie in the shower. Not to mention he had the feeling that she’d jump on any chance to get his ass back to bed, rather than standing by while he left the house. No, he’d have to do this himself—and quickly.

Luckily, he was already mostly naked. He shucked off his underwear and carefully stepped beneath the hot water, gritting his teeth when it hit the cuts on his face. He scrubbed himself down, taking the extra time to make sure all the dried blood was gone, and shut the water off. The sound of Callie’s pacing reached him as he dried off, and he wrapped the towel around his waist before opening the door.

She turned, her hands on her hips. “You have a death wish.”

“More like a wish to be clean.” He caught sight of the clothes she’d dumped on the bed. Slacks and a button-down—fitting attire for Mass. “Thanks.”

“Do you need help getting dressed?”

Even if he did, he wouldn’t admit it. Pride was foolish thing, but he couldn’t shake it. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.” She turned, her spine rigid. “Hurry up, then.”

He managed not to make a sound as he dressed—though twice he had to pause and wait for the black spots dancing across his vision to retreat—and he turned to the mirror when he was done, surprised that the clothes actually fit. He started to ask where they’d come from, and decided maybe it was better he didn’t know. If he was wearing her dead brother’s clothes…Yeah, he sure as fuck didn’t need that information.

“They aren’t Ronan’s.”

He froze, not sure when she’d turned around. “I—”

“You had a look on your face like you thought you might be wearing a dead man’s clothes.” Her smile was mirthless. “You’re not. Even if they’d fit—which they wouldn’t—I donated them months ago. It was too hard…Never mind.”

He sighed, feeling like the world’s biggest ass. She’d picked his unconscious body off the street, hauled him back here safely, obviously had a doctor see to him, and wasn’t standing in his way of leaving even though she didn’t approve. He forced himself to stop and take a breath. If her being worried about him made him uncomfortable, it was his damn problem. Not hers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This isn’t exactly the easiest of situations. You’re doing the best you can—we all are.” She motioned to the door, her face a perfect mask of politeness. “There’s a car waiting downstairs. You should go if you’re not going to be late.”

She was right, but he was loath to leave things like they were. He’d hurt her, whether he intended to or not. Teague stopped in front of her. “Thank you, angel. Last night you went above and beyond the call of duty. I wouldn’t have blamed you for leaving my ass where they dropped me.”

Her eyes flashed, the blue extra vivid in her anger. “That’s a downright stupid thing to say, and you damn well know it. I might not have been the one to choose you, but you’re mine, Teague O’Malley, for better or worse.”

He kissed her, the barest brushing of lips, and then he walked out the door, a stupid grin pulling his lips up. Even the throbbing of the left side of his face wasn’t enough to dim the strange joy her words had brought. Because she’d as much as declared her intentions for him. It shouldn’t have been surprising—they were getting married in three short weeks, after all, but there was a world of difference between going through the motions and declaring him
hers
.

Callie had done the latter.

The entire ride to Our Lady of Victories, he let himself soak that in. She wanted him. He’d known she wanted him physically, but now he knew she
wanted
him. That was so much easier to focus on than her worry. He relished that snap of anger, the possessiveness of her words.

But when they pulled to a stop, he forced himself to put that small happiness aside. There was business to attend to, and he couldn’t afford to be off his game because he was mooning over his fiancée.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and merged with the small crowd making their way inside. A murmur went up in the people around him, and they stepped back as he climbed the stairs. He was used to getting more than his fair share of attention—most of the parish knew what his family did for money—but his face must have looked worse than he’d thought.

His youngest brother, Devlin, stood at the top of the stone steps, brows raised. “You look like you had an eventful night.”

Trust Devlin to understate things without rushing down to ask if he was okay. “You could call it that.”

“Father isn’t pleased.”

Of that he had no doubt. “Is he ever?”

Devlin fell into step with him as they walked into church. Despite how bittersweet he found attending Mass, Our Lady of Victories was a sort of second home to Teague with its old-world architecture and feel—like stepping into the past. They stopped in the second pew, the one that was designated for the family despite their never officially being assigned seats. But, every Sunday, it was empty and waiting.

Sloan looked up as he slid in next to her, and gasped quietly. Sometimes it seemed like she did everything quietly—a mouse who did her best to stay out of the spotlight of their parents’ attention. She put her hand on his forearm, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain.”

“Liar.”

He met her dark eyes, so similar to his own. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

“You can’t promise that, and you know it.” She sat back and stared forward, her eyes shining in a way he was all too familiar with. He wanted to say or do something to comfort her, but she was right—he couldn’t promise shit.

It seemed like he was destined to piss off and upset every woman he cared about that he came in contact with today.

He sighed, grateful when the priest began speaking. With the ease of long practice, he intoned the words and fell into the old familiar motions. Sloan had always been the most sensitive of his siblings, and he hated causing her any kind of pain, but he was stuck. Fuck, he was up to his neck and sinking fast. He wasn’t even aware that Devlin was moving until he slipped behind Teague and nudged him to the end of the aisle. He wrapped his arm around their sister, leaning down to murmur something in her ear.

Devlin was the best of them all.

He’d thought it before, but it only became clearer as time went on. His youngest brother always knew what to say or do to defuse a situation or comfort someone who was upset. Teague should have thought that maybe Sloan needed a shoulder to lean on, even if he couldn’t say the words that would make everything okay. But he hadn’t. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Just another way he’d failed his siblings.

He was still embroiled in his internal torment when the sermon wound to an end. Ignoring his family, he stood and walked out of the church, needing fresh air. No, he needed a whole hell of a lot more than fresh air. But taking a second to breathe was all he could accomplish in this moment, so that was what he did.

Knowing someone would come looking for him before too long, he circled around the corner and stopped beneath the nearest tree.
Shit.
As much as he’d like to blame his current pounding headache on the beating last night, it wasn’t the truth.

“Smoke?”

He looked up, already knowing who he’d see. “What are you doing here?”

Finch shrugged and passed over a cigarette. “Maybe I’m praying for my immortal soul.”

“Sure.” He snorted and lit up. It had been a while since his last cigarette, and he closed his eyes for a second to savor his first inhalation.

“Who tuned up your face?”

Teague flashed him a look. “Why? Are you going to get off your ass and arrest them?”

“I think I’m detecting some bitterness.” Finch laughed softly, not looking the least bit sorry. “You know we value you.”

Maybe. Maybe not. But the one thing he did know was that they valued their asses more. There was some deeper game being played by the feds right now, but hell if he knew what it was. Teague inhaled again. “I’d hate to think you’re sitting back and waiting for shit to hit the fan so you can mop the whole lot of us up.”

Finch froze. He recovered almost instantly, but it was too late. Teague knew. He huffed out a laugh, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. “Oh God, you are. That’s the funniest shit I’ve heard all day.” Even though he’d suspected he wouldn’t get any help from them, it was something else altogether to know it for sure. He laughed again and shook his head. “You really are a bastard, Finch.”

“See you around.” He moved off, slipping into a doorway of a business further down the block mere seconds before someone called Teague’s name. He crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe and turned. As shitty as it was to realize he couldn’t count on the feds to help him out, it was better to know now rather than later—when he might actually be relying on them. Or that’s what he told himself, even though part of him threatened to wallow in despair.

He was well and truly on his own.

F
our days later, Teague stumbled up to his room, so damn exhausted, it was like he’d been running a marathon all day instead of making phone calls. But nothing had come to fruition, and his frustration was high.

James wasn’t returning his calls. The men he’d sent out to canvass the area around Tit for Tat had been run off by Halloran men. Neither his father nor Aiden would talk to him about the plans they had in the works.

And, to top it off, his younger sisters had taken it as their own personal mission to make sure he made a full recovery. Every time he turned around, Sloan was pushing him into the nearest chair and offering a blanket, or Keira was shoving hot tea into his hands.

They meant well, but he was losing his goddamn mind.

He locked his bedroom door and sat gingerly on the edge of his bed. His ribs still smarted like nobody’s business, but the family doctor had assured him that nothing was broken or seriously injured. He’d be back in fighting shape in no time.

Teague sighed and stripped, moving carefully. A quick glance at the clock told him it was late—later than he’d wanted to be running around. His promise to Callie lingered in the back of his mind. It was the only reason he allowed his sisters to run rampant over him. At least that way he had something to tell her when he called her at night to reassure her that he was taking care of himself.

His shower was quick and miserable, the hot water doing nothing to pound the tension from his muscles. He needed a week on a beach somewhere and daily massages to work the stress out, but it was more likely that a unicorn would burst through his door.

The fight was here. Callie was here. His family was here.

Which meant he was where he needed to be.

He shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Lying down on his bed was a slice of sheer heaven, but he didn’t close his eyes. There was one last thing to do before he could give over to sleep. He smiled and reached for his phone.

A few seconds later, Callie answered. “Late night.”

“Yeah.” He adjusted his pillows. “My mother cornered me to ask about tux choices. She sat me down for an hour to go over pictures. An
hour
.” And when he’d told her to just pick whatever she thought was best, she’d ripped him a new one without ever once raising her voice or letting the smile slip off her face.

Callie made a sympathetic noise. “She called me three times today. I’m not particularly proud to admit I dodged every single one of them.”

“I don’t blame you.” He laughed. “I’d be doing the same thing, but the woman knows where I sleep.”

“So what did you decide on?”

“Hell if I know. I chose three options before she was finally satisfied.”

“Poor baby.” She moved, the sound of fabric sliding coming through the phone. He closed his eyes, picturing her lying out on her bed the same way he currently was on his, wearing a pair of sweats and a tank top. He liked that she went for comfort instead of sexiness for sleeping. It was such a contrast from how she carried herself during the daytime—perfectly put together in every way.

“I wish you were here.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they were the stark truth.

“I wish I was there, too. I don’t trust that you’re taking care of yourself.” She paused. “And I miss you. I know it’s only been a few days, but—”

He cut in before she could tag some qualifier on there to take away from the statement. “I miss you, too. Do you want to go get lunch tomorrow?” Or breakfast. Or dinner. Or, hell, he’d settle for coffee. Anything that got them into the same room and settled the uncomfortable feeling he hadn’t been able to shake after the way they left things the other day. They might have talked every night they’d been apart, but it wasn’t close to the same thing.

“I wish I could.” The regret in her voice was real. “Papa and I have a meeting that I can’t reschedule.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what the meeting concerned. He knew for a fact his father was coordinating things on his own without talking to Colm about them, so it only stood to reason that Colm was doing the same thing. But bringing business up meant taking away from the comfort and intimacy that came from just having a conversation with Callie. Business could wait, at least until tomorrow.

Instead, he said, “Soon, Callie. I want to see you soon.”

She shifted again, maybe rolling over on her bed. “Let me see how the meeting goes, and then I’ll have a better idea of when I’m free. I want to see you, too.”

“Deal.” It wasn’t an exact date, but the intent was clear. She wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her. He yawned, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him.

“Go to sleep, Teague. You need it.”

“You too.” She wasn’t getting enough. He didn’t have to sleep next to her every night to know that. Every time he talked to her, she sounded more run-down and tired. Last night she hadn’t been able to remember the last time she ate when he asked. It was added motivation to get some alone time with her—at least then he could make sure she got a full meal and maybe a nap. “Good night, angel.”

“I will say, Callie, I’m surprised by what you’re proposing.”

Callie kept her nerves off her face through sheer force of will. In the days since Teague’s attack, she’d been petitioning hard for her father to let her in. It was only today that he finally relented and promised to hear her out. The admiration on his face almost made the fight worthwhile.

Almost.

She took a deep breath. Every time she brought up Brendan, Papa changed the subject, making it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to hear her confession, no matter what he might think happened. With that avenue closed to her, she’d focused on the war itself. “They’ll be expecting a full-frontal attack, which means they’ll be prepared for it. This will cripple a significant portion of their income.” And destroying the factory where the Hallorans stored their illicit goods dealt them a blow that was unlikely to result in casualties. It wasn’t a perfect plan as such things went, but it was better than what John was suggesting—work their way through Halloran territory, taking out every hub they used on the way. The loss of life would be devastating on both sides—she refused to sit back and allow it to happen.

Thank God Papa seemed intrigued by her plan.

He sat back, tapping his steepled fingers against his lips. “They’ll use more than one location—they’re too smart to store everything valuable in one place.”

“Even so, taking out one will hurt them with less chance of loss on our side.” She met her father’s gaze, her hands folded demurely in her lap. “When we go for their throat, I want it to be in a way that doesn’t put any more of our men at risk than necessary.”
Please, God, let this end before we have to take such measures
.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Callie that she was capable of doing just that if they backed her into a corner. She hated knowing that about herself, but there wasn’t time for her to wrestle with her bruised conscience. Brendan had been one thing. Even though she knew differently in her darkest soul of souls, she could still argue with herself that it had been solely self-defense. This was something else altogether.

But seeing Teague hurt and helpless had driven the stakes home in a way she couldn’t ignore. If left unchecked, the Hallorans wouldn’t hesitate to kill every last one of them. By holding herself back, she might be putting the people she cared about at risk. Teague. Micah. Emma. All of them. When she weighed her conscience against those lives, it was no contest. She’d do what needed to be done to keep her people safe, no matter how unpalatable she found it.

Especially since she was the one who struck the match that blew a tense treaty sky-high.

He nodded to John. “Make it happen.” Papa waited until the door shut behind his man to pin her with a look. “Enough about business. How are the wedding plans going?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to remark that the wedding was just as much business as the strike against the Hallorans, but she wrestled the words back at the last moment and forced a smile instead. “My future mother-in-law is a force of nature.”

Papa shook his head. “Yes, that’s one way to describe Aileen. Be careful, Callie. That woman is ruthless to the core—she’d smile sweetly while she gutted you if she thought the situation called for it.”

She’d suspected as much, but it was enough to make her wonder what the woman had done to make even Colm Sheridan feel it necessary to dole out a warning. There seemed to be so many things she could no longer talk to her father about, but this was safe enough. “What did she do?”

“Nothing in the way that you mean.” He laughed softly. “But any woman who could survive thirty-five years of marriage to Seamus O’Malley—and bear him seven children—is not one I’m inclined to take lightly.”

There was something beneath the words, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. “Perhaps Seamus isn’t as bad at home as he is with his enemies.”

Papa raised his eyebrows. “Do you really believe that?”

She thought over how even being within touching distance of the man was enough to raise the small hairs on the back of her neck, and the way Teague spoke of him. Her father could be ruthless when the situation called for it, but she’d never once doubted that he loved her and her brother with everything he had. And, when push came to shove, he was willing to let her make the decisions that ultimately impacted her life. Like agreeing to marry a stranger. All Seamus cared about was his children’s compliance. Their happiness didn’t even come into the equation.

Callie sat back. “I think that any woman who would go to bed with that man—and keep doing it—is someone I’m not inclined to underestimate.”

He nodded like she’d given the right answer on a test. “All the same, try to enjoy the preparations. I know you didn’t choose this, and after Brendan…”

She reached across the desk and covered his hand with her own. She might want to air her confession to make herself feel better, but her father obviously didn’t want to hear it. She wouldn’t burden him with her sins just to lighten the weight she carried. “It will be okay, Papa. Though I can think of a thousand things more important than wedding planning.”

“Unfortunately it’s necessary. The wedding itself is as much a statement as the marriage.”

“I know.” Which was why she’d gritted her teeth and kept her complaints to herself. She squeezed his hand again. “We’ll figure out a way out of this.”

“Sometimes the only way out is through, Callie. You know that.” His smile was tired. “But we’ll get through it. We always do.”

Guilt rose, threatening to choke her. She used to wish she could consider things as coldly and calculatingly as her father seemed to be able to when push came to shove, but now that she realized the ability was within her, all she wanted was to go back to how things were. Before she’d agreed to her engagement to Brendan. Before she’d let frustration and fear get the best of her. Before her entire world had come crashing down around her.

It would have happened sooner or later
.

She
knew
that, but the knowing didn’t make the guilt easier to bear. She pushed to her feet. “I’m going out tonight.”

“To see that boy of yours again.”

She didn’t comment on his knowing that she’d been at Teague’s. It went without saying that Micah would have reported back to Papa. The fact that he chose not to bring it up until now was surprising. She hesitated just inside the door. “I…I think I like him.”

“I’m glad.” The naked relief in his voice made her feel both better and worse.

“Good night, Papa.” She walked out of his office and closed the door softly behind her. Once she was alone, the worry that had been plaguing her every waking moment since Teague left her sight rose up with a vengeance. They’d shared short phone calls every night, but that did little to reassure her that he was taking care of himself. He sounded as tired as she felt, which wasn’t comforting in the least. She dialed him before she could talk herself out of it.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello.” She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, closing it almost before she registered its contents. The quiet sound of his breathing soothed her, but not nearly as much as the feel of his arms around her did. She needed that—desperately. Words rose before she could think better of them. “I wrapped things up earlier than anticipated. Can I see you tonight?”

“How soon can you be to my place?”

Relief made her knees a little shaky. “An hour.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you then.” She hung up, the giddy feeling rising through her enough to make her wonder why she hadn’t suggested this before. In the insanity of their lives, how safe she felt in Teague’s presence was a glowing constant. It didn’t seem to matter how briefly she’d known him, because he looked at her with those dark eyes and she felt like nothing bad in the world could touch her.

That feeling was dangerous, to be frank, but she couldn’t resist hurrying to her room and throwing some choice clothing into an overnight bag. She paused, considering her closet. Tonight, they would escape from the real world for a while. Her hands hovered over the lingerie she’d bought the other day with him in mind, but she reluctantly put it back into the drawer. As much as she wanted the reprieve that came from their physical relationship, they both needed something else right now. Comfort. She’d stop on the way over and pick up some food and a few movies. Tonight was as close to an escape as they were allowed, and she intended to make the most of it.

The real world would have to wait until morning.

Teague wasn’t prepared for what the sight of Callie would do to him. He opened the door to find her standing there, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her hair windblown, and her eyes drinking him in the same way he couldn’t help but drink her in. “I missed you.”

Her smile was like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. “I missed you, too.”

He kissed her, because going another moment without doing so was unacceptable. She melted against him at the first brushing of lips, her arms sliding around his neck. He nipped her bottom lip, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, the taste of her going straight to his head. “You’d better come in before we do something to scandalize the neighbors.”