The Aftermath (The Hurricane, #2)(77)
“Fuck me,” I whispered, making her smile.
“Are you sure it looks okay?” she asked nervously. She stood in the doorway wearing a short, body hugging black dress and black stiletto heels. She looked like every wet dream I’d ever had. When she turned around to show me that the dress was backless, my jaw hit the floor.
“O’Connell, say something!” she complained, rubbing her hands anxiously down her dress. I was speechless, willing my brain to put together words to form a sentence.
“You look amazing.” It was the f*cking lamest thing I could ever had said, and it didn’t do any justice to the breathtaking, heart-stopping way she affected me, but it was enough to make her smile.
“I know it’s not really me, but this is Las Vegas, and Nikki and Katrina have been nagging at me to try clothes that are less conservative,” she told me by way of explanation. Trying to use my words only ever made me seem like a f*cking moron so I crossed the room, grabbed the nape of her neck and, with one kiss, showed her exactly how I felt.
For one rare and magical evening, we both got to act our age. The hotel party was epic, and I don’t know how the guys organized it, but everyone we knew, including the Southside guys, were there, together with a load of people that we didn’t know. We danced and drank for most of the night, and then I got to fall into bed and get hot and naked with my wife.
When Em woke me up at noon the next day, I felt like I’d only been asleep for five minutes. My head was pounding, and I was pretty sure that I was paralyzed from the neck down. I tried moving my arm and cried out like a little f*cking girl when the seized-up muscle started to spasm. Not only did I have the hangover from hell, I’d missed my ice bath and was paying for it dearly.
“Come on,” Em told me as she helped me up, “I’ve run you a warm bath.” It did help but I still felt like shit when we reached the lobby. The guys were already waiting, and with most of us decked out in mirrored aviators to protect our fragile eyes from the sun, it looked like a casting call for Top Gun. Not a word was said as we took a taxi to Odell’s diner. When we arrived, we all shuffled into a booth and waited in hungover silence for a waitress.
“Have you ever seen a more sorry lot in all your life, Danny?” Father Pat asked as he grinned at us all.
“They’re feeling a bit delicate today,” Em told him. I didn’t need to ask why Em wasn’t suffering. She’d only had a few drinks last night, still feeling uncomfortable about losing control in public, even with Frank dead. Old habits die hard, I guessed. Although we didn’t say a lot, the food really helped, and we demolished our meals in no time, feeling a bit more human after.
“Can you pass the sugar, please?” Earnshaw asked Tommy, who pushed the bowl toward him. I watched, mesmerized, as he loaded up his coffee with sugar after sugar. When he’d finally made it to the party, he had a grin from ear to ear. Despite the late start, I still think he partied harder than all of us. We’d talk properly when we were back home but he’d told me last night that there was some pretty exciting stuff on the horizon.
“Are you going back to the hotel after this?” Danny asked us.
“No. We’ve got something to do first. We’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at seven o’clock,” Kier told him. Danny didn’t ask what we had planned. It might have been because he knew better, but more than likely he just didn’t give a shit.
“What do you have planned?” Em asked me.
“Leon and the Southside guys are taking us all out for dinner tonight and showing us some of Vegas. This afternoon we’ve got something to do though.” She found out what two hours later when I ushered her into the door of the tattoo shop Leon had recommended. We’d all agreed, Earnshaw included, that if we won the fight we were getting tattooed. Everyone got to pick what they wanted but I wouldn’t let Em see mine until it was done. She ran her fingers reverently over the raised script across my ribs.
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
—FDR
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, as she read it. I pulled her in for a quick kiss, knowing exactly what she was thinking. We had two more blissful days of doing tourist shit in Vegas before we had to fly home, and I was relieved that we managed to get Em a seat on the same flight. It was like a mini-honeymoon, only I’d been beaten up and we had five chaperones. None of that mattered though. Having her there with me, when she should have been half a world away, was a gift.
We wore our stupid grins for the whole flight. Everything still hurt, and I’d heard the weather back home was shite, so the only thing I planned on doing was getting back to the flat and falling into bed with my girl, at least until Christmas.
We had no idea how many paparazzi would be waiting for us at the airport. Apparently my ugly mug made for a good story. I barged through them without so much as a smile, making Earnshaw roll his eyes. Fuck it. I was on the grid now. Ireland’s bad boy of boxing.
The papers would no doubt dredge up details of my tragic upbringing and Em’s horrific past, but as long as Em was good, I didn’t give a shite. If everything we’d endured up to this point was necessary to bring us to where we were now, to the man I was today, then I’d still do it all over again.
Life isn’t about settling for what you have and making the best of it. It’s about getting back up when everyone else around you is counting you out, and fighting for what you want. As I walked out into the cold winter’s night, surrounded by my family and with my wife’s hand in my own, I knew exactly what was worth the fight.