Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk #3) - Samantha Young Page 0,107

door. The chain sounded, then the lock, and he opened the door wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, no belt, no shoes or socks. Oh, and he was holding a gun casually at his side.

“Expecting someone else?” I nodded at the gun.

I didn’t like guns.

My dad kept a gun in the house; Dermot and Michael both carried them for their jobs, so I was used to them.

I just didn’t like them.

He squinted at me, and I noted the dark circles under his eyes and the pale pallor of his usually olive-toned skin. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought food.” I pushed inside, taking in the modern, sleek surroundings. The apartment was open plan with a French window that led out onto a ground-floor balcony. Light spilled into the white room, showcasing the light gray, glossy kitchen cabinets and island along the back wall. Center of the room was the sitting area where Michael had a black leather couch, armchair, glass coffee table, matching glass TV cabinet, and a huge flat-screen TV. To my left, a doorway led to a narrow hall, which I presumed led to the bedroom and bathroom.

Like his place in Boston, it was devoid of the feminine touch.

His front door slammed shut, and I jumped, whirling around to face him. “Falafel?” I held up the takeout cartons.

“I already ate.” He looked and sounded impatient as he crossed the room to put his gun on the kitchen counter.

“I went to the station, and Jeff said you’d be here.” I felt nervous and awkward. Sighing, I put the cartons down on the coffee table and clasped my hands in front of me.

Michael dragged his eyes down my body and returned to my face. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”

I flushed, unprepared for a snippy Michael. “Should I go?”

He rubbed both hands over his face and groaned. “No.”

The need to reassure and comfort him superseded my uncertainty. I took a step toward him. “This isn’t your fault, Michael. Freddie is not your fault. He always was a creepy little fucker, and if he was capable of killing Stu, then he was always capable of killing Stu.”

Michael nodded, his dark eyes moving over my face. For a moment we stood in silence. When he eventually spoke, it wasn’t what I expected to hear. “I used to come home after seeing some terrible things, and Kiersten didn’t want to know.” The thought of him going home to a wife, as always, was an unbearable sting I tried to hide from him. “I didn’t want to give her the details—I wouldn’t do that to her—but I wanted to talk. Get rid of it somehow, you know. I attempted a couple of times, sliding into bed beside her, reaching for her. She’d push me away. And I’d lie there, looking at the ceiling, and I’d think about you.”

The air between us thickened. His confession hit my chest like a physical impact. “I’d lie there remembering all the times we sat in my car talking about everything. I’d tell you about my day at work, the good and the bad, and you’d listen. Really listen. And then you’d wrap your arms around my neck and kiss the bad right out of me.” Pain slashed across his expression. “I never resented you so much as those nights I’d lie next to my wife wishing she were you so you could kiss the bad right out of me.”

Tears flooded my eyes. Because I wished I’d been there too. So much. So much more than I could bear.

Michael took a hesitant step toward me. “If I asked you to lie with me right now—if I told you I wouldn’t read too much into it, what would you say?”

Without hesitation, I crossed the room and reached for his hand. His warm strength curled around mine, the calluses on his fingertips rubbing gently across the soft palm of my hand. Without a word, I let him lead me to his bedroom, and for one perfect moment, I silenced all my fears, all my worries, so I could do the thing I needed to do most.

Take care of Michael.

Michael knew how he was feeling wasn’t about Freddie Jackson. Yes, it was his job to find the dirty bastard, and he would. He was determined to. However, his need to find the guy had become wrapped up in all the ways he felt he was failing. With his family. With