Lust Is the Thorn (3 page)

“There is never an acceptable amount of abuse in this world—especially when it comes to you. You're special, Rose. So special.” He leaned in. He was too close. If he examined me anymore, he'd see through my carefully constructed shell. “You're going to do great things, Rose. I've always known that.”

I blinked rapidly, choked with emotion. He always said that to me.

The first time he'd told me that, I was hiding in my closet, cradling my sprained arm—oh, the
irony
—because Dad had hit me too hard. Thorn had climbed through my window to visit Mikey, but when he heard me crying, he opened the closet door. Crouching down, he cradled my face, gave me a soft smile, and told me those very words.

You're going to do great things, Rose
.

Then he'd spent the night making me laugh, and he hadn't even seen Mikey. That's the kind of guy Thorn was. Who he'd been.
You're going to do great things, Rose
. He never stopped telling me that. I used to believe him. I used to dream of a better life. I used to think I would become a teacher someday, like I'd always wanted. That I might meet a man who would love me the way a man should love a woman, and he'd never raise his hand to me, or to our kids. That I would help kids like me find their way, and that I could be somebody to someone.

That I could do great things, like Thorn said.

As kids, we'd both talked about getting jobs at the same school, as teachers, and whipping our hometown into shape, one kid at a time. But then he'd gone on to choose another life, one without me, and I'd gotten stuck in place in mine. I hadn't done anything great. I was looking for it,
fighting for it,
but it was hard.
Life
was hard. Every time I took a step closer to doing something real, to being someone who could make a difference like he told me I could, life punched me in the nose, and I stumbled back two more steps instead of forward one. I was stuck in place. Losing.

Gallaghers aren't supposed to
lose
.

“Shh.” He leaned in and rested his forehead on mine, and I drew in a ragged breath, letting my lids drift shut, losing myself in his soft, soothing touch. “I've got you. I'm here. You don't need to hide your emotions from me. You know that. Just let me help you this one time. I promise not to tell anyone that the infallible Rose Gallagher accepted assistance. No one will ever know. I swear it.”

I allowed myself the luxury of his embrace for another second. Normally, his touch made my pulse race, my breathing halt, and my heart swell with so much desire I even sickened myself. Tonight, it gave me a different kind of feeling.

Hope
.

Pulling back, I smoothed my hair out of my face and forced a bland look onto my face. “Whatever, Thorn. If you think you can help me, then whatever. Take me away, Calgon. I'm ready.”

He gave me a soft smile and looked at me as if he saw right through my sarcastic comments and knew I was pink cotton candy underneath my hard outer shell. “Let me make a few calls. I'll be right back, okay?”

I nodded once, staring down at my lap again.

It was easier than seeing the concern in his eyes, and a hell of a lot easier than feeling guilty for having put that concern there in the first place.

The second the door closed behind him when he went out into the hallway, I sagged against the pillows, watching him through the window of my ER room, before my eyes drifted closed. I was in pain, scared, and I was so
tired
I could sleep for a week straight and
still
not feel rested. The thing about being a Gallagher was, you never got to let your guard down. When you did, you got attacked in alleys behind strip clubs.

I snapped my eyes open again. Watching. Always watching.

He smiled at me through the window, and I forced a smile for his benefit. He needed to see me smiling. Looking okay. Despite my stupid crush on him, taking him up on his offer probably wasn't such a bad idea. I could rest. Get better. Maybe I could manage to get a step or two ahead before I got knocked back again. I mean, at some point, a girl's gotta catch a break.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe Thorn was my lucky strike.

He paced back and forth in the hallway, gesturing with his hands as he spoke on the phone. He tugged on his collar distractedly. He'd been doing it all night, as if it were choking him slowly. I knew how that felt. I often thought my past would keep clinging to my neck, slowly wringing the life out of me until I eventually gave up.

I hadn't yet.

Thorn was right.

I was going to do things. Great things. This was just another setback along the way. Every hero and heroine in every story suffered before they triumphed. This was my story, and I would win, damn it.

The heroes always won.

Usually.

Thorn hung up, shoved his phone in his pocket, and turned back to me. God, what kind of picture did the two of us make? He was so clean, so staid, while I was covered in body glitter, piercings, and bruises. He didn't have an inch of ink on him, when I had more skin covered with tattoos than not. They were all on my shoulders, back, and stomach, so they weren't always visible—but we both knew they were there.

His dark brown hair was perfectly styled, while mine was frizzy and knotty. His scruff was perfectly groomed into a perpetual five o'clock shadow that framed his hard, angular jaw as if an artist had painted it on. He was sure of his place in life, and I was lost. He was so good, while I was a hot mess who didn't know right from wrong anymore, and yet he still cared about me.

That's the kind of guy he was.

Knowing what kind of guy
he
was made me wonder, what kind of girl am
I
?

He came back into the room. “I spoke to Father John, and he is graciously allowing us to use his lake house for a few days. I got permission to leave, and another seminarian who hasn't taken his vows yet, like me, will cover my duties at Saint Paul's. Once we're at the house, we can figure out where to go from there.”

Gratitude hit me in the stomach harder than a sucker punch. Knowing he would go to so much trouble to help me, to try to make sure I was okay, it
did
things to me. And it was all too much to swallow, all this compassion and humanity. “Why are you doing this?” I asked softly, staring at him through my lashes. “Why help me?”

He froze midstep. “I owe it to Mikey—”

“Bullshit. Mikey's dead. Has been for years.”

Dragging a hand through his dark hair, he lifted a shoulder. Only he could make a lopsided shrug look sexy. “That doesn't mean he's not watching over us, making sure you're okay. Making sure that
I
make sure you're okay.”

“You're a good guy. I'm not arguing that.” I shoved messy hair out of my blurred vision, grief making my heart heavy and my throat tighten, because, God, I missed my brother. “But we both know that you don't owe Mikey anything anymore. He died in that crash because he got behind the wheel and drove drunk. Debts die with the owner. No one's coming to collect anymore.”

He took a step closer, his gaze locked on mine as pain crossed his expression. “What if I told you I disagree? That sometimes I think about Mikey, and I swear I almost hear his voice in my head telling me to check in on you. To make sure you're okay. To keep watch over you. That he blames me for what happened.”

“I would tell you there's no such thing as ghosts, and to stop fooling yourself, to forget all about your dead best friend's little sister, and move on with your life.” I gestured toward his black clothes that announced his profession more than his looks did. “To be a priest like you want, go to a parish in a nice part of Chicago, and leave Englewood far behind you. To go do ‘great things.' ”

He flexed his jaw. “The darkest corners are the places where someone needs to tend the light the most. Who says I can't make a difference here in Englewood?”

“Me,” I said, my tone steady, despite my racing heart. “Mikey's gone. There's nothing left for you here.”

He shook his head. “I haven't stuck around for him.”

“Then why?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

I shrugged. “You know I'm not good at reading minds. I tried in fifth grade with Robbie Arlington. It didn't end well.”

“You're not just my dead best friend's little sister. After all these years, you should know that. You're more.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “
We're
more.”

I stared at him, speechless for a few seconds. “Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.' ” He dropped his hand and walked right up to the side of my bed. He gave me a look that was so soft, so tender, that he could have asked me if he could cut off my arm and I would have offered it to him with a smile and a dull blade. That's how pathetic I was. “So, you're going to come with me for a few days to this fancy lake house, and you're going to let me take care of you, whether you like it or not, and you're going to quit smoking cold turkey, since I'll be there to help you. We're going to get you better. Got it?”

I got the sense that he was asking me to do this as a way to help me, but also to give himself a feeling of security. So he would know he'd done everything he could do to help me before he walked away for good.

It was then that I realized what type of girl I was.

I was the girl who would do anything to make the guy I loved
happy,
no matter how much it might hurt me in the end.

“Got it.”

After spending the night in the hospital, we pulled in the driveway of Father John's lake house in my old BMW, which looked really out of place next to the mansion. The home had been in his family since he was a kid, and he rarely used it. I couldn't imagine why not. The white wood exterior was old, but it was elegant in all its faded glory. Frozen brown rosebushes lined the walkway and went all around the house, and the lawn was well cared for, even though the house was empty most of the time. The home itself was huge, at least three thousand square feet, and it exuded charm and wealth.

Something neither of us had, or ever would.

“Wow,” Rose said, whistling through her teeth and peering through the windshield. “Are you sure you got the address right?”

“Yeah. Father John comes from money.” I shut off the ignition. “Lots of it.”

“Then why the hell did he become a priest, of all things?” she muttered. “If I were him, I'd be sleeping on my piles of money and binge watching Netflix while drinking champagne and eating caviar, not working at some old, drafty church.”

“He's never content to sit and do nothing. That type of life wouldn't work for him.” I let out a small chuckle. “I think he became a priest because he couldn't stand having all that money and nothing to do. He gave most of his money to charity, and he has summer camps at this house for troubled teens. They go boating and fishing, and escape their lives for a little while. He says he'll retire here once he's too old to come up with funny homilies.”

She studied the house, and I studied
her
. Her cheeks were a little less pale, holding the tiniest hint of a flush. Her hair was still a mess, and in desperate need of a good washing and brushing. Her soft features were delicate. Feminine. Breathtaking. “How about you? What makes a boy who used to fuck more often than breathe want to become a priest?”

Watching Mikey die on that icy road, and knowing it was my fault, had pretty much been the kicker—but there was more to it than that. If I hadn't changed myself, I would have become just like my mother. A drug addict chasing after his next high, with no future, and not an ounce of humanity left in him.

So I'd done the opposite. I'd chased after something worth chasing after: forgiveness.

I had yet to find it.

Something told me I never would.

At my silence, she patted my knee. “Sorry.”

“For what?” I asked quickly.

She wasn't the one who had anything to be sorry for.
I
was.

“For bringing up the past.” She let me go and tugged on her hair with her good hand, still staring at the house. The bruising on her face and throat was more pronounced now, in deep yellows and purples. There were actual fingermarks on her throat that made me want to kill someone with my bare hands. “It seems to upset you when I remind you of who you used to be.”

Yes, it does
. “It doesn't upset me.” I rested a hand on her thigh reassuringly. “I'm not ashamed of where I came from. It's what made me
me
.” I didn't
like
me very much, though.

She gave me the side-eye, silently calling me out on my lie, and shifted her attention toward the door. “How much longer till I have to call you Father Thorn?”

“You'll never call me that,” I said gently, watching her closely as she inched away from my fingers. Every time I touched her, she acted skittish. That wasn't like my Rose. “I'll always be Thorn to you, just like you'll always be Rose.”

She tapped her fingers on the door and turned to me, finally looking me in the eye, and what I saw punched me in the chest. It reminded me of a kitten I had found trapped in a fence the other day. It had meowed up at me with resigned, sad eyes, as if it had accepted its future, and knew it wasn't pretty. That's how Rose watched me now.

“If you say so,” she said. “Father Thorn.”

“Stop trying to act as if we haven't known each other our whole lives. I met you when you were just a kid with a bad attitude and stained Keds.” I glanced down her slim form, trying to ignore my body's response to all her soft curves. “Then again, you haven't changed much. You've still got a bad attitude and stained sneakers.”

She self-consciously tucked her feet under her seat. “Do not.”

“Do so.” Reaching down, I closed my fingers around her slim ankle and tugged. She gasped and let me pull her leg straight. She was so tiny that I was actually able to do so, even in my small BMW. “And I can prove it.”

We both glanced down at her Keds—which she still rocked. They were stained with mud and God only knows what else. Her cheeks flushed bright pink and she stuck her middle finger right under my nose.

“Thorn…” She ripped her ankle free and adjusted herself in her seat. It put her face closer to mine, and I turned toward her slowly, my blood rushing through my veins at warp speed. “Thank you. I know I play a good game and act like I never need help, and most of the time I don't. But this…just, thank you.”

She was so gorgeous, sitting in the daylight, with mere inches separating our faces. Bruised? Tired? Sure. But that didn't detract from her beauty. And when she leaned in, brushing my hair off my forehead with a barely-there touch, my heart pounded against my ribs in a desperate attempt to escape. I wanted to move closer so badly I could taste the forbidden desire on the tip of my tongue. I ached to close the distance between us and finally find out what she tasted like, screw the consequences. More than that, I longed to run my tongue over that cold steel lip ring and suck it into my mouth as I plunged deep inside her. For a second, I wanted her more than I wanted
anything
else in the world.

And in the end, that's what made me pull away.

“Anytime, Rose. I would do anything for you. You know that.”

“Anything?” she whispered, her attention locked on my mouth. She pressed her tongue against her lip ring, moving it. “Anything at all?”

“Well…” I hesitated, because she was looking at me as if she wanted me to do the very thing I'd just been thinking of. “Almost anything.”

A small laugh escaped her. I loved her laugh. It was musical. Soft. The opposite of
her
. She was so tough, so strong. It was one of the things I admired most about her. She took everything in stride. Never stressed, or cried, or spent time wondering what might have been, or should have been.

She just went on with her life.

I wished I could do that. Ignore all the what-could-be and what-could-have-been moments of my life, take my vows, and become a priest like I'd been planning on doing since the night when I'd almost ended it all out of grief and guilt. But something held me back from taking my vows, and I couldn't figure out what that something was.

Until I did…I couldn't fully commit.

As she smoothed her long, wavy hair behind her ear, her hand trembled. “Know what I really want?”

I settled back into my seat. “What?”

“To go in there, take off all my clothes…” Her voice trailed off and she licked her lips. “And have a smoke in a bath. But since I can't, I'll still take a nice, long, steaming hot bath, just without the cigarette.”

I tried not to think of her naked and wet in the tub. I tried every single distraction method I'd come up with over the years in order to remain celibate. Nothing worked except Mikey's face.

If he knew what I was thinking about Rose right now…

And the worst—or best—thing was, she had no idea how badly I wanted her. How hard it was to keep my hands to myself when it came to her. Any other woman, any other day, and I wasn't tempted. But the second Rose walked into the room I was a goner. “How's the withdrawal going?” I finally asked.

“I'm a little shaky.” She held her hand out. Sure enough, it trembled. “But I'm okay. I've been meaning to quit for a while now, because it's too expensive a habit for a girl like me, but never had the balls to do it. I'm hoping a bath will help distract me.”

“Then let's go in,” I said quickly, my throat tight, “and get you in the tub.”

“All right.” She shot me a quick glance. “You okay?”

“Wonderful.” I opened the car door, got out, and went around the back of the car to her side. Yanking it open, I held a hand out to her. “Come on.”

She eyed my hand and got out by herself, without any help. I didn't miss her wince as she straightened up. “You never answered my question.”

“Which one?” I asked as I shut the door. I wanted to grab her hand and force her to entwine her fingers with mine, just like we used to do before I entered the seminary, which was stupid. Back when she'd been like a kid sister to me, instead of an object of forbidden desire. “You ask a lot of questions.”

She shrugged, not arguing. “How long till you're Father Thorn?”

“I could take my vows right now, if I wanted.”

I dug my fingers into my palm and followed her up the path. After I let her into the house, I would come back out and grab our bags. We'd stopped at her place to grab a few things, but the truth was, she didn't have much. For the first time in years, I wished I had more money. That I could go out, buy her clothes, and a house, and a car. Everything she needed but didn't have. Pamper her like a princess. But I grew up in the same poor neighborhood she had and barely had two grand in my bank account, and that was after
years
of saving up every penny I could.

She stopped walking abruptly. “Wait. What—?”

“I—” Since I hadn't expected her to stop walking, I bounced off her back, quickly catching her before she stumbled forward and got hurt even more than she already was. I closed my hands over her shoulders, the tips of my fingers resting on the swells of her breasts. I let go quickly. “Fu—I mean, sorry.”

She turned and pressed a hand to her chest, right against the cleavage that I was doing my best to ignore. I was failing. But still. I was trying. “Did you almost…
curse
?”

“Maybe.” I flexed my jaw. “Okay. Yes. It's a work in progress. You don't grow up like we did without having a few bad habits. Cursing is the hardest one to kick.”

A laugh escaped her, but then she winced and pressed a hand to her throat. “I don't know why this makes me happy, but it totally does. The good and holy Thorn still says
fuck
when he's caught off-guard.”

I frowned at her. “Glad my fallibility pleases you.”

“Don't take it personally. I just think that everyone should have flaws.” She reached up and tugged on my clerical collar. I'd put it on today as a reminder to myself. Being up close and personal and
alone
with Rose was going to be difficult, to say the least. “No matter what his job is.”

Flaws?

Oh, I had those.

I had more flaws than redeeming qualities, which is probably one of the things that was holding me back from becoming a priest. Knowing what I'd done that night, with Mikey, and the guilt I carried around on my shoulders twenty-four hours a day. The guilt that would
never
die.

Not even with me.

“What are you looking forward to the most about becoming a priest?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Besides helping the people in Chicago?” At her nod, I sighed. “The possibility of traveling, I guess. I want to go on missions to nations in need, but I also want to see Rome. Do some religious studies there. Visit Europe. Go to a mission and help people there. Build some homes for people who can't build them for themselves.” I grinned, because just the idea of getting out of this place made my life brighter, even if I never got to do half those things. “Total pipe dreams, of course, but I'd love to meet the pope, too. Shake his hand.”

Wonder crossed her expression, and a soft smile lit up her face. “That would be pretty amazing. All of those things would be.”

“Yeah. Anything to get out of this place, right?”

She swallowed. “Right.”

I tipped my head toward the house. “Ready for that bath?”

“God yes.”

She spun again and headed up the stone walkway. This time, I left more room between the two of us, in case she pulled another quick stop on me. The last thing I needed was to feel her soft butt pressed up against my hardness again. Her hips swung with each step she took, and after allowing myself that small dip south, I forced my gaze to lock in on the back of her head. “Father John said he had the kitchen fully stocked for us.”

She pressed a hand on her stomach and stepped to the side of the door. “Wow. This is all…
wow
. Giving us a place to stay that's as grand as this”—she gestured around us—“was enough. He doesn't need to feed us, too. What is this guy? A saint?”

When she folded her arm like that, I could see the tattoo she'd gotten of a rose on the back of her right biceps. It had only one thorn on it. It was the only one visible when she had clothes on. I knew about the others, though. Our buddy Joe was an artist on the South Side, and he'd done work on her for free. He'd been buddies with Mikey, too.

I hadn't missed a single session when she'd gotten hers, though I'd stayed in the lobby for her more risqué ones.

“Yeah.” I tore my focus off her tattoo and unlocked the door with the key Father John had given me. When I'd told him who I was bringing here, he'd watched me with an knowing look and asked me to keep him up-to-date on Rose's recovery. Something told me he knew a lot more about my attachment to Rose than he let on. Maybe even more than I did. “A saint? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he is.”

I gestured for her to go inside before me, and she did, walking close enough that her elbow brushed against my abs. If she were any other woman, I might have thought she'd done that on purpose—touched me to drive me into the abyss of lust that I'd managed to avoid for almost eight years now. But she was just the type of person who innocently got all up in your personal space when she was near you, and always had been.