Lust Is the Thorn (7 page)

There was no point.

He might think he could wave a magic wand and make things better for me, but he couldn't. I'd tried to get more reliable jobs. Ones that paid more than a couple of bucks an hour plus tips. They all required a college degree, when all I had was a GED. Mom and Dad hadn't been big on schooling, so I'd gotten that piece of paper on my own.

My dream was to go to college. To get a degree and a real job. Not that I could afford a college education when I could barely afford food and housing…but I would do it.

Some way. Somehow.

No matter how many times I got beaten down or broken, I would get a good life for myself. I'd fight for it, tooth and nail, until I finally succeeded. And I would never take it for granted like everyone else seemed to.

“Speaking of which…” He slid a plate toward me, and I caught it automatically. “Eat. You need food to go with that Percocet you took.”

I glanced down. The plate had a sandwich on it, sliced diagonally, just the way I like it. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” he said, still not lifting his head.

“So where will you go?” I asked, picking up my sandwich—the piece without the top crust. I always saved that for last because it was the best part.

“What do you mean?” He closed the mayo, grabbed the cheese and knife he'd been using, and headed for the fridge. “Where will I go when?”

“When you take your vows?” I said, taking a big bite of my sandwich. “Will you stay local to this part of Chicago?”

“I don't—”

Closing my eyes, I chewed and groaned out loud. It might just be a cheese sandwich, and I might not have eaten since last night when they gave me crackers in the ER, but this was the best damn cheese sandwich I'd ever had. He had a way with the ratio of mayo to cheese to bread that made it an art form. “
Oh my God
. This is so good.” I took another bite, groaning even louder. I couldn't help it.
It was so fucking good
.

Something hit the floor and clanged.

I jerked my eyes open.

His neck was corded, his fists were curled, and his stare was so hot it was a miracle he didn't spontaneously combust and set this whole fancy house and me on fire. The second he saw my lips part, he knelt and picked up the knife he'd dropped with a trembling hand, showing me his back. “Sorry. It slipped out of my grip.”

I swallowed the little bit of bread I still had in my mouth, but my throat was bone dry, so it got stuck halfway down. For a second, I thought this might be the way I went out—with a piece of cheese sandwich lodged in my throat. I covered my mouth and finally succeeded in swallowing it. When I could speak, I croaked, “That happens to me all the time, too. I'm so clumsy sometimes.”

But we both knew it wasn't true.

Gallaghers aren't clumsy.

He put the knife in the sink, still not facing me. By the time he turned back around, he seemed…resigned. Resigned to what, I wasn't sure. “If I could get you out of Englewood, would you go?”

I set my sandwich down, my pulse racing. “How would you do that? Take me with you when you move to wherever the church sends you?”

“No.” He frowned. “I can't do that. I can't have a woman living with me. Especially not— I mean, I just can't.”

Especially not you
. Or more specifically what he wouldn't say, which was
especially not a gutter rat like you
. “You never answered my question.”

“That's because I'm asking you one.”

“I asked first,” I said, frowning.

“Yeah, okay.” He dragged a hand through his hair, his entire body giving away his agitation and frustration no matter how calm he tried to appear. “Which question?”

I leaned forward. “Where will you go when you take your vows?”

Dropping his hand to his side, he settled on the stool across from me, scooting it back a bit. Well out of arm's reach. “
If
I take my vows. I told you, I'm still waiting for my sign.”

“You're gonna do it,” I said stubbornly. Picking up my sandwich, I pointed it at him. “If you don't, I'll kick your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a week. And then I'll do it again, and again, till you get your head on straight.”

He choked on a laugh and picked up his own sandwich. Awkwardness? Avoided. “I'd like to see you try, little Gallagher.”

That's what all the teachers back home had called me. They hadn't bothered to learn my name, because I was Mikey's little sister, so they'd all assumed I was trouble before I even walked into the room. “Don't underestimate me. I'm tougher than I look.” I took a big bite of my sandwich and chewed slowly, eyeing him the whole time. “I was taught well.”

Shaking his head, he smiled sadly. “I know that. Always have.”

“Glad to hear it.” I finished off the last bite of the first half of my sandwich and swallowed hard. “Now answer my question.”

He chewed quickly, then said, “I'm not sure. There were whispers of uptown Chicago.” He tugged on his collar. “Or…maybe a suburb about an hour and a half from here. But if I went there, then I could still visit sometimes.”

That's so far away.
Too far away
. “Wow. Suburbs, huh?”

“Yeah.” He locked eyes with me. “I'd still see you.”

No. He wouldn't. I knew how life works, and how friends drift apart when distance is inserted between them. He'd be too busy. I'd move on, and so would he. But I wouldn't burst his bubble if he chose to float in it. I whistled through my teeth, ignoring his assurances. “I think I would die of boredom all the way out there. There's no nightlife. Nothing fun to do.
You
would probably love it, though.”

He frowned. “What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm boring?”

“No. But I think you're not going to be clubbing or roaming bars looking for your next chick as a priest.” I raised my brows. “Am I wrong?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course not.”

“Therefore, it would be good for you.”

“I guess,” he muttered, frowning at his sandwich again. He'd only taken two small bites, and I was on my second half. “Your turn.”

“For what?”

“Answer my question.” He leaned in, examining me as if he was seeking out all my thoughts and secrets. “If you had a way out, would you take it?”

“Of course. I'm not stupid.” I turned away from him. “But I don't, and I won't. Not right now, anyway. So I've adjusted my expectations.”

“You shouldn't have to,” he said, his tone hard.

“Yeah, well, news flash: not all people get to live out their dreams. Some of us just have to make do with what we can get, or take, or steal, and that's fine.” I held on to the edge of the granite counter that probably cost more than I made all yearlong. “But I stopped stealing years ago, so now I'm just fighting for my fair share. I'll be fine with living in Englewood, as long as it's on my terms. I can work with that. That's a reasonable dream.”

He took a deep breath, held it in, and released it in a slow, exaggerated breath. “I think you missed the memo—dreams aren't supposed to be realistic or reasonable. They're supposed to be
dreams
.”

“I didn't miss the memo. I grew up and realized I wasn't a fairy-tale princess, and I wasn't going to live happily ever after with some prince who will never hurt me. I realized that more than likely, I would live kind-of-happily-for-now—with or without a guy, because who the hell says a girl needs a guy to be happy—and that's okay.”

Growling, he set his sandwich down. “Being hungry, having no one to help you, is not
okay
. Having no one there to save you is not okay, either. But that ends now. I want to help you by—”

“Hold up.” I tossed my food onto the plate angrily. “You've got it in your head that I'm this helpless woman who needs saving. A damsel in distress who can't take care of herself, who needs a big strong guy to come save me, or something equally as nauseating as that. Well, I'm
not
. I don't need saving, and if I do? I can damn well save myself, thank you very much. I don't need a man to do it for me. And I don't need you and your savior complex crashing into my life out of some sort of misplaced sense of duty to my dead brother.”

“This isn't about duty, Rose.” He stood, slammed his hands on the counter, and stared me down, breathing heavily. “I'm not just some
man
. I'm all you've got, and you're all I've got, and I care about you more than you'd ever be able to comprehend. I'll be damned if I'll stand by idly while you suffer. I'd sooner put myself up on a cross and crucify myself than watch you suffer for
one more fucking second
.”

I sucked in a deep breath and gaped at him because…

For the first time in my life…

I was struck speechless.

Well,
great
. I hadn't meant to admit all that, especially in quite that way. Yeah, she meant a lot to me. And yeah, I wasn't too dumb to recognize the feeling inside of me, ripping me in half, for what it was. I
loved
her. But it didn't really change anything between us, that knowledge. Despite the earlier fiasco in the bath, when I had lost all sense of reason and control and let the beast inside of me take over until I didn't even recognize myself or my actions anymore, I couldn't—
wouldn't
—have her.

In the bath, I'd forgotten all that. Forgotten all my promises and plans, and something had happened that had changed me in an instant. It had made me something else. Someone else. Someone I didn't even know anymore.

And I didn't want to.

No matter how beautiful she was, or how badly I ached to veer from my established path, I couldn't take a detour. I was man enough, mortal enough, to admit that Rose was my weakness. Now I had to be man enough to overcome that weakness, too. When Mikey died, I had sworn I would change my life for the better. To never get high again. To never hurt someone like I'd hurt him. It had been my last promise to a dying man, and I refused to break that promise. I'd joined the seminary because it was the only way I stood a chance of being forgiven by God, Rose, and Mikey. The only way I could find peace—and I
had
found it. I just hadn't found absolution. Not yet.

I'd fought hard to get where I was, to put my past behind me, and I couldn't forget it all now because I'd realized I was in love with Rose Gallagher. If anything, that love should push me forward even harder. Love is fleeting. Love dies. Love breaks hearts. Destroys
lives
. Look what it had done to my mother. She'd been a loyal wife. She'd loved my father with all her heart and soul.

She'd given him everything she had to give.

And then he'd taken even more.

When he left us, she'd stopped reading the Bible to me at night. She'd taken down every cross, taken every Mother Mary off the tables, and needles with heroin lay scattered in their places instead. She'd taken all the devotion she'd given to my father, and to God, and instead devoted herself to ruining her life….

And mine.

But even after years of watching her sleep with men for money or a quick high, nothing erased the mother she'd been before Dad left. The mother she'd been when we prayed the rosary before she tucked me in at night. And after Mikey's death, when I'd been trying to decide between ending my pathetic life or getting clean, I'd found myself going back to those roots by kneeling at the altar of Saint Paul's Roman Catholic Church, tears running down my face.

Father John had found me there, and he'd listened to my story before taking me under his wing. He'd literally
saved
my
life
. So I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing the same thing for people like me. I wanted to make a difference in this world. Going to the seminary to become a priest like Father John was the best way I could think of to accomplish those goals. I wouldn't fail. I wouldn't go back to being the boy I'd been.

I wouldn't be like my mother.

Clearing my throat, I eyed Rose nervously. She'd been quiet for two full minutes. That had to be a record of some sort. I sat back down. “Excuse my outburst. I shouldn't have said that to you.”

Still, she remained silent. After a long pause, she finally asked, “Which part shouldn't you have said? The curse, or the part about caring for me a lot?”

Squaring my jaw, I pushed back on my stool. “Both.”

“Why?” She reached out and tapped my chin. “Worried I'll think you're saying you're in love with me, and can't live without me, and must have me now?”

Leave it to Rose to hit the nail on the head. And leave it to her not to realize how close to the truth she was. I stared at her, not speaking.

“Don't flatter yourself,” she muttered, picking up her sandwich again. “Even if you weren't becoming a priest, we both know we would never be together.”

She was right. She was absolutely right. She was off-limits to me for more reasons than one. I should leave it alone, and not poke the bear. But still—“Why not?”

Blinking, she swallowed and laughed. “Because you'll always look at me like I'm Mikey's little sister, maybe even yours, and nothing will change that. Not even that bath, and what you saw. If anything, it only drove it home more, judging from the way you reacted directly after.”

The last thing I saw her as was my little sister, but if she thought that I did, maybe it would help me keep my hands off her. Maybe having her think I didn't want her would put an extra barrier between the two of us, since I obviously needed one. “When I first met you, you still wore pigtails in your hair and had a snotty nose. You were
literally
a snotty-nosed brat.”

Quickly, she lowered her head, but I didn't miss the disappointment in her expression. “I'm still a brat, I just know how to blow my own nose now. Baby steps.”

I laughed. She was always good with a quick comeback, and it's something I appreciated about her. “Glad to hear it.”

“But that doesn't mean I need your help.” Rose pointed a finger at me. “I'm a fighter, not a crying chick in a tower. Don't think one crappy night is going to change that. Change
me
.”

I held my hands up in surrender. “I'm not trying to insinuate you can't take care of yourself. You're stronger than anyone else I know, myself included. You were an amazing girl, and now you're an even more incredible woman. I'm not trying to save you because I think you're weak, I'm trying to
help
you because I
care
. I don't want to see you get hurt again, like you did last night. I want to be there for you.”

She froze, staring down at her sandwich, and blinked.

If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn she blinked away tears. If she'd cried, I would have lost it. Rose never lost herself in tears, so if she cried…it would be because someone had broken her, and I would hunt down that man every second of every day and kill him with my bare hands. In cold blood. It would be worth going to hell for.

She finished off her sandwich and stood without another word.

I stood, too. “Rose, there's something—”

“I'm going to go take a nap,” she blurted out, gesturing for me to sit back down. “I'm tired, and, well, I don't have anything to do, so I figured I could take advantage of peace and quiet for once. I never get a chance to nap like this.”

My phone lit up with a text I'd been waiting for. Nodding, I flipped it over so she couldn't read it and grabbed her plate before she could, sliding it under mine. “Good. Enjoy it. I'm going to run a quick errand, but I'll be here when you wake up. And then we'll talk some more.”

“Okay.” She started for the door, but paused. “Thorn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for bringing me here. For always worrying about me, even when no one else does. For trying to help me, even when I tell you to stop.” She took a deep breath. “When you take those vows, you'll make a great priest. One Mikey would have been very proud of, even though he once joked that you would burst into flames if you stepped foot on holy ground…and I thought it was true.”

I laughed. “It probably was, at the time.”

“Yeah.” She gave me a smile. It was, hands down, the saddest smile I'd ever seen. “No matter what happens after this—where you go, or where I go—I'll always care about you, too. More than I've ever cared about anyone else, besides him. I…I love you, and I'm not afraid to admit it out loud.”

And then she just walked away.

Three hours later, I was in the kitchen cooking baked ziti, and I hadn't heard a peep from Rose since she'd told me she loved me…and left. I couldn't stop wondering what she'd meant by those three words that
no one
had ever said to me before. I mean, I
knew
what she'd meant. I'm not an idiot. She wasn't saying it in the family sense. She meant it in that all encompassing, give-my-life-to-you, I-can't-live-without-you sense. The type of love I could never accept from her.

Maybe I was wrong, though.

After all, I didn't really know what love was, or what it meant, or how it changed a person, if at all. I only knew the ways it changed them for the worse. I'd seen it in my mother. Watched her fall apart, piece by piece, till there was no hope of ever putting her back together again. But could love be a good thing, too? Was I wrong to assume it was a weapon that one person used against another person when they walked away?

It was so easy to do.

To leave.

Staying was the hard part.

Loving someone for life was next to impossible. I couldn't name one couple besides the Gallaghers who had been married to each other their whole lives, and they weren't a shining example of normalcy. Neither one was faithful to the other after a few shots of whiskey or tequila.

So I didn't know what to do with those three little words, and I wouldn't be saying them back, even if I might love her, too…whatever that meant.
Love
. Such a tepid word, thrown around like it means nothing.

But no one had ever said they loved me.

Not until now.

My mother certainly had never spoken those words to me because she
hadn't
loved me. If she had, she never would have wasted her life—and mine—because Dad walked away. She would have remembered she still had one man in her life who needed her.

She would have remembered
me
.

If she'd loved me, she never would've hooked for money, and she never would have offered me to her pimp as collateral for heroin. And when I'd refused to perform the horrible things she'd asked me to do, she never would have kicked me out.

Not if she
loved
me.

That had all gone down a couple of days before I turned eighteen, and it was also the night I'd started reading the Bible again. I'd run to the Gallagher house, and after Mikey fell asleep, I pulled my tattered old copy out of the small bag I'd packed. Around 3 a.m., I left his room and sat on the couch for better light, reading through passages while trying to make sense of my messed-up life.

Rose was hardly more than a kid back then, but she'd come down and seen me. After she noticed what I was reading, even though I tried to hide it, she nodded once, sat beside me with her feet tucked under her, picked up her book, and didn't speak. Just kept me company as I searched for answers. She was good at that. At knowing when to just be there, and when to actually talk. We'd always had that connection, even when she was nothing more than a girl, and I was already a man. She just…knew.

Maybe
that's
what love was.

Knowing when to be quiet, and when to speak.

As much as I trusted Rose, I'd seen firsthand what love does to a person. It isn't a gift to be bestowed upon your “soul mate.” It is a weapon of mass destruction. And I refused to use that against her.

The church was my safest bet, and hers. It was what had saved my life, and what would continue to save my life, if only I let it.

Her door opened upstairs, and she came down the stairs. I rolled my shoulders and shook my thoughts off, making sure to keep my face as neutral as possible—which probably wasn't very neutral at all. Something inside of her called to something deep inside of me, and it was getting a lot harder to ignore with each passing moment I spent with her. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Afternoon, you mean?” She walked into the kitchen, sniffing. Her hair was down, and was a little smoother, as if she had brushed it, and her cheeks were still rosy with sleep. “Okay, this time something
really
smells good. What is it?”

“Just your favorite meal ever.” I tossed the dish towel I'd been wiping my hands with on the counter, and leaned against it next to the refrigerator. “Baked ziti and apple pie.”

She moaned and pressed a hand to her stomach. “You're spoiling me to death. When did you learn to cook?”

Try as I might, I couldn't look away from that hand, or stop myself from remembering what it had done in that bath just a little bit lower on her body. I'd showered after she left the room earlier, and even gone to confession while she napped, but I swore I could still smell her all over me.
Feel
her.

“It's a side class on campus. Figured since I'm not going to be getting married and sharing kitchen duties equally with a wife, cooking is kind of all on my shoulders, so it was best to learn how. Turns out, I'm pretty good at it.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” she said, coming around the island and opening the fridge. “But isn't pride a sin?”

“It's not pride. It's the truth. I even won an award.”

I leaned against the cabinets and crossed my arms, watching as she eyed the wine selection. I'd put some white in the fridge, and left a few bottles of red on the counter. In all our Starbucks dates, I'd never asked her which wine she preferred.

She laughed. “They have cooking competitions on campus?” She leaned into the fridge, bending just slightly and playing with her lip ring. Her nose stud twinkled in the light coming out of the fridge. Of their own accord, my eyes dipped lower and zeroed in on her butt. She wore a pair of baggy sweats, but man, she wore them well.

I forced my attention off her butt and back to her face just in time for her to turn around and face me. “Yeah. I came in first.”

“Wow.” She pursed her lips. “I definitely think you'd do well in the suburbs if you're already rocking cooking contests. I bet your chili would win any cook-off.”

“You wouldn't know, since you don't eat meat.”

She held the door open with her hip and pulled out a bottle of Moscato wine. “You can make it with meatless meat.”