Sitting in a small dingy, smoke-filled room which smelt of mildew, Dessie bit his nails as he focused on every word spilling from her beautiful mouth. He couldn't understand her in the slightest, but the fact she spoke Russian with such ease and fluency left him more proud than dreadful.
"It's like watchin' a monkey fix a car," Rory muttered.
Dessie shot him a nasty look, then hushed him. The two men took her light tone and occasional laughter as a good sign. He checked his watch, growing frustrated they were hitting the one-hour mark since she took the call with her contact in Moscow. It was Christmas Eve and he wanted to hit the road soon to make sure they made it back to her parent's house in time.
"Nyet," she said, shaking her head. "Da svidaniya, Misha."
Catherine snapped the phone shut, tossing it on the desk. Rory immediately reached over and grabbed it, sliding off the back case to remove the SIM card.
"So? What'd he say?"
Lighting a cigarette, Catherine leaned back in the chair. "He agreed to stop sellin' to Jimmy if we want the AK's; said he'll tell him it's because the deal with Putlova fell though. Since we'd only be buyin' small stock, he wants us to pay for the entire cache until he can find another buyer to pick up what we don't take. Then he wants cost, plus thirteen-percent for whatever we buy in the future."
"Shite," the two men huffed.
Collapsing back into his chair, Dessie scrubbed his face with his hands. "How much would it be to buy out the cache?"
"Forty-grand. And that's without the overhead of greased palms at the port and SAMBEL's cut."
"Fuck SAMBEL," Rory blurted. "The Provos did it without SAMBEL; we can, too. So we'll need forty-five in cash. We can easily pull that together."
"From where?" Dessie asked. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "Even if we drained all the money from this place and the pub in Newry, and dug into our own pockets, we won't even come close to that. And then what happens if they can't find a buyer within a month?"
Rory didn't have an answer.
"I can talk to my Da and ask where the decommissioned Provo weapons are. Maybe we can dig that shite up and sell it? I'm sure a couple'a surface-to-air missiles and RPGs'll go for top dollar in the Middle East."
Dessie looked at Catherine like she sprouted three heads. "I mean this with the utmost respect...are you outta your fuckin' mind? First - If we swipe from the boys of the old brigade, we might as well dig our graves while we're out there. Second - I don't want ya to have anythin' to do with the gun trade anymore. The small number of guns we buy from the Russians is to supply our stock only."
"It was just a suggestion," she shrugged.
"How did youse get the True army off the ground?" Rory asked Dessie.
"Not a fuckin' clue," he admitted. "I was a Provo until the bitter end. By the time I jumped over they've already had everythin' set up."
"They got lucky with SAMCRO and the fall of the Soviet Union. AK's were dirt-cheap back in the early '90s and McKeavy already had a close relationship with Clay. We only started smugglin' cigarettes and petrol when the price started climbin' again. If we weren't tryin' to do this quietly, we could rip the rug out from Jimmy and the King's feet and claim that operation as ONH's. We'd be self-sustainable if we could claim all the profits from it."
"T'would be bloody genocide if we did that," Rory professed.
Catherine crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. "I may have enough to cover it. It'll be nearly every penny to my name, but I think I have it."
Both stared at her with wide eyes. They weren't sure if they heard her correctly.
"I'm sorry, what?" Rory inquired. "How?"
"Someone once told me there's a lot of money to be made in an unfree Ireland...turns out he was right." She glanced at Dessie and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. "I've been runnin' guns since I was nineteen-years-old, and I've been savin' what I can from my cut of the profits. With a house and two kids, it may not be as much as I think, but I can get youse a number."
Dessie was having one hell of a moral dilemma. The respectable side of him was screaming that he couldn't allow Catherine to sink her savings, especially when he had little money himself to help her out if need be. Being off the cigarette and petrol shipments meant he wasn't seeing a cut of the profits, and it was doing severe damage to his bank account. On the other hand, he was so desperate to get out from under the thumb of the Irish Kings, he didn't care where the money came from just as long as they had it.
He needed time to think it over.
"It's gettin' late, and it's Christmas Eve. I think we should table it for a couple'a days and come back with fresh minds."
"Aye," she and Rory agreed.
"The boys are probably wonderin' where the hell we are," Catherine said, standing up.
Dessie handed her coat and scarf to Catherine. He zipped up his jacket as she hugged Rory, wishing him a happy Christmas. After he said his goodbyes, too, Catherine and Dessie slipped out the back door of the small pub in Crossmaglen.
The sun had long since gone down, and the roads were slick from rain. With the falling temperatures, Dessie worried the pavement would ice over, and that's exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. They should have been back in Belfast an hour ago, but Misha - Catherine's contact in Moscow - kept pushing back the time he would call her.
When they reached his car, Dessie opened the door for Catherine and she thanked him with a kiss. He held her hand as he drove, only letting go to shift gears.
She broke the comfortable silence once they were on the A1. "I do feel like a wee dick though, takin' the Russian pipeline. Screws over my Uncle Filip...what are they gonna do without the AK's?"
"I get how you're feelin', Cate, but don't feel the least bit sorry. Jimmy'll find a new supplier to keep the boys in Cali flush."
"What are we gonna do once Jimmy and the Kings figure out it's us takin' their business?"
Dessie rubbed his thumb along hers. "I've been thinkin' about that. We may have no choice but to take the boys and make a run for the border, but I'll do everythin' in my power to keep us in Cross. I don't want ya worryin' about that, though. Remember our deal - you focus on the logistics, I'll worry about what those bastards throw at us. It's all gonna work; everythin'll be okay."
"Promise?"
Lifting her hand off his lap, he kissed her soft knuckles. "I promise, baby."
Catherine gently closed the front door behind her, trying to make as little noise as possible. She planned to just sneak in, and pray her parents wouldn't notice.
Too bad the boys ratted them out.
"Dessie!" They yelled, jumping off the couch and making a mad dash for him.
Before he had a chance to get his jacket off, both of them ambushed him. Dessie dropped down to their height and gather them in his arms.
As they filled him in on every detail of what happened while he and Catherine were gone, all she could do was commit the sight to memory. Life felt whole again when all of her boys were together. She loved how Eamonn and Sean took to Dessie, and she loved how wonderful he was with them. Considering he was the first and only boyfriend Catherine has ever brought into their lives, it had been a weird, rocky adjustment, especially for Sean.
On several occasions when he caught Dessie holding Catherine's hand or stealing kisses, the young boy grew suspicious and almost jealous. The more time he spent in Belfast, the more the boys were coming around.
"Ma's about ready to kneecap ya," Brien warned. "I tried takin' over your job of peelin' spuds but I cut my wee thumb."
Catherine shot her brother a look of faux remorse as he held up his bandaged thumb. She was just about to open her mouth for a sarcastic response, but the fear of God set into her bones when she saw Olivia emerge from the kitchen. Her mother's brown, graying hair was tied up in a loose bun, her apron was splattered with flour, and her face flushed thanks to the heat given off by the oven and stove. Catherine gulped when Olivia pointed the dreaded wooden spoon at her.
"Do I need to buy you and Dessie new watches? Because the ones youse have now must be banjaxed! You're an hour late, so ya are! Get your arse in here and start peelin'."
Hanging up her coat and scarf, Catherine cursed herself for agreeing to take a business call when she should have been with her family. She kissed Eamonn and Sean on the cheek then headed into the overheated kitchen.
Dessie watched her disappear, turning his attention back to the boys once she was out of sight. He felt bad for being the one to insist she speak with Misha so late in the afternoon, wanting to hammer out a trade deal with the Russians as soon as possible.
"What do ya say we go see if your ma needs help?" he asked.
"Don't do it," Brien cut in. "My Ma'll have ya slicin', dicin', and choppin' in no time. She's got my poor Da in there right now stuffin' cloves into the ham."
Dessie didn't mind if he was put to work. "It's my fault we were runnin' late. I suppose the punishment would fit the crime."
The boys took off for the kitchen and Dessie followed once he got his jacket off. He found Catherine sitting at the table next to Patrick, peeling potatoes like a pro. He was impressed that she was doing it the old school way, too. Spud in one hand, knife in the other. Eamonn was on Patrick's lap, helping him stuff cloves into the diamonds of the scored ham.
Before Dessie even had a chance to fully sit down, Olivia tossed a peeler on the table in front of him. Picking it up, he reached into the bag and grabbed a potato, getting right to work.
"I wanna help," Sean whined.
Catherine set her knife down so she could hoist Sean onto her lap, but Dessie was faster. He set the boy on one of his legs and showed him how to hold the peeler. Unable to take her eyes away from watching Dessie guide Sean through the tedious process, she nicked her thumb with the blade.
"Sonofa-" she cursed, dropping the knife and potato, pinching her thumb to help subside the pulsing sting.
"Are you okay, Ma?" Sean's voice held obvious concern.
She nodded, showing him there was no blood.
"That's what ya get for doin' it that way," Patrick lectured.
Picking up the knife, Catherine went back to work. "I like doin' it this way, especially on Christmas Eve." When the memories came flooding back, her heart filled with an ache of grief that never seemed to go away. "This is how Uncle Filip and I would do it."
Olivia stopped dicing onions for the turkey stuffing and came up behind Catherine. She wrapped loving arms around her daughter, kissing the top of Catherine's head. It didn't matter nearly twenty-years had passed since Chibs left Belfast, his absence was still felt, even more so during the holidays.
"Ya feelin' okay?" Olivia asked, pressing the back of her hand to Catherine's cheeks and forehead. "Doesn't she look a wee pale, Paddy?"
"I'm fine, Ma. Just a wee headache."
Still? Dessie thought. He remembered her telling him she was feeling under the weather a couple of days ago. Not to mention she'd been more fatigued than usual. Olivia was right - she did look ashen and drained.
Patrick glanced up, then shook his head. "If she says she's fine, she's fine."
Brushing off her husband's dismissive comment, Olivia hurried off to make Catherine a cup of tea.
What Catherine refused to admit, even to herself, was that the hearty, once comforting scents of the Christmas dinner being prepped was making her stomach turn. She had been queasy on-and-off since breakfast. The stress of moving forward and getting ONH off the ground was finally getting to her.
There was no point in telling Dessie or her mother. It would only make them worry.
"Maybe we should skip Mass tonight," Dessie suggested.
"Ya know, I'm a wee sick, too," Patrick added. "We should definitely skip Mass."
Catherine and Olivia glared at their respective men.
"If Catherine wants to stay back, she can but don't think you're gettin' out of it that easy." Olivia set a mug of steeping tea in front of Catherine.
"I don't wanna go, either. It's so borin'." Eamonn huffed.
Sean flicked a piece of peel off his fingers. "If Eamonn's not goin' then I'm not goin'."
Catherine ping-ponged her pointed finger between Dessie and Sean, and Patrick and Eamonn. "No one is missin' Mass tonight. It's been too long since we've gone, people are gonna start thinkin' we're heathens."
They all fell silent, returning to work with their heads hung low. From where she stood at the stove, Olivia mouthed a gracious "thank you" to Catherine.
Brien waltzed into the kitchen, taking the pot of already boiled potatoes - for bread in the morning - off the stove and drained them for Olivia. "Ya don't have to lecture me about goin' do ya, Ma? I take ya every Sunday."
With her back turned to her brother, Catherine rolled her eyes as she brought the mug to her mouth. She mumbled, "Fuckin' mamma's boy."
Patrick and Dessie snort-laughed, and unfortunately her comment hadn't been as quiet as she hoped.
"Ma!" Brien complained. "Are ya gonna let her talk about me like that?"
"Apologize to your brother." As the words left Olivia's mouth, Catherine silently mouthed the same words, having known full well it was coming.
It earned herself another round of snickers, this time from Eamonn and Sean as well.
Turning around in her chair, Catherine curled her fingers around the top of it. "I'm sorry," she said with a hint of sincerity. "...that you're a mamma's boy."
St. Matt's echoed loudly with the sweet harmony of the organ and the parishioners singing O Come, All Ye Faithful, as Father Kellen Ashby and the altar boys descended the aisle to the alter.
The east Belfast church was packed, not a space in the pews could be found. Midnight Mass on Christmas Day was a longstanding tradition very few families missed, even if this was the only day of the year they attended.
Jimmy couldn't concentrate. Not when Catherine and Dessie were standing in his view. As she held Sean, he held Eamonn. It took nearly every ounce of self-control he could muster to not make a scene by tearing his son from the arms of another man. It also made him sick to see how Eamonn, who was half-asleep, so familiarly wrapped his arms around Dessie's neck, his head resting on the man's shoulder. Jimmy nearly gagged when every so often the couple would look at one another, then smile like love-sick teenagers.
What made him feel pangs of melancholy and not seething jealousy, was the reminder that Catherine once looked at him with the same mesmerized love shimmering in her eyes. Now, she could hardly stand to be in the same room as him. When she dropped Eamonn off nearly a week ago, she hadn't so much as said two words to him, only speaking to Fiona.
He wondered what kind of half-cocked stories Dessie was filling her head with to turn Catherine against him. Her combative behavior towards Jimmy had only begun after they started dating.
Jimmy overheard Kerrianne ask Fiona, "Am I the one who thinks they're a cuter couple than when she was with Darragh?"
Fiona shook her head. "Your Auntie Liv says she's never seen Catherine so smitten, and he's really good with the boys."
Jimmy peered to the girls standing on his right. When they saw the tight grimace on his face, they found it more comical than they should have.
"I think someone's jealous," snickered Fiona.
Kerrianne covered her mouth to hide the smile as Father Ashby began Mass.
During the homily, Catherine rested her head on Dessie's arm. He placed his head against hers, soaking in the moment they were spending as a family. He was used to attending Mass on his own, so having Eamonn in his arms, and Catherine and Sean close beside him made it all seem like a dream.
"Why does Father Ashby keep lookin' at us like he's seein' ghosts?" Catherine whispered in his ear.
He lowered his voice to match the same hushed volume of hers. "Because we're supposed to be dead. Can't figure out how his brilliant plan didn't work."
After Mass, the boys had caught their second-wind, excited to get back to the house. Since Darragh's death, it had been a routine for Catherine and the boys to stay the night at her parents on Christmas Eve. Being surrounded by her family, helped ease the sorrow of no longer having him there on Christmas morning. However, this year was doomed to be just as difficult, with Liam no longer taking part in the festivities.
To help ease the guilt she felt for banishing her eldest brother from his home, she had shipped several boxes to Filip in California for him to give to Liam, Shauna, and Erin.
Outside of the church, the O'Toole clan managed to catch up with Fiona, Kerrianne, and Jimmy. As the sister-in-law's finalized plans for the gathering in just over twelve hours, Catherine knelt in front of Eamonn.
"Go say goodnight to your da," she urged, fixing the woolly hat on his head.
Not having to be told twice, Eamonn wandered off to Jimmy, who instantly swept the boy up into his arms.
With Sean goofing around with Brien and Patrick, Dessie wrapped a protective arm around Catherine's shoulders.
"The last I was here," she recalled, "I'd just been told of McKeavy, and as I and my Da were finishin' up a smoke, the goddamn peelers swarmed the place and arrested me."
"Rory came to mine at like five in the mornin' to tell me what happened. Every time my phone rang, I was terrified to answer, thinkin' t'was the call sayin' ya were transferred to Hydebank."
"Ya weren't the only one terrified of that."
"What now?" Dessie muttered under his breath when they spotted Jimmy walking over to them with Eamonn.
"You've plans for your birthday?" Jimmy asked Catherine.
Still irritated from what was said the last time he saw Jimmy, Dessie jumped in. "That's none of your business."
"You can answer when I ask you."
Catherine placed a hand on Dessie's belly, shooting him a pleading look to be civil. She took Eamonn from Jimmy, gesturing him to join his brother.
"No plans set in stone, yet-"
"We do have plans," Dessie interjected.
This was the first Catherine was hearing of any plans, so she kept a stoic expression as to not undermine Dessie in front of Jimmy.
"Oh," Jimmy said. "Well, I'm takin' Fi and Kerri to Dublin for the New Year; wanted to bring Eamonn, too."
Catherine spat bitterly, "Why? So you can pawn him off and go drinkin' alone?"
"You can take him." Dessie had planned to ask Rory if his teenaged daughter could watch the boys on New Year's Eve, which was also Catherine's birthday. But if Jimmy wanted to be a father in the short time he had left, then Dessie wasn't going to let Catherine keep Eamonn from him.
Even though Jimmy was told what he wanted to hear, it didn't come from the person he wanted to hear it from. "I'm failin' to see where ya fit in all of this Dennehy. What happens with Eamonn is between me and Catherine."
Dessie reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He tucked one into the corner of his mouth, realizing he needed to walk away before he said or did something that upset Catherine. Reluctantly, he left her alone with Jimmy, joining Brien a little way down the sidewalk.
"And what you're failin' to understand is that Dessie's in my life whether ya like it or not. He's not goin' anywhere so ya better get used to it. There will not be a repeat of what happened between you and Darragh." Catherine spoke through clenched teeth. "If ya want to take Eamonn, ya can. So help me, Jimmy, I find out you've left him with Fi again, there will be hell to pay."
Jimmy took a step closer to Catherine, lowering his mouth to her ear. "Look at ya, actin' so bold now that you've a man to protect ya. I wouldn't threaten me if I were you."
"It's not a threat. It's a goddamn promise."
Jimmy made a glance to see if Dessie was watching him. His attention was focused on Sean.
Jimmy kissed her on the mouth, and she pushed him away. He smirked. "I'll see ya tomorrow, a chuisle."
Arriving back at Patrick and Olivia's, the boys couldn't shed their jackets and shoes fast enough. They made a bee-line for the robustly decorated tree, digging through the wrapped gifts to find the ones they knew they were allowed to open tonight.
Dessie took Catherine's coat and scarf, hanging it up before doing the same with his. He placed a light hand on the small of her back as they walked into the living room, illuminated only by the bright, colorful lights on the Christmas tree.
"Savages, the lot," Catherine joked of her sons. She turned on the lamp on the side table and took a seat on the floor with her boys.
They instantly jumped on her, the sight bringing a smile to Dessie's face. It had been so long since he last spent Christmas with a family. The joy it brought his heart was a warmth he never wanted to let go of.
Brien emerged from the kitchen, holding two glasses of Bailey's. He nudged Dessie in the ribcage with his elbow.
"Happy Christmas," he said, clinking glasses.
Dessie wished Brien a happy Christmas, too, then took a mouthful of the cream liqueur. He swallowed hard, almost coughing, having not expected there to be a heavy shot of whiskey hiding in there. "Shite. It's warm in Ireland tonight, so it is."
Brien chuckled. "Aye. The old man believes the water of life should be in everythin'."
Olivia lowly turned on Christmas music in the background as Patrick claimed his favorite chair. He pulled his wife down onto his lap, wrapping her in his arms as he watched his daughter and grandsons on the floor.
"Da, here's yours," she said, handing the gift off to Patrick. "And yours, too, Ma."
Sitting on the sofa next to Brien, Dessie set his glass on the table. The last thing he ever wanted to do was keep Catherine from her family, but as he watched her with the boys all he could think about was their future. This was exactly what he wanted for them in Crossmaglen. He wanted her to make a house feel like a home, he wanted to see her playing and laughing with their children. To have their own Christmas traditions.
Pulling two boxes from the deep pile, Catherine handed one to Sean. "Give this to your Uncle Brien." She handed the other to Eamonn. "And this one to Dessie."
As the boys hurried off to complete their task, Brien and Dessie accepted their gifts with a thank you.
"I'm so sorry she's doin' this to ya," Patrick chuckled to Dessie. "But then I do suppose it makes ya part of the family, Dess."
He set the modest box in his lap, unable to take his eyes from the tag where Catherine had written his name in cursive. Even her handwriting was perfect to him. "What is it?"
"They're-"
Catherine placed a hand over Sean's mouth. "Don't ruin the surprise, ya blabbermouth."
"It's a god-awful tradition my wee sister managed to sucker us all into when she was like eight, and it only gets worse the older she gets."
"Hey," Catherine smiled. "I went really, really tame this year so I can gently ease Dessie in. Now, open!"
It was a flurry of wrapping paper, box lids, and tissue paper as the seven of them tore into the gifts. Dessie unfolded the black long-sleeved shirt, then a pair of red and black plaid pants. He looked up to see his matched everyone else's.
She bought them all matching pajamas and included him.
He expected nothing less of the same woman who'd only recently caught the stray cat who wandered around near his flat and found a home for. His heart floundered and he pulled himself together really fucking fast because he could feel the sting of tears prickling his eyes.
"Ya like 'em?" Catherine asked, sliding onto the sofa between Dessie and Brien. She rubbed a hand along Dessie's back and he melted under her touch.
"Aye. They're cracker." He kissed her temple. "Thank ya."
Pajamas were never his style - he preferred sleeping in his boxers no matter how cold the night became. He'd wear them as long as it made her happy.
Brien set his pair on the table and leaned over to kiss the top her head. "Thank you for not gettin' ones that are horrendously ugly."
"Just for that, I'm goin' balls-to-the-wall tacky next year." She usually tried to find the most outlandish patterns she could, then force them all to take a group photo so the memory could last forever.
Shaking her watch so she could look at the time, Catherine couldn't believe how late it was getting. "I suppose I should get 'em to bed. They'll be wakin' me up to open gifts before the sun even rises."
"I'll help ya," Dessie chuckled, getting up with her.
He crouched next to the boys, then tossed them over each of his shoulders. Shrill shrieks and fits of giggles filled the living room, and Eamonn and Sean blew kisses to their grandparents and uncle as they were carried up the stairs. Catherine followed close behind, their new pajamas in hand.
Once upstairs, Dessie helped her get them changed. With the fear of waking up to no gifts under the tree, Catherine didn't have to fight with them to get their teeth brushed.
In their mother's childhood bedroom, Eamonn and Sean climbed up into the bed, while Catherine fell to her knees at the edge. She patted the space on the floor beside her and Dessie kneeled where he was told to.
"We're gonna do somethin' different tonight," she said, getting the boy's attention. "Dessie and I are gonna say it in Irish, instead of English, so don't worry if youse have a hard time keepin' up."
Guiding her boys through the sign of the Cross, they all folded their hands, and together Dessie and Catherine said a Hail Mary in Irish.
Catherine's favorite line, "guigh orainn na peacaigh," was tattooed on the side of Dessie's left forearm.
Pray for us sinners.
After prayers were said, Catherine grabbed the tattered copy of The Night Before Christmas off the nightstand. The four of them curled up in bed and listened to her read.
Just as she finished and closed the book, Patrick stuck his head in the room, pointing his index finger at Dessie.
"You're on the couch tonight. I'm a light sleeper and I'm keepin' the door open so I'll hear if there's any funny business goin' on up here or downstairs."
While Catherine's cheeks turned brighter than the Christmas tree, the color drained from Dessie's face.
Bidding them all a goodnight, Patrick headed down the hall to turn-in for the night.
Once Eamonn and Sean were tucked in, they kissed them goodnight and jogged downstairs. Olivia and Brien were already busy stuffing gifts from Santa under the tree.
Running outside quick, Dessie grabbed the bursting shopping bag which Catherine stashed in the trunk of his car days ago. A small box had fallen out, and Dessie picked it up. Under the glow of the streetlamp, he read the tag:
To: Dessie
From: Eamonn and Sean
Smiling to himself like an idiot, Dessie tucked it back into the bag, then grabbed his gifts from the backseat.
By the time the four of them finished arranging the presents, it was half-three in the morning. Brien headed up to his old room in hopes of catching a few hours of sleep, while Olivia set Dessie up on the couch with a pillow and blanket.
"Thank you, Mrs. O'Toole, " he said, his voice coated with exhaustion.
Kissing Catherine's cheeks goodnight, Olivia cautioned, "Youse don't stay up too much longer. Those boys'll be up soon."
Assuring her mother she'd be right up, Catherine then took a deep breath and enjoyed the fleeting peacefulness. It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be even longer.
Dessie was sitting on the couch taking off his boots. Watching him do such a mundane thing brought a smile to her face. Catherine wasn't sure if it was the ambiance of Christmas or what, but when she looked at Dessie, her heart swelled with a bursting affection that was foreign. It was definitely love, that she was sure of. A slow-burning flame of romance.
Strolling over to him, Catherine pushed Dessie back and straddled his lap. Without a word, she crashed her mouth over his. They shared a kiss, unlike the thousands they've shared before. His hands groped her denim-clad ass, her hands on either side of his neck. When they pulled apart, Dessie licked his lips, desperately hoping her taste still lingered on him. Even he was left swimming in the aftermath such an intimate kiss.
"What was that abo-"
Catherine gently covered his mouth with her hand and stared so deep into his eyes, she saw his soul.
"I don't want or expect ya to say anythin' back; I just need ya to listen. You'll probably think I'm crazy for sayin' this so soon but I don't give a shite. I truly believe you're the answer to my prayers. You've calmed the storm that was not only my life but my son's lives as well." She took a shaky breath. For the first time, she didn't feel nervous or scared to utter the words. "I love you."
Dessie wrapped soft fingers around her wrist, prying her hand away from his mouth. Never once did he break eye contact. Dropping her wrist, he gathered her face in his strong hands. Hearing those words spill from her mouth somehow made his heart beat faster and slower at the same time.
"Then I'm just as crazy because I love you, too."
She looked as if she was in complete disbelieve; she couldn't comprehend that she'd ever be loved back.
"Ya really mean that?" she asked, tears slipping from her eyes as she blinked. "Ya love me?"
"I love you," Dessie confessed again.
Leaning forward, Catherine kissed him once more. Her hands slid down his chest and abdomen, coming to a rest on his belt. When he felt her start to loosen the strap, Dessie pushed her hands away, ending their lip-lock.
"Ya should be headed up to bed."
"If we're really quiet, I can stay down here."
Dessie shook his head. As blue-balled as he was, he didn't have it in him to disrespect Patrick like that. "I'll be right here when ya wake up." He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, sweetheart, and sweet dreams."
Climbing off of him, she walked to the stairs. When she climbed the first two steps, Dessie calling her name stopped her.
"Happy Christmas," he said.
Catherine smiled warmly. "Happy Christmas, Dessie."
And a happy Christmas it was.
