Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(77)

“God damn leeches,” Seamus mutters.

By the way a reporter lunges our way, I know he’s not talking about the fighters. Seamus reaches for my hand, tucking me against him and shielding me as more press scrambles forward.

“Here with us is one of Finn ‘the Fury’ O’Brien’s brothers . . .” one reporter begins.

“Mr. O’Brien, is it true your bother is suffering some kind of emotional breakdown . . .”

I don’t know Seamus as well as the other O’Briens. But as his body grows rigid against me, I know it’s taking everything he has not to yank one of the cameras being rammed in our faces and smash it over someone’s skull.

“Let us in,” Seamus yells when we reach the concrete steps.

The fighters part just enough to allow me and Seamus to squeeze through, sealing their makeshift fortress of bodies the second we pass. As soon as the heavy door slams behind us, Seamus takes my hand and drags me down the hall running. I clutch my purse to keep it from smacking against my hip as we sprint past more fighters leaning against the white cinderblock walls.

As we round the corner, I see Declan, Finn’s older brother and acting District Attorney, standing beside Curran. Their expressions tighten as they speak to a swarm of security guards and officials gathered outside the locker room.

Declan straightens when he sees me, a flicker of what I interpret is relief flashing across his features. “I assure you he’s fine, and that we’ll be leaving the premises shortly,” he tells the crowd.

My eyes round at his words, and at the way Curran’s jaw squares when he spots me. They’re counting on me to get Finn out of here―to talk to him, calm him, or something. But their expression are so aggrieved, I’m not certain I’ll be enough. I only know, I have to try.

Despite my determination, I don’t think I’m prepared for what I see next. My steps feel heavy as Seamus leads me into the locker room. Curran and Declan follow, or at least I think it’s them. I don’t see them as much as sense them behind me.

My focus stays ahead, toward the people gathered along the open area. Wren waits beside Angus. Both glance over their shoulders as I near, and Seamus releases my hand. Wren smiles softly when she sees me, the fear riddling her beautiful face easing slightly. Angus is eerily quiet, the sadness darkening his round face making him resemble a man further into his years, and one who’s used to hardship.

I want to hug them both. But I’m not here for them, not now. So I inch closer, a chill finding its way down my spine when I see Killian.

On the surface, anger appears to dominate his physique. Tack on his large and imposing size and I should only sense his menace. Yet all I feel is a helplessness so heavy, it cloaks his aura like a winter blanket.

Sofia stands loyally beside him, offering her strength and comfort despite the tears looming in her eyes. She lifts her hand, beckoning me closer. I reach out to her, clasping it hard when my stare travels ahead.

Finn is standing with his head pressed against his arm, leaning heavily against the wall. Pieces of broken wood and protective gear litter the tile floor. His hands are soaked with blood, and the skin over his knuckles shredded down to the bone. But it’s his profound breaths and slumped shoulders that give me a glimpse of the pain within.

And it’s awful.

And heartbreaking.

And everything he doesn’t deserve to feel.

“Finn,” Sofia says, leading me forward. “Sol is here.”

The overwhelming emotion claiming the air is fear: fear that Finn is somewhere he can’t recover from, and that they’ve lost the brother they so adore. But as much as I’m scared, too, I know he’s not gone. He’s strong, and brave, and capable. He always has been . . .

So as I approach, there’s no hesitation. All that remains is the love I feel for him. My hand finds his shoulder. “Hi, baby,” I whisper.

My tone is so soft, I’m not quite sure he hears me until he lifts his head. “Are you really here?” he asks, his tone as ragged as his breathing.

“Yes, I’m here with you,” I answer, my voice breaking.

His face, swollen from his fight scrunches tight. “I’m f*cked up,” he says, his deep timbre pained. “I’m really f*cked up.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get better.” I swallow the aching lump that builds. “Nor does it keep me from loving you.” When he doesn’t respond, I inch closer, losing the space that remains between us. “Let me help you, okay? Let me love you like you need me to.” He doesn’t move, his still form ravishing what remains of my hope. “Finn . . . please let me.”

Again, his face scrunches, revealing the depths of his torment. He lowers himself to his knees, circling my waist and pulling me to him. I curl around him, clutching his head as he releases his anguish, and allowing myself to release my own.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I’m so damn sorry . . .”





CHAPTER 30


Finn



Ever have a psychological breakdown? If you haven’t let me be the first to tell you they suck. A lot of what happened when I made it back to the changing area is still blocked from my mind. I remember some things: my hands swelling and the skin tearing open as I bust shit up. And lashing out like a crazed beast when anyone neared me.