Destroy Me - Ella Sheridan Page 0,69

like a chain around his neck, choking him, hurting him, refusing to let him live past it. He needed her like he’d never needed another woman, and he didn’t know how he was going to keep breathing when it was all said and done and he watched her walk away.

And no matter how much his mind told him not to put her in danger, his heart needed the chance to say goodbye. To be whole for just a little longer before half of it was torn out and left him behind.

“All right,” he said into the sweet pile of hair on top of her head. “Get packed.”

Lyse ripped herself away and rushed out the door, leaving two men staring from the hall, their accusing gazes telling him he’d just lost his mind. He stared right back. “I’ll make sure she’s safely away before Ferrina shows up.”

Deacon just shook his head. Mack glared a little longer, but Fionn could also see understanding in his eyes, however reluctant.

“We need to get packed too,” Mack finally said. “Any word from your friend on the Continent?”

“Yeah.” He moved to join the men in the hall. “He’ll be there.” Fionn never trusted anyone but his team, but in this case, the incentive for the man to show up was strong. “Let’s be moving out.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Siobhan cried when they left. The sight of the woman Lyse had come to care about hugging her son, face red with tears, had been like a kick to the gut. She wanted to promise that Fionn would come back safe, that everything would be fine, but she knew better than most that there were no guarantees. So she’d stood back and watched the two of them silently before getting in the car with Fionn and driving away.

That had been a half hour ago. Fionn hadn’t spoken since.

She felt like she was walking a tightrope, not sure if the next step, the next breath, would be the one sending her over a hundred-yard drop. But she wanted to take that step, to reach out to him in some way, however small. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she laid her palm carefully over Fionn’s fisted hand on the console between them.

He threw her a look. She was relieved to see it was one of surprise and not anger. Some men didn’t like their emotions acknowledged. Her foster father had been like that, but Fionn seemed okay with it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ for you to be sorry about, love.”

A literal melting sensation went through her when he called her that. How could one word have so much power over her?

“Not sorry as in ‘I did something wrong.’ Just”—she shrugged, tightening her grip on Fionn’s hand—“upset that something hurts you.”

Silence fell between them again. It stretched the limits of her nerves, her courage, but she refused to let it win. “I guess there are some things I need to say I’m sorry for, things I did wrong that need to be made right.” Things that, through all the sex and fighting and tenderness, they hadn’t brought up.

Like the bomb.

“I truly never meant for anyone to get hurt, Fionn.” Surely he believed that by now. She hoped so, but his silence was shredding every assurance the past couple of days had built in her. “I am…so sorry. I can’t even express how sorry.”

The smile on his face was small, but at least it was there. “I think you’re doing a fair job of it.”

“When I got the message…” God, could she really talk through this? “When I read it, understood what I was seeing, all I could think about was—”

“Keeping me safe,” he filled in.

“Yes.” She sneaked a peek at him from the corner of her eye. “How did you know that?”

Fionn shrugged. The gesture could be taken as good or bad, but it was only when his hand turned over and his fingers entwined with hers that she settled on good. Or at least okay.

“Deacon figured it out.” He glanced her way. This time the grin twisting his lips was full. Honest. A little self-deprecating. “He’s much more intelligent—and level-headed—than I am.”

He was, not that she’d agree out loud. Just the memory of Fionn’s face that first night in her apartment, the anger radiating from his body, sent a shiver of remembered fear down her spine. The man evoked more emotion from her, of every kind, than all the people in her life combined.

“Look,” he said, eyes on the road but fingers still tangled