Page 21 of Whiskey & Witches
“Will you grab the ointment from the box?” She winced as she shifted to point. “I could use another application.”
He left her to retrieve it from the things she’d brought with her. When he returned, she’d managed to stand upright. “Do away with your shirt, and I’ll smooth this over the sore spots.”
With a snap of her fingers, she exposed her back.
He repeated the same process he had earlier in the day, rubbing the knotted muscles. “You’ve had the workout, haven’t ya?”
“Sure, and I have. I’d sleep for a week if it wouldn’t be impossible to get out of bed after.”
“How many hours do you get a night, Ro?”
“Five, maybe six total.”
“That’s not enough to heal.” Her answer was a heavy sigh. He figured he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. “Aeden mentioned the Aether. I’m assuming he meant we should call on the man, see if he can remove your scars and help heal what won’t on its own?”
“I believe so.” Roisin moaned when Carrick massaged a particularly tight spot.
“Sorry, love.”
“It’ll help in the long run.”
The pregnant pause was filled with silent speculation, and he sensed she was working through the problem of Damian Dethridge in her mind. Her voice was tentative when she asked, “Do you think Piper would call him for me? They’re distantly related, if I’ve the right of it. Perhaps he could tell me one way or another if my face can be restored.”
“I’ve met the man once, and from the energy radiating off of him, I can promise you that if he can’t heal you, no one can.”
Roisin’s body tensed. “Do you think it’s possible, Carrick?”
“Look, I don’t want to give you false hope, Ro. But even if he can’t, it doesn’t matter. Not to me.”
She stepped away and waved a hand. In a blink, she was fully clothed. “It matters to me.”
“Why?” The question came out rougher than he’d intended, but he wouldn’t soften it with an explanation. Not yet. He needed to understand why she was constantly rejecting him when all he’d ever done was try to keep his ragtag family safe during the worst time of their lives. Yeah, they weren’t all under one roof—they couldn’t be prior to Aeden learning Roisin was alive—but they’d been round and round this topic, and he was growing sick of it.
“I’m not me. Not anymore. Some fundamental part of me has changed, and I can’t find my way back.”
Her confession pulled the rug out from under him. He simply stared, his heart beating like a bass drum at twice its normal speed.
“I love you, Carrick. That’s not going to change. But I need to stop hating myself, yeah? And if I’m being honest, a small part of me despises you, too,” she said in a ragged little voice.
“Because of Aeden,” he stated grimly.
“Because you didn’t trust me to do what was right for my own son. I lost everything with that accident, and I don’t know how to believe in this small bit of hope you’re offering. I’m not convinced it’s not a dream.” She angrily swiped at her tears, and it registered on him that he’d seen her cry more in this one day than he’d seen her cry in their entire lifetime together. It gutted him.
“I was wrong, Ro.”
The confusion in her eyes was almost amusing. Likely, she thought he’d argue the point or try to make her see his side as he had in the past. But the truth was, hewaswrong. He’d been a fecking eejit to insist on the separation instead of immediately seeking different therapy options for Aeden and a healer with capabilities like the Thornes or Damian Dethridge. Although there wasn’t anyone in the world with powers as strong as the Aether’s.
“If you let me, Roisin, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you both.” He held out his hand, silently begging her to take it. With each second of the clock that ticked by, his hope dimmed. After a full minute, he dropped his arm. “It’s too late, then?”
“I don’t know.”
CHAPTER8
Carrick spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning in the bed he once shared with Roisin. Inasmuch as he’d washed the sheets weekly, he still fancied he could smell her light floral scent on the bedding. He’d been crushed when she rejected him tonight, but he hadn’t been surprised. The kind and caring woman he’d always loved was buried under a hardened shell. Somehow, he had to help her rediscover the old Roisin. And maybe, once he did that, she could find it in herself to trust him with her heart again. Perhaps they could rewrite their future with the happily-ever-after they deserved.
He crushed her pillow to his chest and held on tight, as he did most nights. The longing for her never went away, and if she decided they were done, he’d probably continue with this pathetic half-existence, penning lackluster stories until the day he died. His creativity had dried up, and he’d produced nothing but shite in all the time she’d been gone. Ro had always been his muse.
And as for love, she was it for him. She’d been all he’d ever wanted from the moment he’d set eyes on her—as if his soul recognized its counterpart. Together, they made a whole, and without her, there was no satisfactory ending to his story.
