Where the Streets have no Name

by Taylor, Danielle

  She desperately wanted to know. Could it have been anything like what she suffered as a teenager?

  Don’t think about it.

  Daniel stood up, taking just two strides to reach the bathroom door. Without a word, he went inside and turned on the light. Rather than staying in there, he came back out holding one wet cloth and one dry hand towel. He knelt in front of her, offering the slightest fraction of the smile he had bestowed upon her moments ago.

  “Didn’t mean to spit in your face,” he murmured, using the damp cloth to wipe away the water. Slow, tender, and methodical, he pressed the material to her forehead…

  Amelia stared into his eyes. He wasn’t gorgeous by society’s standards, but she liked the way he looked.

  The cloth moved between her brows and down the ridge of her nose…

  Even with the little nicks and cuts on his face – microscopic and almost unnoticeable scars – peppered over his forehead and down one side of his cheek, hidden in the day-old brown-black stubble.

  What were they from?

  Daniel swept the cloth over her cheekbones, and then he reached her mouth.

  Thoughts of his scars were interrupted by the warm caress, trailing the cloth over her lips. Never had cotton felt so…so…sensual before. Amelia retracted that thought; the heat swirling inside her body like oil ran through her veins and someone set fire to it wasn’t just sensual. It felt downright erotic.

  And the cloth did little more than blaze the trail for the rough pad of his fingertip, grazing the hypersensitive flesh of her upper lip. For such a large man, he had a gentle touch.

  “Sorry,” he said again. “Erm, I saw a chemist’s down the lane. How about I go and fetch some supplies, for your injuries?”

  Amelia blinked a few times, clearing out some of the smoke from her eyes. There wasn’t any smoke in the room. She must be imagining things.

  “I can go with you–”

  “Not a bloody chance. You’ll be sitting on that bed, propped up and waiting, ready for me to doctor you when I get back. It’s my fault you’re in this scrape – no pun intended.” He smiled a sheepish smile this time.

  Amelia smiled back. The mood lightened, however short the reprieve would last she didn’t know.

  “Fine, but I’m ordering food for us so you’ll have to tell me what you want.” She thrust the menu in his direction.

  After a thorough perusal of the room service meals on offer, Daniel elected to have the steak as well. Though it took some convincing, eventually he left the room taking a few bills she gave him and a small list of items to get, which included some for himself.

  Before he left, Daniel lifted her from the chair with ease and carried her to the bed. He made sure the remote control, phone, menu and anything else she would need was close enough to reach without moving.

  Daniel took one last look over his shoulder at her, then closed the door behind him. The man was a complete mystery, which only made her interest in him more palpable. That in itself confused the hell out of her.

  In twenty-five years, Amelia had never been the kind of girl who people wanted to be friends with. On the outside, she was average everything. Average looks, average height, and average weight. Nothing stood out, except her Irish heritage. With jet-black hair, pale skin, and deep blue eyes, almost anyone who saw her could tell.

  On the inside, Amelia hid her advantage: higher than average IQ, technology whiz, and the keen ability to come up with innovative – not to mention incredibly profitable – ideas. Two days before her nineteenth birthday, she launched what had become into the world’s most popular online fantasy RPG. By her twentieth birthday, she was worth more than she ever dreamed.

  But all the money in the world couldn’t get her what she really wanted and although it opened many doors, the people behind them were even worse than those she attempted to befriend while growing up. Was no one in the world just in it for the friendship? Did everything have to be about getting something of monetary value in return?

  In the hour or so she spent with Daniel, Amelia began to wonder. Obviously he didn’t know who she was – thanks to the pseudonym she used for her professional life – or her net worth, but seemed genuinely concerned about her wellbeing.

  Sure, he had a few secrets of his own, but in time, she could figure him out. And Amelia Quinlivan, known in the professional world as Alex Quinn, had enough time, patience, and technical know-how to find what she needed.

  Right now, she needed someone and from the looks of things, so did Daniel.

  The woman at the counter made eyes at him from the moment he stepped inside the small chemists. His best chance at not being recognised was to look like he had every right to be there. But how did he do that? He didn’t belong here, or anywhere.

  Daniel knew it was a mistake to stay with the lass. A man branded as a terrorist had no right taking advantage of a young, pretty girl. He had no right staying the night with her either. The good lord himself, if he were paying attention, would surely strike him down for entertaining the thoughts he had around Amelia.

  She reminded him of those dark haired angels lining the shelf at the top of the hutch his Ma used to hold the good crockery she pulled out on special occasions and holidays. So beautiful a person couldn’t help but stare, but the longer they did, the deeper they fell into insanity.

  Amelia. He chuckled to himself. She had buckets of persistence and more stubborn grit and determination than anyone he knew. Aside from Ma.

  God, how he missed her. He missed them all. The agonising pain he felt when the news first made its way to him subsided over time into a lingering heavy ache in his chest and a perpetual lump of anguish in his throat.

  The woman cleared her throat, watching him.

  Daniel nodded; mostly to himself.

  He shouldn’t be here.

  But he was; collecting the necessary items to treat her wounds. Antiseptic cleaner for the cuts on her hands. Bandages and gauze to dress her knee. The rows of chocolate near the register caught his eye. Dare he purchase some for her? Did she like chocolate? What kind?

  Lord above! His mind raced, filled with the thoughts of a teenaged boy trying to impress a lass he favoured.

  At the last second he took one of each and put them on the counter with the other items. He sent up a silent prayer to not be recognised…for all the bloody good it would do him. No doubt God himself abandoned Daniel on that day, and no amount of prostrating before this alter or that was going to see him back in the big man’s good graces.

  “That be all?” the woman asked, scanning the items through and dropping them into a single carrier bag with the shop’s logo printed on the side.

  “Aye,” he said. “That’ll be all, ta.”

  Daniel gave her the money and accepted his change, and not until he stood outside the shop did he dare take another breath.

  He spent fifteen years doing what others commanded of him. Fifteen years of being told where to take a piss and when and for how long. Fifteen years of confinement.

  The simple act of going to the shops, of walking down the street, feeling the chill Irish wind whipping through his hair and over his cheeks invigorated him. But the price of this freedom was too high. And all too soon the exhilaration left him. He felt the ghost of emotion tugging at his soul, what was left of it.

  Happiness, for a man like Daniel Byrne, had no home in this world, or the next.

  The burden of his mistakes weighed heavy on his shoulders, and Daniel trudged back to the bed and breakfast. To Amelia. Beautiful, sweet Amelia. She came at him like a freight train from nowhere. Like an angel. And bloody hell, she looked like one.

  He took his time walking back, contemplating how to keep his distance. Daniel never pretended to be a hard man growing up, and he never did well with lying. In his mind, actors were liars who got paid to do their job, and at least no one got hurt from it. She’d see through him at some point. He had no doubt.

  When he returned to the room the scent of ste
ak and chips took hold of him. Amelia sat in one of the two chairs at a small table. Two silver lids covered the plates on a large tray with tomato sauce, mayonnaise, salt, and pepper. He didn’t know whether to thank her for the meal or yell at her for moving, for possibly adding to her injury.

  Daniel gave himself a little shake. He had to keep his head together.

  “Let me…” He paused, licking his lips. “Uh, let me fix you up, then…”

  Amelia laughed; the sound was a healing balm on his soul. “I’m too hungry to wait. I waited for you and that was long enough.”

  She lifted the silver lids from both plates. Two steaks on each, heaped with fried onions and mushrooms. Jacket potatoes stuffed with butter and bacon and sour cream and cheddar cheese. Thick cut chips.

  “Jaysus,” he exclaimed, dropping the chemists’ bag to the floor.

  Grinning like the damned Cheshire cat, Amelia motioned to the other chair. Daniel took it, gladly. A little too gladly.

  He watched her dive in. Then he joined her.

  The light outside the ocean view room faded slowly. Both Amelia and Daniel sat at the window, their eyes glued to the sky. An hour ago, streaks of pastel pinks, oranges, and purples spanned the canvas of the sky. Now, as they knelt on the couch sitting under the window ledge, the cobalt blue sky lit up with a reddish-orange hue emulating flames, splashes of vibrant fuchsia, and clouds so dark they looked black.

  What interested her wasn’t so much the sunset, but Daniel’s response to it. He watched the sky, motionless, like he had never seen it before. And while his body might be inflexible and wooden, she read the thoroughly satisfied expression he wore like the cover of a book. The number of emotions he revealed in sixty minutes could fill the first ten years of a child’s life.

  The man was a mystery to her. During dinner, he savoured every bite of food on his plate. Most men she had come in contact with devoured their food like someone was going to steal it from them.

  Not Daniel. He even made the simple act of squeezing ketchup onto his plate, mixing some mayonnaise in and dipping a thick-cut chip look like an art form.

  Poppa taught her plenty over the years and one of the lessons she learned proved useful in this instance. He instructed her on the science of reading people, taking into account the tone and pitch of their voice, facial movements and expressions and body language, to name a few.

  A hand on her shoulder distracted Amelia from the inside of her own mind. She looked up to see Daniel observing her with concern.

  “Are you feeling all right, lass? You didn’t hit your head when you fell, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t and I’m fine,” she answered.

  “Hmm.” He removed his hand, stuffing it in his pocket. “Something on your mind then?”

  Don’t tell him he’s on your mind.

  Don’t tell him he’s on your mind.

  Don’t tell him he’s on your mind.

  “Uh…no. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering after your knee, but you didn’t reply. Stared through me like I wasn’t even here.” Hurt flared in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just, well this isn’t exactly a pleasure trip for me.” Hell, even if she bawled her eyes out, Amelia would tell him. At the very least, the focus would be off of him; something Daniel seemed to loathe.

  “My grandparents came to Canada for a couple of months because a few of us have birthdays around the same time. They had only been in Vancouver for eleven days when my Poppa had a stroke.”

  She stopped, grabbing a tissue from the bedside table to dry her eyes. That excruciatingly long and drawn-out night began to replay in her head, as much as she tried to shut it off.

  The stinging scent of hospital-grade disinfectant, too bright lights, squeaking shoes on over-polished floors as the staff went on their rounds. All of these things and more would forever remind her of that night. Precisely why she could not – and would not – go to a hospital. If Amelia had her choice, she’d never set foot in one again.

  Dropping to his knees on the floor in front of her, Daniel extracted the tissue from her trembling hands and made fast work of dabbing the corners of her eyes. Just like before, his touch remained gentle. Almost as if he couldn’t quite figure out how much pressure he should use.

  Regardless, the gesture showed compassion and consideration. Two sentiments that the world was in very short supply of.

  “He didn’t make it, did he.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  Amelia shook her head. Then she remembered the urn and shot up to her feet, regretting the action. She had one heck of a low threshold for pain. Felt like a scorching metal rod had just been jammed into the ligaments of her knee. She swore, unable to bare it.

  “Right, I’m putting you to bed and you’re staying there.” In one sweeping motion, he took her into his arms and carried Amelia to the bed.

  “Put me in the cot,” she argued, sliding her hands up his chest to hold onto his shoulders. Big, muscular shoulders. She licked her lips and fought her fingers need to explore. “You’ll never fit on it.”

  “Not a bloody chance. You’re taking the bed,” Daniel growled, depositing her on the mattress carefully. “Besides, I’ve slept on much worse.”

  She didn’t want to know what that meant.

  Then she remembered something important.

  Amelia settled her hand on his shoulder, her fingers gripping the coarse fabric of his shirt. The fabric stretched to its limit over his shoulders. “Would you do me a favour?”

  “Anything.” He answered without a thought; without a pause.

  She loosened her grip, releasing the material from her fingers. “I-I’m not a weirdo or anything but, I can’t leave him out there all night. And I need my luggage,” she added.

  Like a confused puppy, Daniel’s head tilted to one side as his eyes searched hers. “Him? Out where?”

  Deep breath in, hold, and exhale.

  “Poppa,” she could only get the one whispered word out.

  Recognition crossed his features and then, out of the blue and all in one motion, he sat down on the bed and brought her cheek to his chest in a crushing embrace. He didn’t speak. He just held her. And though she fought them, squeezing her eyes shut in a vain attempt to keep from losing her control, it happened. Amelia cried against a complete stranger until the fabric of his shirt was soaked through.

  When she wept her very last tear Daniel leaned back just enough to pull the wet sweater off and used a dry section to dab her cheek. Thankfully he wore a faded black t-shirt underneath, otherwise Amelia might have ogled him, inspecting to see if his torso was as chiseled as she presumed.

  “You just wait here and I’ll fetch your things.” He rose from the bed, lightly grazing his knuckles along the edge of her jaw. “Won’t be but a few minutes.”

  True to his word, Daniel returned shortly after he left, though he gave her enough time to collect the mess of her emotions. In one hand he gripped the handle of her small suitcase. In the other he lovingly cradled the dark grey and indigo marble urn, which he placed on the night table beside her. Amelia felt like another deluge of tears might come, but mercifully, nothing happened.

  With his help, she hobbled to the bathroom to get ready for bed. As she picked up her sky-blue flannel pajamas with little fluffy sheep, Amelia wished she had a more sophisticated style. She always picked comfort over fashion and that wasn’t likely to change any time soon. Especially during this trip, spending so much time in a car driving around the coast.

  Sheep-pajamas on, teeth brushed, face washed, and hair brushed, Amelia hopped on one leg out of the bathroom. Daniel stood by the door, waiting for her. Embarrassing, but sweet at the same time. Any other man in his position might use the time to go through her things, steal whatever he could of value, and leave, taking the rental car with him. But not Daniel.

  Bending at the knee, he scooped her into his arms and carried her the few steps to the bed. His strong m
ale scent seduced her senses. Tight knots of muscles bunched against Amelia where he held her. The short trip shook her more than she was willing to admit.

  “You going to be all right if I make myself scarce for a few minutes?”

  Her eyes shot to his and she knew he could read the fear in her gaze. “Where are you going?”

  The corner of his mouth pulled back in a mischievous half-grin. “Just to have a wash.”

  “Oh, okay.” She giggled nervously.

  Why did it matter if he wanted to leave? She couldn’t hold him hostage. But she now felt responsible for Daniel.

  After a light and playful tousle of her hair, he slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. Seconds later, she heard the water running. Amelia took the opportunity to reach for her smartphone on the night table. Opening a search window, she took a fleeting look at the bathroom door before breaking into a man’s privacy.

  Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed. She inserted four words – two she knew and two she guessed.

  Daniel + Ireland + prison sentence

  The results were heart-wrenching. Amelia read with her stomach lodged in her throat.

  Daniel Byrne, seventeen years old of Ballydoon, Co. Galway, sentenced to twenty years for the most horrific bombing since the early 1980’s. Three expecting women were having tea when the device exploded and all of them lost their babes that day. Countless others were injured during the attack. Many are pleased with the verdict although most hope for a stronger sentence…

  There was more and she skimmed through each article, wondering if there was a scrap of truth to any of this. Of his twenty year sentence, he served fifteen years. Today was his first day of freedom since he was a teenager.

  And then, she came upon a double feature. The first part detailed a cover-up, placing blame for the bombing solely on a boy who had no more experience with explosives than he did with sewing a quilt. At least someone else out there couldn’t imagine Daniel instigating such a horrendous event.