I got closer and whispered, “Mickey.”
“After I got shot of her, she pulled it together, never did it when she had the kids. Never left our kids to fend for themselves. Never missed a special meal. But we were at the restaurant twenty minutes before you got there, Amy, she was supposed to meet us there, and she hadn’t showed. Fifteen minutes after you left, after the fourth text I couldn’t hide sending the bitch to find out where the fuck she was, Cill started losing it. Then he lost it and threw a tantrum. Took him outside to calm him down, got him to do that, but he wanted to leave. We left, went to get fuckin’ burgers for my boy’s birthday, ’cause that was all he was up for. Got home, started to do cake and presents, the bitch called. She called Ash’s phone. Cill knew it was her, grabbed it before my girl could save him that shit, and he got a birthday call from a mother who was totally shitfaced.”
I felt tears fill my eyes.
Oh, Cillian.
“Honey,” I whispered, getting even closer, my hand now pressing.
“He was good with her, my boy’s good with his mom, but he got off the phone, went wild. Threw the cake Ash made for him against the wall and slammed into his room. We had words, he’s still not calmed down, but I’m givin’ him time. I gotta get back to him because I gotta shape him up and sort out Rhiannon’s mess. Again.”
“Okay, then go,” I invited.
“We gotta talk.”
That didn’t sound promising.
But right then, not one thing was about me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him.
“Best kiss I ever had,” he told me.
I drew in a sharp breath, those five words thrilling down my throat, to my belly, straight to the tips of my toes.
“Want more,” he went on. “You with me?”
I nodded and just stopped myself from doing it humiliatingly enthusiastically.
“Good,” he stated curtly. “We talked. I sort out my boy, we’ll talk more.”
“Okay, Mickey.”
He bent abruptly and touched his mouth to mine.
His lips were firm at the same time soft and he wore no cologne, but he smelled heavenly.
He lifted his head but he did it also lifting his hand, and finally, he touched me.
He did this cupping my jaw and sweeping his thumb along my cheek.
He said nothing, just touched me sweetly and stared into my eyes.
I said nothing back, just stood close and let him.
Then he said, “Call you, baby.”
“Okay, Mickey,” I repeated.
His lips tipped up in a preoccupied grin that was still amazing before he let me go, turned to the door and disappeared through it.
Chapter Twelve
Everything I’d Ever Need
When I got home from Dove House the next day, I went back out and grabbed my mail.
I took it back in and went through it on the kitchen counter.
No wish list from Cillian.
I turned my head toward the front of my house like I could see through it and feel what was happening at the Donovans.
My phone in my purse rang and I quickly dug it out, hoping it was Mickey.
It wasn’t.
It was Boston Stone.
I let it go to voicemail and made a decision I wasn’t sure was mine to make. I was pretty sure Mickey and I were starting something and because of that¸ I wasn’t sure what I intended to do was the right thing.
Still, I shoved my now-silent phone into the back pocket of my jeans and went to Mickey’s house.
It seemed quiet and standing at the front door I reconsidered ringing the bell.
Then my hand decided for me, lifted and rang the bell.
God, I hoped I was doing the right thing.
The door was opened by Aisling.
“Hey, blossom,” I greeted.
She tipped her head to the side and greeted back quietly, “Hey, Amy.”
“You doing okay?” I asked.
“I’m good,” she answered too quickly.
Lying.
I let that go and just nodded, asking, “Your dad home?”
She shook her head and replied, “No, he’s working.”
“Your brother home?” I went on.
Her answer to that was to step out of the door.
I took this as my invitation to walk in, so I did.
She shut the door behind me and mumbled, “He’s in the family room.”
“Okay, sweets,” I mumbled back and moved that way.
I found Cillian lounged on the couch, eyes to the TV, the evidence of an unhealthy feeding frenzy littered around him, including a melting tub of ice cream on the coffee table that was not on a magazine or a mat or anything.
The mother inside me screamed but my mouth didn’t.
“Hey, kiddo,” I greeted, going to the side of the sectional and shifting a hip to rest on the back so I could catch his eyes.
He didn’t give them to me.