Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

40. Ivy

Chapter Forty

IVY

I offer to fetch a dustpan and brush to clean up my brother’s mess, but Samuel correctly points out my hands are shaking too hard to use them. Damon ushers us into the huge kitchen/dining area and pours us a neat whiskey. Thankfully, the kids are still crashed on the couch and missed the entire heated exchange.

Caelon shuts Roxy in the lounge with them, rubbing her head. ‘I suppose you have your uses,’ he mutters. ‘But you’re not sleeping upstairs.’ He turns his attention back to me. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m not the one who got punched in the face. How’s your jaw?’ I trace my thumb over the bruise that’s already forming.

‘It’s fine.’ Caelon leans into my touch. ‘I let him have that one. Hoped it might make him feel better.’

‘It’s going to take more than that.’ I sip my whiskey and close my eyes as the burn slides down my throat.

I hate hurting my brother. Hate disappointing him. But I can’t live my life the way he wants. His words play through my head like a CD stuck on repeat. ‘He said something strange. What did he mean when he said I don’t know what you’re capable of?’

A shadow crosses Caelon’s face. ‘Let’s talk about it later, after we get the kids to bed.’

An hour later, after the kids have crashed out with exhaustion and are safely tucked up, I head to the kitchen with a sense of dread building in my stomach.Everywhere I turn, family photos remind me of Caelon’s past and reality smacks me in the face like a sledgehammer now we’re back in Dublin. I’m not sure he’s ready for a future with me.

Roxy lies on her back, paws up in the air, snoring like an ogre. Caelon shoots her a filthy look as he pads across the kitchen, but I can tell he’s warming to her. ‘Back to the real world with a bang, right?’ He’s changed into those low hanging grey sweats I love, and my gaze falls to his perfectly formed ass as he opens the fridge door and pulls out two cold beers.

‘Not the kind of bang I was hoping for,’ I joke, but I can’t force a smile. Dread knots in my stomach like a ball of wool.

‘It wasn’t the friendliest welcome home, but at least it’s out in the open,’ Caelon says. He rests against the kitchen counter and beckons me over with a single finger.

As I close the distance between us, I turn the word “home” over on my tongue. It’s his home. Yes, I live here. But so does the ghost of Isabella, and I’m not sure there’s room for both of us. Especially when he still wears her ring. I wish he’d take it off, but I’d never ask him to do that.

‘Are you sure I’m what you want?’ He asks before taking a swig from his bottle and wrapping an arm around my lower back, pulling me close. ‘I don’t want to hold you back.’

‘You’re not,’ I say truthfully, leaning into him, drinking in his scent, collapsing into his solid frame. ‘Are you sure I’m what you want?’ My eyes veer to the picture on the fireplace of Caelon with Isabella, Orla and Owen .

‘I’ve never been surer of anything.’ He presses a kiss to my temple. ‘Dermot was right. I’m not a good man. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. And I can’t guarantee I won’t do more things I’m not proud of.’

‘Like what?’ the dread in my stomach intensifies. Of all the things Dermot said, one line stuck out more than everything else.

‘You have no idea what he’s capable of.’

A flashback of the night Scarlett and James were here sears through my mind.

‘I live for two things. My kids and revenge. I have no intention of leaving this earth until I’ve taken care of all of them.’

It was just the drink talking.

Wasn’t it?

I’ve always known Caelon has a darkness in him. Hell, it was half the attraction. But he wouldn’t really act on it, would he? It’s one thing to be with a hot billionaire vigilante in a fictional romance, and another entirely in real life. A shudder ripples down my spine.

‘It’s better if you don’t know. All you need to know is that I love you.’ He rests his chin on the top of my head as he cradles me in his arms.

‘And I love you, but if we’re a partnership, you need to be honest with me.’ I swallow hard, raising my face to meet his gaze. ‘Is this about avenging Isabella?’

His lips purse into a tight line. ‘The less you know, the better.’

‘Don’t do something stupid. Don’t put your past in front of our future.’ I cup his face and angle his chin down, forcing him to meet my stare.

‘Don’t you see? I need to deal with the past in order to have a future. Danny Bourke killed Isabella and I have it on good authority that he’s about to wake up from his coma. Killian’s been doing some digging for me. He’s found evidence that Danny was paid by the O’Connors to kill my wife.’ The word wife stings like a bee. ‘If that’s true, the O’Connors are going to pay with their lives. That’s a promise, not a threat.’

I pause for a beat, trying to steady my hammering heart and find the right words.

I can deal with tortured, dark and pained.

I can’t deal with the man I love doing something so vindictive. No matter what Jack O’Connor, Danny Bourke, or anyone else did in the past, we don’t get to decide who lives or dies. ‘If you do this, if you choose revenge over redemption, it’s over between us.’

His molar clank as they slam together. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do. I can’t be with a man fixated on revenge rather than planning a future with the person they claim to love.’

Caelon’s eyes close. ‘Don’t make me choose, Tranquil.’

‘Even if I could get over you hurting, maybe even killing a man, I’ll never get over it if you got hurt or sent to prison.’

‘I won’t,’ Caelon’s eyes snap open.

‘You don’t know that.’ A crushing tiredness settles over my skin and seeps into my bones. A mental and emotional exhaustion. First, there was the drama with Dermot, and now this. It’s too much.

‘There’s no way in Hell I’m giving you up’.’ Caelon’s eyes bore into mine with an intensity that sears into my soul.

He sighs heavily. ‘I love you.’

But does he love me enough?

‘Take me to bed.’ I can’t talk about this anymore tonight. I can’t begin to contemplate what he might be capable of. I just need to feel the Caelon I thought I knew hold me.

‘With pleasure.’ He swallows the last mouthful of beer and places the bottle on the marble counter, then slides his hand beneath my legs and swoops me into his arms like he’s carrying me over the threshold.

‘You’re sleeping in my bed tonight,’ he growls, carrying me up the stairs.

My heart expands in my chest.

He hasn’t had another woman in his house, let alone in his bed. He’s choosing me. This proves it. All the talk of revenge is just that. Talk. It has to be.

The remnants of dread roiling in my stomach wither and I bury my face into his chest, inhaling his strong masculine scent.