Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(11)

“Yeah. It’s the only way to keep up with her big brother,” he answers.

Teo’s house is a huge classic colonial with beautiful wood floors and plaster walls. The kind of house that tells people you made it big with a hell of a lot of work. Lynnie lets go of Teo the minute she catches sight of her mama in the kitchen, her chubby little legs rushing her forward.

“Hi,” Evie sings, scooping her up, even though she has their son Mattie perched on her opposite hip.

“Ev. What are you doing?” Teo says, charging forward.

We place the food on the counter, but my attention stays on Teo, knowing something’s up.

Both kids leap into his arms the minute he reaches for them. Lynnie’s giddy, and kicking out her legs as if she wasn’t just with him. Mattie clutches his neck like he’s been gone forever.

“Babe,” Evie protests. “They always want you. Give me a moment to have some Mommy time.”

“You can have Mommy time on the floor. They’re too heavy for you now that―” The way he cuts himself off causes an immediate silence.

“Now that what?” Kill asks, grinning.

Teo smirks at Evie’s blush, his big muscles bulging as he hangs tight to his kids. “Evie’s pregnant again.”

The kitchen erupts in cheers, and while I join them in the congratulations, my attention doesn’t stay on Teo and Evie. It trails to Sol who’s standing in place with two giant bottles of soda in her arms. The way she doesn’t appear shocked by the baby news, I figured she’d heard earlier. But even though she’s smiling in Teo and Evie’s direction, her focus skips to me and stays there.

Cool.

She walks forward. I take a step back, way back, hoping she’ll follow. And she does, the hem of her thick white sweater skimming along her curves and brushing against the waist of her dark jeans. Damn, this woman’s fine.

“What are you doing here?” she asks when she reaches me, her bubbly voice soft compared to the loud chatter behind her.

I heard Teo and Evie were having a party. I got myself invited hoping you’d be here because I think you’re f*cking beautiful and I like your smile. That’s the whole truth, but I don’t share all of it. “I was hoping to see you, again,” I admit.

Sol was that one woman I managed to charm, but never had that chance to kiss. Call her a challenge, or call her something else. Either way, considering how her plump lips draw my focus, I still want that kiss.

She laughs, strands of her hair that escaped her ponytail skimming over her cheeks. But it’s not the blond highlights that make her eyes sparkle, it’s her. All her.

“Finn, this isn’t a good idea,” she begins.

“Why not? There’s food and everything.”

She averts her gaze to the side, trying to hide her smile, but doing a shitty job. “You know what I mean,” she says.

“You think I’m hitting on you―that I’m looking to hook up or cash in on that kiss that you still owe me?”

Her face jerks back to face me. “You’re not?”

“Of course I am. I’m just letting you know you’re right.”

She tosses her head back laughing, exposing a lovely neck I wouldn’t mind nibbling on. She knocks me playfully in the shoulder. “Come on, help me carry some of these things downstairs.”

My eyes hone in on her ass as she walks ahead of me and toward a closed door. “Is that a no to the kiss?”

She pauses in the middle of picking up the bottles of soda she set down on the marble counter, glancing at me in that sad way of hers. “Trust me when I say there are plenty of other women who’d like all these kisses you’re offering.”

“That’s true,” I agree, lifting the bottles from her hand and making her giggle.

Kill glances at me as she lifts a tray of food from the counter. The way he eyes me tells he’s figured out why I wanted to tag along. I’m not sure how he feels about that, seeing how Sol and his wife are cousins. But I can probably guess he’s not too excited.

My family thinks I’m a ticking time bomb. As much as I know they’re right, and as much as I want to spare them when I blow― it pisses me off that this is what I’ve become. Despite the hard muscles and fighting skills I possess, there are times I feel so God damn weak―times where I lay in bed hoping the next breath I take won’t come.

Do I want to kill myself? Sometimes. But given I was raised strict Catholic―despite the fact I’m one shitty Catholic―the belief I’ll burn in hell for eternity is ingrained in me, halting me in place before I take that next step―onto that path where I actually think about how and when. Maybe that’s a good thing. But there are those moments where I wish I could just die―in a car wreck, a freak incident, even in a fight. Not a fight in the octagon, more like a fight in a bar. Me against some guy packing―who loses what remains of his shit and pulls the trigger.

Does it sound crazy? It does. But it spares me from being the one whose hand is on the gun, and maybe gives me a chance to find the peace I need and crave.

Life . . . is too damn sad sometimes, too exhausting, too hard.

“This smells so good,” Sol says, her high-heeled boots forcing her to take the wood steps slow.

“They’re stuffed peppers, I think,” I say, trying to put my head back in the moment so my words don’t sound so distant. “Sofia made a lot of food.”