March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 40

Tommy leads me to the men — I cannot tell which of them are corpses and which are unconscious, though he assures me at least one man will still be alive.

"We'll interrogate him when he wakes up," Tommy says. "Do you recognise them?"

I scan each man's face, though it's hard to tell in the first light of morning, and especially when they are all coated in blood and disfigured, missing teeth.

"No," I say, with a shake of my head. "But those hoods are the same as the men who attacked me."

Tommy wipes his bloody hands on a handkerchief and lights a cigarette. "Thought as much."

"Why are they doing this?" I ask quietly. "What do they want?"

He exhales and looks at me. "That's what we're still trying to work out."

"Enough, Tommy," Polly says, coming to steer me by my shoulders. "It's her bloody wedding night."

But Tommy doesn't listen. "You still think it's that headmaster?" He asks me.

"He's the only person I've had a disagreement with," I say. "Either him or someone at the school. I can't think of anyone else."

"Might be about John, more than you," he says.

"John and I weren't together when they first attacked."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Not officially, but anyone with a brain could see it was going to happen."

"I said enough." Polly guides me away. "We can talk business in the morning."

But Tommy shakes his head. "We're off to London."

I glance at John. "Are you going?"

He nods. "Have to be there."

I try to hide my disappointment. Tears sting at my eyes, and I have to blink them away before I can risk looking at anybody again. How can things have changed so terribly in just a few short hours? I cannot push things with John, especially not with his whole family watching. They don't know what's transpired between us. They'll think I'm overreacting about him having to leave. Didn't I know this is what I'd be marrying into? Work comes first. The company comes first. And I don't have a problem with that.

Or I wouldn't, if things didn't feel so rocky between us.

"Okay," I tell him. "I'll look after the children while you're gone."

He's still in work-mode, with square shoulders and a tense jaw, but he softens for me, just a little. I see it in his eyes and he steps forward and takes me in his arms, the rest of his family preoccupied with cleaning up or going back inside. John holds me and I ache for him.

"I love you," he tells me, holding my chin and kissing me.

I search his eyes for any trace of a lie, but Arthur calls, and John releases me.

"I'll be back in a couple days," he says. His face creases. "I'm sorry."

He's apologising for more than leaving for work.

I can hear it in his voice, the look that flits through his eyes. Something's hurting him. Or, he's torn up over hurting me.

There's guilt.

And I won't make it worse for him, I decide. This is my fault for not telling him sooner. It's only the consequences of my own actions. I've hurt him too much already to blame him for this, to hold it against him.

I should have known. He doesn't want to be with me when I cannot give him children. Like most men in this day and age.

And so I smile at him sadly, resigned to my fate. Between us, somehow we know. I head back inside, with an ache between my legs, and an even greater one in my chest.