Lust Is the Thorn (13 page)

And what day it had been taken.

It was the last picture of the three of us together, taken the day before Mikey died. Rose stood between the two of us, and she had the brightest smile on her face. She still had slightly chubby cheeks at fourteen years old, and a few freckles, but there was no childlike innocence remaining in her eyes.

There was, however, a bruise forming on her cheekbone.

That bruise was a memento from one of the times when the people who were
supposed
to protect her and cherish her had instead chosen to abuse her. It had been a few days after her birthday, and we'd taken her out for ice cream, scraping together every hard-earned penny we had to buy her a hot fudge sundae. As if that made living with assholes who cared about nothing except their next high better.

It didn't, but it was the best we could do at the time.

Mikey wasn't smiling in the picture, and there was somber responsibility in his gaze as he held on to Rose's shoulder tightly, his worry for her evident in every muscle. He hadn't moved out when he turned eighteen, even though life in the Gallagher house was hell. He stuck around for Rose. To take care of her.

Rose came over to me, the wind blowing her hair in her face. As she shoved it out of her eyes, the sun hit her nose piercing, making it twinkle. “Whatcha find?”

I held the photo out, not saying a word. She blinked down at it, brow wrinkling. Slowly, she reached out and took it, smiling sadly at it. “I remember this day like it was yesterday. Crazy, right?”

“Do you remember why we went out for ice cream that day?” I asked, staring at her. Her soft features were dimmed in this shadowed storage unit, but it did nothing to detract from her beauty, inside and out. She was everything I'd ever wanted, and everything I could never have, all in one pretty package. “And why we took the picture?”

“No.” She frowned. “I just remember being happy we were all together. Really happy.”

The fact that she remembered that fleeting moment of happiness bought with a hot fudge sundae instead of the beating that had prompted it was one of the reasons I cared about her so much. She always focused on the good in life, and in people, not the bad. “Your dad went on a rampage and got to you before Mikey could save you.”

“Oh. That's right.” She lifted a shoulder and laughed a little uneasily. “
Aka,
another day in the life of a Gallagher kid.”

I didn't laugh with her. To me, it had never been a laughing matter. “It killed him, you know.” I touched her face where the bruise had been. “The way they treated you.”

“They treated him just as poorly,” she said faintly. Her grip on the frame tightened, at odds with her soft words. “It killed me, too.”

“He didn't mind that. He minded them hurting you.”

“I know, but
I
minded them hurting
him
.” She studied the picture, not moving, before holding it out to me. “You should have this.”

I lifted a hand, shaking my head. “No. I couldn't take it. It's yours.”

“And now it's yours.” She licked her lips. “I want you to have it, to remember us by, no matter where your parish is. Here. The suburbs. Whatever. We'll be with you.”

“You're not something I'll ever forget.” Swallowing hard, I took the cold framed photo, and the world spun a little bit. Emotion punched me in the throat, and I swallowed hard. This picture, and her giving it to me, meant more to me than she'd ever know. It had a crack in the glass, putting a symbolic divide between Rose and me. How fitting, and sickly poetic. “But I'll take it with me wherever I go. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She cupped my cheek and smiled sadly. Rising up on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against my cheek. It burned, and I tightened my grip on the frame to keep my hands right where they should be—off of her. “Let's go to my new place. I'm ready to see it.”

I didn't say anything. Just swallowed, nodded, and headed for the car. After we were both settled in, I kicked the car into reverse and we drove the rest of the way to Glenn House Apartments in silence.

I had nothing to say.

Correction. Nothing I
could
say.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Rose leaned forward and smiled at the complex. I pulled into a parking spot in front of the rental office, where the agent was waiting for me to sign the papers. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I studied the building. The brick façade was clean, even if it was a little worn on the edges. Well-cared-for gardens lined the front of the building, and the sidewalks were shoveled and salted. Kids were playing on the playground as watchful parents supervised. Sirens blared in the distance, and a cop was patrolling the parking lot.

It was no mansion by the lake…

But it was the best I could do.

Clearing my throat, I broke the silence. “It's not—”

“This is perfect. It's—” She broke off, her voice thick with emotion. “It's lovely. Thank you, Thorn. Just…thank you. So much.”

I turned away, because if I looked at her for another second and saw the excitement and gratitude building in her eyes, I'd kiss her. And if I kissed her again, I wasn't going to let her go. “It's nothing.”

“It's
everything
.” She rested her hand on my thigh. It was an innocent touch. One we'd done many times before. But this time, it made my heart lurch and my cock thicken and my heart hurt—all at once. “You're everything.”

No.
She
was everything.

This was one small, inconsequential blip on the radar of her life. After I left her here to live in this apartment alone, she'd flourish and meet people who weren't your typical Englewood folk. She'd laugh, and live, and be free. Maybe meet a guy who could love her like I never could, and fall in love with him, too. Get married. Have kids. Forget all about me and the one weekend we shared together. She could be happy. Truly
happy
. I wanted that for her more than I wanted anything else in life.

Even more than I wanted her.

Yanking on the door handle, I slid out before I could say something I regretted, leaving the car running with the heat on full blast so she didn't get cold. “I'll be right back. Stay here, and lock the doors.”

Her lips twitched. “This complex is a hundred times safer than the places I've slept. I think I'll be fine.”

“Lock. The. Doors.”

She snorted but motioned me out. The second I shut the door behind me, she clicked the button to lock herself in. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I made my way through the blustery cold to the office. When I opened the door, an elderly woman stood up behind her desk. She wore a gray sweater and blue slacks, and had her gray hair in a bun.

“Mr. McKinney?”

“Yes.” I walked up to her desk and inclined my head. “And you're Mrs. Glorietti?”

“I am.” She smiled. “Father John failed to mention how young you are. You barely look old enough to be out of high school, let alone about to take your vows, and renting out an apartment for a friend.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I grinned. “I get that a lot. I'm older than I look, I swear.”

“I believe you, son.” She sat down and opened a folder, shooting me another gentle smile. “Are you ready to get started?”

I settled into my seat, too. “Yes, ma'am.”

Ten minutes and a bunch of signatures later, I was the proud owner of a twelve-month lease for a one-bedroom apartment I'd never actually live in. I carried out two sets of keys and waggled them in the air as I approached the car. Rose grinned and gave me the thumbs-up sign, hopping out of the car.

“Which one is it?” A young man close to Rose's age glanced at her as he passed. She smiled at him distractedly before turning to me again. “Is it upstairs or downstairs?”

The interest written on the other man's face made me want to punch him in the nuts. I closed my fingers over the keys, the jagged edges digging into my palm. The words that would threaten his life if he so much as
looked
at my Rose inappropriately played on my tongue, but I bit them back. She wasn't mine, and she never would be, so I kept my curled fists firmly at my sides, and my anger in check.

“It's 6B, an upstairs apartment.” I had insisted on that—safer that way. I tossed her a set of keys, and she caught it with her good hand. “Let me grab some of your stuff, and we'll go up.”

It was painfully easy to grab her small TV and one of her three bags. All that was left in my car was her air mattress and the other two bags she had stuffed with clothes, which I could come back down for. That's all she owned. All she had. And yet she kept on smiling. Kept on fighting. If she wouldn't have killed me, I'd have gone out and bought her a bunch of furniture, too, but I'd pushed my luck with this place and her job—and we both knew it.

Anything else, and she'd finish me off.

“Oh my God.” She followed me, her enthusiastic smile never fading as she clapped her hands together under her chin. “I can't wait to see the inside. I bet it has carpet. Like, wall-to-wall carpet, instead of mismatched patches you buy at the store when it's on clearance.”

I swallowed hard, the pain at her excitement trying to choke me. “It does. I saw the sample apartment. It's beige carpet.”

She did a little hop and laughed. “Awesome. I love beige!”

Her excitement at having her own place for the first time in her life, despite the guilt I felt over the fact that it had taken me this long to give it to her, made it impossible for me not to smile back at her. “Me, too.”

She stopped at her doorstep and slid the key into the lock. She had her own entrance, all the apartments did, so she wouldn't have to share with anyone. She was the only one with her key. No hallways. No creepy neighbors. Just her.

Taking a deep breath, she paused and seemed to almost be cherishing the moment. Then she pushed it open and walked inside, flicking the light on. I followed her inside, climbing the stairs behind her.

When we got to the top, she inhaled, and held it in.

It was a small apartment. Tiny, really. The whole living room was the size of the downstairs bathroom in Father John's house. That room led into a kitchen with three cabinets, a fridge, a stove, and a dishwasher. To the left was the bathroom, and beside that, a small closet for the stacked washer and dryer. At the end of the hallway was her bedroom, which I would never step foot in, except to inflate her mattress for her.

She went through each room, running her fingers over the white walls. When she reached the bedroom, she opened the door and covered her mouth. Turning to me, she had tears in her eyes for the first time in I don't know how long. They didn't fall, but they made her blue eyes shine, and appear even bluer.

The last time I'd seen her cry had been a few weeks after Mikey's funeral. We couldn't afford a headstone, so we'd cremated him instead. She'd cried as we spread his ashes under a small apple tree we'd planted. It was much bigger now, and it bloomed the brightest of all the trees. We visited it once a year on the anniversary of Mikey's death, together, holding hands. I never wanted to let go.

“I…I love it,” she whispered, blinking away the moisture. “Thank you, Thorn.
Thank you
.”

Her tears awoke something in me that I had been trying to ignore for most of my adult life. The urge to pull her into my arms and hug her, and never let go. An urge I denied for the millionth time. “I'll inflate your bed and set up your TV before heading out so you can settle in. The electric is included in the rent, so you only need to worry about cable and phone service. I could set it up for you, but—”

She pointed a finger at me. “Don't you dare.”

“—but you'll yell at me,” I finished drily.

“Damn right I will.” She frowned at me. “I'll get there when I get there. I'm happy to be here. In this apartment. It's enough. It's more than enough.”

I didn't say anything.

Just waited, because I had a feeling she wasn't finished.

“I'm serious.” She took a deep, uneven breath. She looked at me with so much love in her eyes that it physically hurt to look back at her, to deny what she made me feel, deep inside my heart. “I will never forget this, Thorn.”

Yeah. Me, either. No matter how far away my future parish might be, or how many people I met in my life, she would always be there. In my mind. Looking at me with warm blue eyes, soft red lips, love, and acceptance. And I would always remember that I had walked away from all that to become a priest.

Ignoring the pain trying to rip me in half, I went down the stairs and back to my car, carried up the rest of her belongings, and inflated her mattress. After helping her put the sheets on, I walked back up the stairs with grocery bags in my arms, setting them on the small countertop in the kitchen.

It was time for me to go.

Still, I stood there in her living room, unable to say the words that would separate us. These past few days with her had been magical. I'd found a part of myself I'd thought was dead, that
should
have been dead, and for the first time since Mikey died—hell, for the first time
ever
—I'd been happy.

She came up to me, smiling. “I think I'm all good now. You wrote down the address for my job, right?”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat and set down the last of the food we'd picked up on the way here. She'd tried to stop me from buying a few things for her, but I hadn't listened. She needed
something
to eat until she got her first paycheck. “I'll pick you up at eight?”

“I can take the L.”

“No.” I frowned. “Let me drive you the first day. Help you get settled in. And then…”

She nodded once, wrapping her arm around herself and locking her hand on her upper arm, just like she always did when she was nervous. “All right. See you tomorrow, bright and early?”