The Aftermath (The Hurricane, #2)(34)

Everything that was going down now terrified me and pissed me off in equal measure. Here in this plastic chair I might as well have been back in the changing room at the fight, unable to process any of this shit. The only thing inside stronger than hate and rage was my love for Em and the overwhelming and fundamental need to protect her. So instead of beating the crap out of someone, I sat here in this shitty plastic chair watching the clock tick by painfully slowly. Waiting for my wife. I ran through everything Father Pat had told me about how to control my temper. The things he taught me didn’t change who I was or what I felt but they helped me pretend to be a better man, so by the time the door in front of me opened, I was ready to deal with whatever condition I found Em in on the other side. Her face was a mess, and it looked like she’d spent the whole hour crying. She blew her nose loudly into her tissue as she walked out followed by her counselor. The second I saw her, she was in my arms, her face buried in my chest.

“You must be Cormac. I’m Nora,” she said to me smiling warmly. She was an older lady, maybe me ma’s age, only unlike me ma, she wore very little makeup and had a kindly look about her.

“Nice to meet you,” I told her without offering her my hand. They were wrapped firmly around my girl and weren’t going anywhere.

“Will you be bringing her back on Wednesday?”

“As long as she wants to come, I’ll be here,” I told her.

“Well, I’ll see you both then. Have a safe journey home.”

“Thank you, for everything,” Em told her, twisting in my arms.

“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile.

“See you soon.” I tucked Em into my side and held her tightly all the way down the stairs.

“How was it?” I asked.

“Brutal, like I expected,” she admitted. “But good too. Cathartic, I think. I thought it would hurt to talk about it, and it did, but it also felt like I was taking some of the power away from him by telling someone what he was really like.”

I swallowed hard and squeezed her arm in support as she blew her nose again. I was right about it being hard to hear. Em was dealing a lot better than I was. We walked outside, and I automatically scanned the road for a taxi. There was no way I was letting her get on a bus like this. When Em elbowed me, I realized I didn’t need to bother. Across the road from us, Liam and Kieran leaned against Liam’s truck chatting. We hurried across the road to meet them.

“What are you doing here?” Em asked, throwing herself in Kieran’s arms, then Liam’s for a hug. I knew exactly why they were here. Giving Kieran a fist bump and back slap, I spoke quietly to him while Em spoke to Liam.

“Thanks, Kier.”

“No problem, Con. There’s no way we were letting you make your own way home after this. I’m on strict instructions to update Danny once we get you home as well. So how’s she doing?”

“You know how she is. On the outside, she’s amazing but sleep tonight’s gonna be f*cking brutal.”

“Anything we can do?” he asked.

“I wish there was, but I’ve got no f*cking clue what I’m doing. I guess I’ve just gotta be here for her while she processes everything.”

“No man. I meant is there anything I can do for you? You need to go a few rounds in the morning, let off some steam?”

“I could use a hug,” I told him straight-faced. Anyone else and they’d have told to f*ck off, and even though I really was taking the piss, Kier hugged me.

*



Listening to my girl sobbing in her sleep in the dead of night, was f*cking heartbreaking. Last week I came home to find her crying over a chick flick about some guy who couldn’t find a way to tell his girl that he loved her until he’d nearly lost her. I didn’t get it. If you love someone, you don’t sit there f*cking moaning about it. You get your arse up and make her see you’re the only man for her. Or kidnap her until she sees sense. If you don’t love something enough to fight for it, you don’t really love it at all. Still Em had cried like it was the end of the world. A big hug, cup of tea, and a bar of chocolate, and she was all good. But this was not good. It was so f*cking far from good I didn’t know where to begin.

“No, no, no,” she moaned quietly into her pillow. Her body was curled up in the fetal position in the middle of the bed, her frowning face tortured in sleep.

“Mum, help me!” she cried into the dark. Lying on my back, my arms out at my sides, I tried to let her cries pass over me, not through me. My fists were clenched so tight I thought the knuckles would burst through the skin any minute. I hoped for it. The pain would give me something else to focus on.

“Mum, please help me, please, please.” That was it. I seriously couldn’t take this anymore. I tried to wake her up when she first had them but she’d start hyperventilating and it took me ages to calm her down. Her therapist told us that as long as the dreams weren’t chronic or violent, I should let her sleep. That is was her brain’s way of working though shit. Until recently, she hadn’t had one since we first met. It was like Frank got locked up, and bam, no more dreams. Some days now, she’d wake up and not remember she’d been dreaming. I learned not to bring it up after she’d kissed me good morning once and I’d asked how she slept after her nightmare. The look of pure joy drained out of her and what was left was fear.