The Aftermath (The Hurricane, #2)(8)
“Shit,” he mumbled, looking as devastated as I probably did.
“You told the police?” he asked.
“I took it down to the station yesterday. It’s being tested for fingerprints but unless they find any, there’s nothing to tie it to Frank. This shit’s got me worried, Danny. I can’t get her through this while he’s messing with her head. And where does it stop? Even when he goes down, we don’t know how long he’s gonna get and it’s clear he can still get to her from the inside. So how’s this gonna end?”
“It ends when you say it ends, son. Frank’s in prison and he’s gonna be there for a long time. He’ll keep messing with your head as long as you let him. Bring me or Kieran any suspicious mail and let us vet it. Don’t set up voicemail and tell Em not to answer any calls where she doesn’t recognize the number. Cut the cancer out of your lives and start living. Otherwise Frank wins. The best way to stick it to him is to lead a long and happy life with the woman you love.” This was Danny’s epic advice but he didn’t know what it was like to have failed someone you loved and having them hurt because of it. It would always be my sin to bear and I couldn’t f*ck up again.
“That’s easier said than done, Danny. I’m f*cking terrified of letting her down again,” I admitted.
“Son, fear lives in the dark. Drag it into the light and you’ll see there was never anything to be afraid of in the first place. You tell Em how you’re feeling?” he asked, frowning.
“No. She doesn’t need to know all the shit going through my head. It’s my job to take care of her. She needs to know that I’ve got this handled,” I said.
“Bollocks. She ain’t some wallflower than needs wrapping up in cotton wool. That girl had the brass balls to stand up and walk away from that fecker long before she had you behind her. I’m telling you straight that you keep bottling shit up like you have been and not talking to her about it and you’ll end up losing her. Holding on to this anger is gonna eat you alive. So I think it’s time we brought someone in to fix your noggin and while we’re at it, you need a manager.
“I don’t need a manager, Danny. I’ve got you, and I sure as shit don’t need some f*cking pansy-arsed head doctor,” I shouted at him.
Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he turned toward me, his face a picture of anger. “Don’t you f*ckin’ bark at me,” he yelled. “If I tell you we need something then we fecking need it.”
“Why can’t you manage me?” I asked, unhappy with all of this.
“What the f*ck do I know about managing? It’s a full-time job, and I’m out of my depth. I’m a trainer not a manager. We’re going into the big leagues now, and we need someone who knows what they’re doing,” he said.
“I can’t afford to pay someone,” I admitted. There were lots of things that I needed before I could afford to hire someone full-time.
“Don’t you worry about that,” he reassured me. “I need someone to organize fights for some of the kids. I’ve got some good prospects round here so don’t be thinking you’re anything special,” he warned me, which made me smile grudgingly. “Pretty soon you’ll be able to afford your own guy, but for now you can borrow mine. I’ll keep him on staff until you can afford to take him on.”
“Fine,” I huffed, “but no f*cking shrink.”
Danny sighed deeply. “There ain’t no shame in it, boy” he reassured me. “You want Em to get counseling for what she went through, right? You gonna think less of her for doing it?”
“Of course I won’t,” I said, pissed that he would even suggest it. “But it ain’t the same. You know it ain’t. Real men don’t see f*ckin’ shrinks.”
“What a load of shite.” He laughed. “Real men ask for help when they need it, and we’re both in uncharted territory here, kid.”
I didn’t agree with him but I didn’t argue either. It still sounded like the worst idea he’d ever had, but I couldn’t lose him as my trainer, and if this was his price, then so be it.
“Sorry I yelled at you,” I mumbled, hating that I needed to apologize.
“So you f*cking should be,” he admonished, never letting me off lightly. “I may be a few years older than you, but I can still kick your scrawny Irish arse, so don’t you forget it!”
I compared his frail frame next to my six-foot-five-inch body and smiled. “Whatever you say, Danny.”
Chapter 3
As planned I met the boys later at Daisy’s, Em was busy wiping down a table when I crept up behind her and tickled her. Shrieking, she jumped then turned around and smacked me with a wet dishcloth.
“O’Connell, you scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry, baby, I couldn’t help myself.” Wrapping my arms around her tiny waist, I hauled her in for a kiss. The way that some guys kiss their long-term girlfriends or wives is an absolute travesty. A kiss should never be routine, like saying hello or good-bye. Kissing the person you love should be sign language for the soul. It should say I love you, I need you, and I’m happy to see you or sorry to see you go. If you can’t kiss like that, you should really keep your f*cking lips to yourself. When I was done, Em rested her forehead against mine and closed her eyes, like she was already missing the press of my lips against hers.