March // John Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 49

I'm wrapped in a tartan blanket, fighting a chill as light dustings of rain fall down. John's still on alert as he steers us, his pistol in his hand.

"Your shotgun's beneath the canvas beside you," he tells me.

"How long have you had this prepared?" I ask.

"Since I knew more of the hooded men were in Small Heath."

I wait silently as he exhales and begins to explain.

"Tommy wanted to draw them out. He wanted to have you walk alone one night — seemingly alone — and get them then. But I told him no." John sets his jaw. "Thought he'd actually fucking listened. Until I realised, he knew they'd come for you anyway. He's been ready for this for weeks. By the time our man keeping watch came and told us they were moving in... I worried it would be too late."

"Tommy was going to let us die?" I ask in a whisper, but John's shaking his head before I'm done.

"Not that I'd put it past him. But no, he always had a plan. Just didn't have time to execute it."

I think of him back there. Of Arthur. I wonder how many men they'll be fighting. If they're going to make it...

"I keep waiting for you to break," John says softly. "I keep thinking this is it. This will be the last straw, and you'll be done."

"I'll never be done with you, John Shelby," I say quietly.

The boat coasts, and he sits beside me, taking my hand in his own and kissing my palm.

"We'll be able to end this," he tells me. "We'll know who's behind it all. You'll never have to feel unsafe again."

"I don't feel unsafe," I whisper. "I have you."

And it's the truth. No matter how terrifying the circumstances, John has never let me down. I've never felt abandoned, or fearful that he's left me unprotected. He takes me in his arms and I bury myself into him, slowly inhaling the way he smells, the way he feels.

I never thought I'd be lucky enough to have this.

"I'll never hold this life against you," I say to him, a quiet vow. "I'll never resent you for it."

He takes my face in his hands. "And I'll never resent you for not having more kids. You know that, don't you?"

I nod. "We're new to this," I say. "Marriage. Or I am, at least."

"It's new for me too," he murmurs, kissing my forehead. "Everything feels new, different. Since coming back from France. Sometimes I wonder if nothing's been real since... if it's all a dream I'm having while I sleep in those trenches. Or if I was shot down, and this is the afterlife. Fucking Small Heath."

"How do you do it?" I ask him quietly. "How do you not lose your grip on reality completely?"

He traces his thumb across my cheek. "Because I know I could never conjure you up in a dream. I could never have created you. You're too exquisite to have come from me."

I give a small smile, and he looks at me curiously. "What is it?"

"I can't draw you," I try to explain. "I've tried, but I can never even begin. For the same reason."

"You've never drawn me?" He says.

"Is that such a surprise?"

"Just bloody offended," he grins. "Thought you must have drawn something of me by now, at least."

"Pieces of you," I tell him. "Your hat. Your gun."

"All the things that make me dangerous, eh?"

"No," I say pointedly. "All the things you wear on the outside. The John Shelby I know, he can't be translated onto a piece of paper."

"One day I'm going to make you try," he tells me. "When we're in Paris. You'll be bored of your fruit and bloody naked men, and you'll have no choice but to draw me."

"Can't imagine I'll ever be bored of fruit and naked men."

He raises his eyebrows and I laugh, taking his face in my hands.

"My point, John Shelby, is that you are just as exquisite to me as you say I am to you."

"I don't believe that's possible," he murmurs.

Something catches his attention in the sky, and I tilt my head to glance at a red flare signal, rising high over Small Heath.

"That's it," John says, and I hear the relief in his voice. "It's over. Your mum and Florence are safe."

Relief floods through me in return. "Thank goodness. We can go back."

He trails a hand across the length of my ribcage. "Or we could stay here a bit longer."

I blink at him innocently. "And do what?"

He smirks. "I have some ideas," he says, leaning in to kiss my neck.

I give in momentarily to the sensation, the tingles he's sending all across my body. "We need to be there for the kids," I tell him.

"We will be," he tells me, working his way across my jawbone. "Once we're finished."

It takes all my self-control, plus a frustrated groan, to pull away after he kisses my mouth. "We have to check everyone's alright."

"I hate that you're always right," he murmurs.

I tell him, "I'm glad you're a fast learner. Maybe we should plan a trip up the canal when there's not mad men with guns trying to kill us all."

He grins. "In that case, we'll never get round to it."

With one last kiss, he returns to steer us back up the canal, back to witness the damage and get some answers.