Mind Lies

by Harlow Stone

  “The fucks still dinnae tell ye?” Paddy asks.

  I shake my head and vehemently whisper, “No.”

  He starts pacing. Wanting to get it all out, I power through. “I kept remembering this song I sang to him.”

  Nessa adds, “Ye were always singing to the boy, even when he wasnae around.”

  I swallow past the anguish and finish telling them about the YouTube video, Scarlet and her stalker, Locklin getting shot, and how I ended up here.

  “We know he ain’t dead since he called, Nessa,” Paddy assures when Nessa’s eyes go wide at the mention of Locklin getting a bullet.

  “He’ll be fine, Nessa. He was expecting to be released from the hospital two days after I left,” I tell her.

  “Who’ll look after him?” she asks, worried, and Paddy adds, “He’s a grown-ass boy who shoulda acted like a man!”

  Placing my hand on both of theirs, I tell them, “I’m sorry.”

  Nessa shakes her head. “It is nae your fault, Jerrilyn. What ye went through? And fer you to be alone? And singing? In public? . . .” She starts to ramble.

  I tell her, “The only reason I chose to sing was because I knew in my heart whoever I sang to in my memories was the father of my child, and I was desperate to find him.”

  Nessa gasps, and I don’t bother hiding the tears that fall.

  “Our boy?” she whispers.

  I whisper back, “Your boy. But he never came for me, Nessa.” Choking back a sob, I say again, “He never came.”

  She pulls me close and crushes me in her arms. I finally let the sobs go on her shoulder. I want to feel terrible that I’ve probably tainted their view of their beloved nephew, but the truth is I know Paddy and Nessa think of me as their own, too. And if I need any more answers—answers regarding the men who were after me, who were trying to hurt me—I know Paddy won’t lie.

  He’ll tell me what I need to know because I’m his family, too.

  I can’t feel guilty about fiercely loving these two and wanting to be with them. My memory is back, but now I have questions that Locklin wouldn’t answer. But clearly, he never told Paddy about the accident because he was just as shocked as Nessa.

  I pretend I don’t notice Paddy’s inner turmoil, when his head tips toward the ceiling, when he blinks back emotion he doesn’t wish to share. Softly, to be certain, I ask him, “He never told you about the accident, did he, Paddy?”

  He shakes his head and turns around, looking devastated. “No, Lass. Three months ago we spoke; ’e said ye were fine.”

  Leaning back in my chair and taking a healthy sip of my tea—wishing it were something stronger—I ask, “Do you know who would have cut my brake lines?”

  Shaking his head, he says, “Not certain. Lots changed in ten years, but Vasily is still out there.”

  Stilling my quivering chin, I nod. The man who attacked me, the man Locklin hit over the head with the crowbar used to open shipping crates, is still alive. I already knew that when I recovered my memory; even so, it’s a harsh reminder that the nightmares from my past still walk the earth today.

  Hating that Locklin is the only person who has the answers I need, I shudder and place my arms protectively around my stomach.

  “How far along are ye?” Nessa softly asks.

  “Four and a half months. I got pregnant around the time of the accident.” She smiles and I add, “It wasn’t planned, Ness. I spoke with the doctor once I got my memory back, and she said it was most likely the antibiotics that countered my birth control shot that was near due. But nothing is one hundred percent effective.”

  She nods, still smiling. “Any bairn is a blessing. Does he know?”

  Paddy places a hand on my shoulder, and I nod.

  “I won’t keep him from him,” I tell them.

  “A boy,” Paddy confirms.

  I smile. “A boy. I told him in the hospital, after I told him I had my memory back. What he does, knowing about the pregnancy, is entirely up to him.”

  Paddy shakes his head. “He will nae abandon his boy.”

  He closes his eyes at the unspoken reality.

  He won’t abandon a child.

  He’ll just abandon me.

  “I’m sorry, Jerrilyn.”

  I squeeze his hand in support. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. I’m here. I’m staying for a while. And I’m going to focus on nothing but getting some rest and perspective on this whole thing.” I sigh. “Even getting my memory back, I still just feel lost.”

  Nessa takes our cups to the sink. “This is yer home too, Jerri. Ye stay here as long as ye need.”

  “Thank you. I don’t exactly have a plan; I just wanted some quiet. And I knew the first place Locklin would go when he left the hospital would be my flat in Boston.” Shaking my head and rubbing my temples, I add, “I didn’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him at all right now. He’s not a bad person, and he’s very good to you guys. But I’m sorry. I just don’t know if I’m going to be able to forgive him for what he did to me. Did to us.”

  Moving from the chair, I stare out the window at the little lake behind the cabin. I know I can’t stay here and do nothing forever. I know at some point it will come to an end. But I guess facing reality, facing Locklin, just hurts too much. I don’t want to deal with it, and perhaps this is running away from my problems, which is nothing new. I ran from Ireland before. And even if this, running, is the cowards way, I feel like this is where I need to be right now. I feel like Paddy and Nessa’s company will bring me peace.

  And that’s the only thing I need right now—peace.

  The only thing I want.

  The rest can wait.

  I’ll focus on my baby.

  I’ll get Paddy to prod Locklin for information about the accident. Lock doesn’t need to know I’m here, but he’ll know once I got my memory back that I would have contacted his aunt and uncle. I guess he never expected me to tell them the truth, seeing as he didn’t when he called, but such is life.

  Sometimes, life is full of liars.

  And sometimes, those liars break your fragile heart.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I bang on the door. Out of respect, I give her a few moments before pulling the key from my pocket, opening the door, and disabling the alarm as I go.

  I never spent much time in Jerri’s apartment. Not because I never wanted to, but because of her friends who always come and go. I punch the code into the alarm panel before sluggishly taking the stairs; my chest fucking hurts. I move as quick as my gunshot-wounded body will allow.

  Fucking prick.

  I’m half-grateful that the sorry bastard who shot at us at the theater wasn’t after Jerri. It was a blessing and a curse knowing that the sick fucks from Yakov’s crew hadn’t caught up with her. It’s also a kick in the fucking teeth not knowing exactly who messed with her car.

  “Jerri?” I call out. I don’t know why; I can already sense the emptiness.

  She’s not here.

  When she brought me back here weeks ago, when someone had tried busting into her apartment, I couldn’t help but get lost in the picture above her bed.

  I knew she kept it. Sometimes I forget how much it meant to her. She hates that she can’t put photos of us out for all to see. It hurts her that she’s always the third wheel whenever she goes out with her friends, but like the bastard that I am, I still keep my distance.

  I still make her do everything alone.

  Because what was more important than getting justice for Siobhan?

  What was more important than making sure Jerri stayed safe and as unconnected to me as possible?

  Nothing.

  It has been my mission, my goal, for the last seventeen years, and I vowed I’d stop at nothing until I fulfilled that goal.

  My promise to a ghost.

  There was one time I doubted my decision: when she finally left me to my mission and started dating that suit-wearing fuck with the shiny shoes. I followed the prick for a we
ek, then I went out on business, came back, and followed the prick some more.

  I had Bryan run him for me, check him out to make sure he was good enough for Jerri.

  No one is good enough for Jerri.

  Mr. Suit was clean.

  Didn’t lie, didn’t cheat, good savings account. He had a long line of women he’d been with, but when my Jerri walked into his life, he settled down.

  He loved her.

  But she didn’t love him back. Not once did she look into the fucker’s eyes the same way she looks into mine. And that, that right there, is the only reason I left her alone . . . because as much as she wanted to step away and play house, I knew she would come back.

  I knew she would end up with me.

  But she didn’t.

  After him, we did our usual on-and-off game over the years. But she always came back. Not once did I ever doubt that she wouldn’t come back to me, because it has been Locklin and Jerri for twelve years.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Looking away from the painting, I notice a folded piece of paper on her bed, with my name on it.

  “What did you do, Lass?” I mumble before sitting down and picking it up, already dreading the words I’ll read but unable to stop myself from opening it.

  Locklin,

  I knew you’d come here.

  Just as I knew you’d always choose vengeance over us.

  It’s a tough pill to swallow, acknowledging that. But it’s time to be honest with myself in knowing I will never mean as much to you as she did. I don’t hate her, or you for that. In fact, I respect your dedication to commit so fiercely.

  Dedication aside, I won’t be second fiddle anymore, because this life is not just about me, or you. It’s about someone much more important who deserves absolutely everything.

  Our son.

  I meant what I said in the hospital, so please don’t mistake this letter as anything but what it is:

  Me telling you once and for all that I’m done.

  What you did to me is unforgiveable.

  I truly thought when I woke up in the hospital that not knowing who I was was the most painful thing to ever happen to me. My heart hurt and my head was empty, and all I hoped for was to feel something other than the agony of being completely alone.

  Consistently having memories of a man no one knew, a man who appeared to love me—to have him not show up, not comfort me—was a death in itself.

  You cannot imagine what it feels like to go to sleep at night with memories of you and I entwined together with me singing to you and you in turn making the most passionate love to me that I’ve ever experienced.

  But then I wake up.

  I wake up and you’re not there. You don’t show up to comfort me. You don’t show up to let me know who I am, that I’m not fucking crazy, and that my fond memories of us together are true.

  You did absolutely nothing.

  And you broke my fucking heart.

  Excuse my language, but I’m bitter, angry, and so incredibly disappointed in you. I once believed you would do anything for me. I once believed that no matter what happened to me in this life, you would be there for me.

  And once, even though you told me you cared for me deeply, I took it for something much more. I took it to mean you loved me.

  But you don’t love me, Locklin. You’ve clearly held onto those words since you last said them to Siobhan, and deep down I think you want them to stay with her.

  Well you know what?

  I deserve love, too.

  I know that now.

  I deserve so much more than what you have given me, Locklin.

  I deserve everything.

  Someone who will show up when I miscarry. Someone who will wait twenty-two days at my bedside as I struggle to wake up from a coma. Someone who will tell me who I am and how much I mean to them when I wake up.

  Someone I mean the world to.

  I deserve someone who will hold my hand when I give birth to our child.

  I deserve a man who will kiss me good morning and good night. A man who will hold my hair during morning sickness and rub my back when I lie in bed at night.

  A strong and kind man who will willingly meet my friends and suffer through dinner parties and weddings. A man who is never afraid but extremely proud to be my plus-one.

  A man who, regardless of life’s circumstances, is completely and utterly devoted to loving me.

  I deserve a man who isn’t afraid to love me.

  You are not that man.

  Please don’t look for me, or try to get in contact with me. There’s really nothing left to say to each other, and I need a clean break from this. If you’re cursing right now because you have something to say, please know that I don’t want to hear it.

  I don’t want to hear from you at all.

  I do promise to contact you when our child is born, and should you wish to be a part of his life, we’ll make that happen.

  I wish you well, Locklin Cavanaugh. May your mission of vengeance not take you from those who love you.

  Jerri

  “Fuck.”

  I re-read the letter at least a half-dozen times, hoping it will hurt a little less. Instead, it just drives the knife deeper in my chest.

  Our son.

  “FUCK!”

  Storming from the bedroom, I come to a halt before a figure leaning against the island.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl at Cooper. Perfect fucking Cooper who dotes on his wife. She’s a hot wife, and I’m a bastard because I know he’s a good man. I want to think he doesn’t know who I am, but his casual stance against the island says otherwise.

  “You need to let her go,” he tells me.

  “Like fuck I do,” I answer.

  He shakes his pretty fucking head at me. “I’ve known Jerri for ten years.”

  “I’ve known her for twelve!” I reply, arguing like a five-year-old on the goddamn playground.

  He rolls his eyes and continues. “Never in all of those years have I seen her hurt as badly as she did the day she left you at the hospital.”

  I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. “She was gutted, Locklin. She’s one of the strongest women I know, and she could barely stand on her own two fucking feet. I thought it was bad the day Portia showed up here and found Jerri in her closet.” He shakes his head. “Man, her damn eyes were nearly swollen shut because she’d been crying all night. Her closet was torn apart because she was trying to find a clue that you were real, that she wasn’t fucking crazy.”

  I swallow past the razorblades in my throat.

  I did that to her.

  “Getting the picture I’m painting?” he says heatedly without slowing down. “I held her hair while her head was in the goddamn toilet from carrying your fuckin’ kid. I drove her to every fuckin’ town where we figured you two had been just so she could remember and try to find you. It was me, giving up my wife to come here and distract her from crying all damn day because of you!”

  “I would never do anything to intentionally hurt her.”

  “Too fucking late! You broke her, you bastard. Now she’s gone for the simple fucking reason that she didn’t want to see your face!”

  Another knife to the chest.

  I’m a bastard.

  Cooper scrubs his hands down his face before walking toward the door. “Leave her be, Locklin. You want her to heal? You want your baby healthy and the mother not stressed out all goddamn day? Leave her be. You may not want or care about her, but the rest of us sure fucking do.”

  I want to yell at him that I care about her more than anyone else, but I know it’ll fall on deaf ears. I’m not an idiot; I know actions speak louder than words, and all these people, her friends, have to go on is whatever she has told them. After what has happened, I’m sure none of it is good, and I don’t fucking blame her.

  I used to pride myself on looking after her. I used to send her food when she worked late, and rub her back when it hurt. I used to s
et the coffeemaker for her and kiss her goodbye before I left in the morning. But all that was before Vasily got his hands on her, and since then, the only thing I do for her is make sure she’s safe.

  And sated.

  A far cry from all the things I used to do.

  Folding the letter and putting it in my coat pocket, I jog down the steps and out to my truck, eager to move, to find her.

  To do something.

  Punching the security code back in, I exit, only to be greeted by my cousin.

  “My lucky day or what?” I bark at him. He shakes his head at me and says, “She left a week ago.”

  I spread my hands out. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me that sooner, you cocksucker?”

  As with most of my jabs, he ignores it and says, “I think it was for the best.”

  “What? Her leaving or you not telling me?”

  “Both,” the prick answers.

  “I’ve looked out and cared for that woman for twelve goddamn years! And you don’t think I deserve to know she took off? Where’d she go?”

  Sighing, he puts his hands in his pockets. “You did look out for her, Lock. Nobody would say you didn’t. But in all the years I’ve had your back in looking out for her when you weren’t around, I’ve never seen her so broken, man.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that? She’s not broken; she’s the strongest damn person I know!” I bark back.

  “Everyone keeps saying it because it’s the damn truth. And if you weren’t such a stubborn fuck, you would have realized how much she meant to you before you broke her heart.” He moves from the truck and jabs a finger in my chest. “I hate that I fuckin’ listened to you when you asked me to lie. I fuckin’ hate it, Lock, and I hate the way she looked at me when she found out. She hates me now, too. That’s on me. I’ll take it and I’ll make amends with her when she comes back. But you?” He shakes his head. “Damn, Lock. You fucked up this time.”

  Slapping his hand out of the way, I yell. “You think I don’t know that?” I instantly regret yelling when the burning in my chest forces me to lean against the truck to catch my breath.