Fracture

by Amanda K. Byrne

  It’s nothing but radio silence after that. He left his cell number, and I’m tempted to use it but decide against it. He hasn’t apologized for how he left and as the days bleed into weeks, I realize he won’t. Once I do, the last thread tying me to him snaps.

  I miss him. I miss him and worry about him and wish he was here far more than I’d expected. It pisses me off, considering how he left, walking away and not bothering to apologize for it. The shrink asks me to examine those feelings. Every time I do, the irrational part of me feels guilty and disloyal to Ryan. The rational part says to tell him to fuck off and walk away.

  I choose to ignore it instead. Hence the reason I’m not calling him, no matter how many times I start to punch in the number, no matter how itchy my fingers get.

  The end of week three comes and goes without any word from Declan. I can’t call him. I won’t. If I call him, I’ll be acknowledging how worried and panicked I’m getting. I’ll spend hours on the couch in a ball, picturing him on his knees with a gun pointed at the back of his head, or tied up and gagged in a dimly lit hut, some guy with gold teeth smiling broadly as he taunts him.

  The longer the silence stretches, the more I realize I care. I want him home. I want his arms around me, the gesture so automatic I’m not sure he even realizes it. I want him muttering over his laptop or pointing his damn camera at me or sitting on the couch, trying to convince me to read Helter Skelter instead of House of the Seven Gables.

  I want him, charming, casually cruel Declan, the man who’d rather walk away than admit he has feelings for me. It disgusts me.

  It also scares me to the point I break down and call my brother to prevent me from breaking down and calling Declan. Once I do, a wave of homesickness hits. We talk for a few hours, and I find myself promising I'll see him in a week. The small college he’s attending in upstate New York is an easy bus ride from the city. I book my ticket for two days from now and hope Declan doesn’t come home unexpectedly.

  Because I won’t be coming back.

  This is not my place; this is what I’ve learned in the three weeks Declan’s been gone. I do not belong here, waiting for a man I’m not even sure wants me around. I do not belong where I know no one and can’t work to support myself. I do not belong in this mostly empty but somehow charming little house. I’ll never find my new life holed up here. The starkness of the walls is starting to get to me anyway.

  This is not my place. It’s time for me to find where my place is.

  * * *

  Sean’s brows come together. “Sure, I can get you to the airport tomorrow. You know Declan’s not due in for another week, though, right? He’s checked in, on schedule. No pull out needed.”

  Oh, so he’s checked in with Sean, but not me. His wife. Anger simmers in my blood, and I shake my head. “Can you get me to the airport or not?”

  He narrows his eyes, but all he says is, “What time’s your flight?”

  “Two.” An hour for check–in and security, and the drive to Shannon is several hours. “You’ll pick me up around ten, I’m assuming? I don’t want to be late. Racing through the airport isn’t fun.”

  He scrapes back his chair and puts his mug in the sink. “Ten it is.”

  I lock the door behind him and return to the bedroom to pack. I’ve more clothes than what I came with, and fitting them in has been interesting.

  The small duffle bag I brought from Sarajevo is overflowing. I dump it out on the bed and start over, refolding shirts and sweaters to make them smaller. A gorgeous royal blue sweater distracts me momentarily. It’s one of the ones Declan bought me shortly after we arrived. The sweater was one of the first things that shocked me out of my stupor, the color so vibrant it dazzled.

  The metal box next to it is completely out of place. I abandon the clothing and reach for it, the metal grubby with old dirt and scratches. Ryan’s ashes. Declan, Murat, and Ismael committed what would be a crime in the States to retrieve the only thing that mattered to me in the entire city. The last piece of my old life. The piece that needs a final resting place.

  I never took Declan to the cemetery. I have no idea how he found the gravesite or what possessed him to dig it up in the first place. But he did, and if I needed any sort of evidence the man isn’t as careless with other people as I’d thought, it’s staring me in the face.

  Somehow that’s more terrifying, knowing that he does care for me. It’s no longer enough. He can’t rely on actions alone anymore. Hands shaking, vision blurring, I bury the box at the bottom of the bag and stuff sweaters and jeans and shirts on top of it.

  I don’t sleep. The bed is haunted by our last nights together, and every time I shut my eyes, I see Declan stalking away, into the airport, leaving me to pick up the pieces and glue them back together.

  My head aches and my eyes are gritty from lack of sleep when Sean pulls up at ten on the dot, and I haul my bag out to the car before he can open the door. He keeps his mouth shut as I snap on my seatbelt and stare through the windshield, waiting for him to put the car in gear and go.

  We’re halfway to the airport when he speaks. “You have everything? Passport, marriage certificate?”

  “Yes.” Shut up. Shut up, Sean, and drive.

  More hills roll past, dotted with sheep. He opens his mouth again a few minutes later. “Look—”

  “You know, you don’t strike me as the kind of man who sticks his nose in other people’s business, mostly because you don’t strike me as the kind of man who cares. Is there something you want to ask me? If there is, ask.”

  He blows out a breath and glares at me. “I’m sayin’ something because you’ve not mentioned Declan once. He doesn’t form attachments to his women, but he’s attached to you. He’s not going to take it well, you sneaking out this way.”

  His feelings aren’t my concern anymore. If he gets angry, he’s got no one to blame but himself.

  After that, Sean keeps his own counsel and doesn’t try to talk to me for the rest of the drive. He gets my bag out of the back and sets it on the sidewalk next to me, and I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I have to go,” I say quietly. “I can’t think about anyone else right now. I have to fix myself first before I can think of including another person in that equation.” I’ve put this off for too long.

  I pick up my bag and glance at Sean. His face is devoid of expression, almost like he’s bored. Stifling a sigh, I head into the terminal.

  The flight to London is short and bumpy with turbulence, the flight to New York long and not long enough. I sleep in snatches, the drone of the engines alternately lulling and aggravating. We land, and I drag myself through the airport to baggage claim and out to a cab, ready to be done with traveling. I need a shower. A bed. Food will come later.

  The city’s a shock; Sarajevo was a ghost town, Galway miniscule compared to the crush of noise and movement and life that is New York. I lock myself in my hotel room and sleep for hours, haunted by dreams of Declan, a thunderous gleam in his eye as he stands over me, furious I left without saying a word.

  I shoot up in bed, clutching the sheets to my chest. The room is wreathed in shadows, the lights of the city filtering through the cheap curtains. He’s not here. For the first time in months, I’m in a place where he is not and has never been.

  I miss him. I miss him more than when I was lying by myself in his bed, waiting for the phone to ring. I miss him more than I want, more than I can handle, the weight of it squeezing the last of the air from my lungs.

  I’m alone. I am well and truly alone, with my poisonous thoughts for company. Thoughts that say I’m a coward and possibly an idiot, leaving without demanding an explanation.

  I tell them to shut up, then I flop back down and shut my eyes.

  Sleep’s a long time coming.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Tim gives me a funny look. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll call them back later.” It’s probably Declan. Aside from Tim, he’s the on
ly one who has my new cell number. I’d texted him once my service was set up and ignored his responding text. I wasn’t ready to talk to him then, and I’m not ready to talk to him now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.

  Tim lets it go, and we continue down the sun–dappled sidewalk toward the cafe he’s chosen for breakfast.

  I’ve been in the States for a month. We spent a few days in New York City, and I felt like I was suffocating, so I followed him back to his college town in upstate New York. It’s a pretty one, surrounded by hills, one of the Finger Lakes glistening in the distance, orderly streets splitting off and snaking around the tip. I found a part–time job and a cheap room for rent. Finding a new therapist was tougher. I’d dipped into the bank accounts I hadn’t touched for two years and spoken with three different counselors. None felt right.

  There’s no view of Galway Bay from any of the hills. No scent of the sea carried on the wind. I haven’t been sleeping. My bed is horribly empty and cold.

  It’ll get better. I just have to wait it out.

  Inside, we find a table and sit, scanning the menus tucked in between the salt and pepper shakers. Tim tells me about his classes, and I half–listen, the temptation to pull my phone out and listen to my voicemail growing stronger.

  “Nora?”

  I flinch. “What? Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I could tell,” he says dryly. “You talk to Mom and Dad yet?” He nods to the waitress and turns over his coffee mug.

  “No. I’ve been putting it off. They weren’t exactly supportive to begin with when I left. They know I’m alive. I sent them an email. I’ll see them eventually.” When I’m sure I can handle their displeasure.

  The phone’s burning a hole in my pocket. It has to be Declan. But hearing that whiskey–rough voice with its charming accent would send the tiny bit I’ve struggled to rebuild crumbling into dust.

  It rings again as the waitress leaves with our orders, and at Tim’s exasperated look, I dig for my phone. “I’ll just shut it off if it annoys you so much.”

  Declan’s number flashes on the read–out. I send the call the voicemail and shut it off.

  I might as well have sliced open my chest. My attempts to remain engaged in the conversation with my brother fall miserably flat, my thoughts circling around to Declan’s call. He has to have received the papers by now. It’s the only reason I can think of he’d be calling, though it isn’t much of a reason. The divorce should be simple. We have no joint assets.

  Filing was surprisingly easy. I’d signed the papers in front of the notary and paid extra to have them express mailed to Galway. The sooner this was over, the better.

  We finish breakfast and walk out into the warm April sunshine. “Looks like you’re sticking around,” he says, glancing over. “You sure you want to? There’s shit to do. We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t headed to Pittsburgh yet.”

  I sidestep a group of chattering girls. “I can’t think of a good enough reason to go. I haven’t been in touch with my friends there since Ryan died.” I’m not ready to face another city where we’d made so many memories. Someday I will be. That day isn’t coming any time soon. “I dunno. Here seems as good a place as any. The bookstore’s not so bad, and it keeps me busy. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life before we left for Sarajevo anyway.” My job as a receptionist for an interior design firm hadn't been terribly exciting.

  He walks with me through quieter streets and stops when we reach the block where I’m staying. “Seriously. You might want to call Mom and Dad. I think they’re actually worried about you.”

  I make a face. “I’ll think about it.” He waves and walks back the way we came, and I cover the rest of the block to the house, head down as I dig for my key.

  “Lass.”

  I snap my head up so fast something cracks in my neck. What the hell is he doing here? “Declan?”

  He stalks down the porch steps, and my muscles tense as he approaches. Black hair in casual disarray. Blue eyes crackling with anger. He shouldn’t look this good. “We need to talk.”

  Well, he did come all this way. I suppose we can talk.

  I unlock the front door and lead him inside and up the stairs to the second floor. His steps are thunderous in the short hallway, his presence disconcerting and intimidating.

  As soon as we’re inside my room, he digs into his bag and comes out with a fistful of papers. “What the fuck is this?”

  It’s hard to make out the print on the scrunched papers in his hand. “I see you got the paperwork.” I struggle to hold on to my cool as he growls. “What? I did what you told me to do. I filed for divorce. That’s what those are. Divorce papers. You sign them and the attorney files them and we’re good. You can go gallivanting off to wherever the hell it is you’re supposed to go to next without worrying about some woman waiting for you.”

  He glares at the papers, then at me. “You could have called.”

  Fuck cool. I dig down for my anger. “Like you could have while you were in Mexico?” I level my gaze at him. “You call Sean to check in, but not your wife? You keep fucking up, Declan. I’m running out of reasons to forgive you.” I turn away and drop my purse on the bed. “Besides, from the way you walked away from me at the airport, I thought you’d expect this.” I glance at him. “Why are you here?”

  He drops his gaze to the papers and smoothes them out before folding them carefully and tucking them in his bag. Then he wanders over to the window. “If I don’t sign those, we’re still married.”

  “Yes.” He’d better damn well sign them. I will not be tethered to a man who has made it perfectly clear women are temporary in his life.

  “As my wife, you’d be able to stay in Ireland.”

  If that was what I’d wanted, I’d have headed for Dublin. Shannon. Kilkenny or any of the other towns and villages on the island. “Yes.”

  He’s quiet a while, staring out at the street like it’ll give him the words to voice what’s going on in his head. The longer he’s silent, the more annoyed I get. I kick off my shoes and scoot farther onto the bed, and he finally glances over.

  “Come back with me.”

  I’m sorry, did he just ask me to come to Ireland? With him? I’m sure my mouth hanging open makes an attractive picture, but I can’t process what he’s just said.

  He sits on the edge of the bed near my feet. “You took me by surprise when you said you were clear. The first thought in my head was you didn’t have a reason to stay with me anymore, and I didn’t handle it well.”

  No shit. I cross my arms over my chest.

  “I wanted more time.”

  I frown. “Time for what?”

  He slides over so he’s at my hip, reaching out to curve a hand around my jaw. “Christ, I’ve forgotten what your skin feels like under my hand.” He strokes along my cheek, down to my mouth, his eyes locked on mine. “You wanted to know what you are to me.”

  I did? I do.

  “You’re the first woman I’ve wanted to come home to. You’d distract me at the worst times out there in the desert, when I should have been thinking about who might attack our truck. I’d reach for you in the middle of the night and find empty space. I’d come home and expect to find you curled up on my couch or cursing in the kitchen because the stove wouldn’t light, and you weren’t there.” He inches closer. “It’s not love. I don’t know that I’d know what it is even if it sat up and shouted at me.”

  Oh. Oh, god. I let out a shaky breath. “If you’d said something before, I wouldn’t have left.”

  “And I’m an ass for not figuring that out sooner.” He gives me a small, self-deprecating grin. “I got home after weeks worrying what would happen to you if I’d gotten my head blown off, and when you weren’t there, I thought I’d lost the one thing that made that house a home. So I’m not signing those papers. If I don’t sign,” he says slowly, “I have time to figure this out. Without it, I don’t
have time, and this isn’t something you’d rush. Am I right?” I shake my head. “Will you give it to me?”

  Can I? Part of this feels like too little, too late. I drop my gaze. “I don’t know if I can.” I pull his hand away and wrap it in both of mine. “I’m a mess, Declan. Relationships for me are about putting the other person first, and I have to put myself first this time. I need to fix myself.” My chest tightens. The reason I left, the one buried under the pain of how he’d treated me, is still true. It hasn’t magically gone away because he’s admitted his mistake, and that he wants me with him. I have work to do. I didn’t expect it to hurt this much. “I need you to sign.”

  He frees his hand and slips it around the back of my neck. “No.”

  “No?”

  He scoots me across the bed, lifts me to straddle his lap, his hands coming up to frame my face. “No. I made a mistake, not saying something before I left for Mexico. I kept making it by not coming after you sooner. I’m not signing,” he repeats. “I’ve never tried this before. I didn’t want the guilt on my head, the possibility that someone I care for, who cares for me, would have to live with the grief I cause them by getting killed on an assignment. Then you pulled me out of the street. Take a chance on me, lass. I’m taking a chance on you.”

  The band constricting my chest breaks, and I tip my forehead to rest against his. For the first time since I left him, I feel I’m finally where I’m supposed to be. “You want to make this work?”

  “I want you.”

  I lift my head and find his mouth is inches away. “You gonna kiss me if I say yes?”

  He smiles. “Only if you mean it.”

  Of course I mean it. “You gonna take me home?”

  He tips back, making me sprawl over him. “I will. After you say yes and we take advantage of this bed.” His hands work their way under my shirt, fingertips brushing along my spine.

  I splay my hands across his chest, rubbing my fingers along the worn fabric of his t-shirt. “Sex doesn’t make everything better, you know. You’re going to have to talk to me.” His eyes darken and he looks away. “Declan, I’m not leaving without a promise you’ll talk to me instead of stalking off all broody. You seem to have a problem talking about things that bother you. That shit won’t fly with me.”