by Carina Adams
I couldn’t stop my feet as I walked down the hall, drawn to him the way a moth is to a flame. He was all Callaghan. No doubting that one bit. From his sharp cheekbones to his straight-as-an-arrow nose, to his lanky height, and the shoulders that were twice the size of a normal kid his age, the kid screamed black Irish.
With the exception of his eyes. Those were Gabby’s. Not the color, because even the deep brown was just one more thing he’d inherited from his father, but the shape. No one else had eyes that striking.
I bent my knees, dropping down a little. “Hi, Grady. I’m your uncle Declan.”
He watched me for a second, in a quiet observing way his father had never possessed, as if he was searching for something. Then his lips broke into a smile that made me do a double take. It was my dad’s smile.
Hell, it was his dad’s smile—the thing I missed most about Dustin. The one he always wore when we were kids, before he turned into a sloptwat. It almost hurt to see it. Fuck that. It did hurt to see.
Grady threw his arms around me so suddenly that I stumbled back a step, almost falling.
“Uncle Declan!” he shouted as if I wasn’t a stranger, as if he’d missed me for years, making the dogs erupt again. “You’re home!”
It took me a second to recover from the shock, but then I wrapped my arms around his small body. “Hey, buddy. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I met Fi’s eyes over Grady’s shoulder. They glistened with unshed tears. She only shrugged, apparently as confused as I was, before trying to calm the dogs.
“When did you get home?” the little man asked as soon as he pulled away. “My mom is gonna be so surprised!" Then he looked at my sister. “Is he staying here, Auntie?”
Fi looked at him, and her face softened. “I think so, yeah.”
“Yes!” He pumped his arm in the air. “We can have breakfast together before my mom comes. Aunt Fi makes the best French toast. Do you like French toast?”
I nodded. “She does make the best French toast.”
“This is so cool!” Then his face turned serious, and my anxiety climbed as I wondered what he was going to say. His eyes narrowed the same way Gabby’s had glared at me millions of times, and he twisted his lips. “Do you know how to play Xbox?”
“What?” I shook my head, sure I’d misheard him.
“Xbox. It’s a video game system. Auntie has a 360, but I asked for a One for Christmas. My mom said no, ‘cause she hates violent games and she says that Xbox only has games geared toward adults. Aunt Fi said she’d talk to her, but I’m not sure she’ll budge. Have you ever played Minecraft? It’s so much fun! I can teach you tomorrow.” The mini-Dustin fired off question after question, and a lesser person wouldn’t have been able to follow anything he was saying. When he finally paused, he sucked in a breath as if he was gearing up for another marathon rant.
Fi chose that moment to put her hand on his head. “Okay, bud. Off to bed with you. Your mom won’t let you stay here again if I let you stay up past your bedtime.”
“Aw, really?” he asked but pulled her in for a hug before turning back to me and giving me another hug. He gave us both a giant, teeth-showing smile then headed for the stairs. “G’night! Can’t wait for the mornin’, Uncle Declan! It’ll be so much fun! Come on, girls. Bed.” He tapped his thigh, and the dogs followed him immediately.
I waited until we heard the door close somewhere upstairs before I asked, “What in the fuck was that?”
“That was the whirlwind who is our nephew.” Fi smiled. “He’s always on screech. The boy doesn’t know any speed other than full throttle. Sound like anyone you know?”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant. Where in the hell is the stranger danger? Why in the fuck hasn’t Gabby taught him to be afraid of people, especially strange men covered in goddamn tattoos who he doesn’t know?” I spit out the words, seething.
Fi scoffed at my question, pointing at the ceiling, “That was the little boy who has heard nothing but great stories about his only uncle. That was the little boy who adores the man he was starting to think was about as real as Santa. He’s been waiting for you to come home for years.”
“Where does he think I’ve been?”
Fi motioned for me to follow her as she turned into her kitchen. “Gabby never lied to him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I was in prison, Fi. She wouldn’t tell him that.”
“Actually she would. She did.”
That annoyed me. “Why in the fuck would she do that?”
“Because”—Fi pulled the vodka out of the freezer—“she doesn’t lie to him about important things, and she wanted him to know the real you. Plus, she thought he should know that bad guys can be good, and good guys can be bad.”
I shook my head, accepting the shot she handed me. “That makes no fucking sense.”
She downed her drink and hissed at the taste. “Grady’s a smart kid. We adore him. But he’s got Dustin’s blood running through his veins.”
The bitter taste in my mouth had nothing to do with the drink in my hand. “I can see that,” I said with a snarl.
Fi gripped the counter, staring at me hard. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I wasn’t sure.” I swallowed the shot, glancing at the wall and unable to look at her, ashamed to say it out loud. “Dusty was so positive it wasn’t his baby.”
Fi shot me a look that said she clearly thought I was full of shit. “You, of all people, believed his drug-induced rants?”
“I didn’t know what to believe.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to meet him!” She gasped, horrified, and shook her head.
She was right. I hadn’t wanted to meet him, knowing that if he wasn’t Dustin’s, it would destroy me. I’d hardly been able to handle the idea of Gabby being with my brother. The thought of her with another man would have driven me over the edge.
Fi read the truth on my face. “You’re a real ass, you know that, right?” She inhaled sharply. “Is he yours?”
“What?” I snapped.
“You heard me. Is Grady your son?”
I couldn’t stand the way she was looking at me, judging me for a crime I’d never committed. My entire body tensed at the accusation. My feelings for Gabby had never been a secret from the family who could see right through me. If I’d had my way, Grady would have been mine because Gabby would have been in my bed and not Dustin’s. Gabs had been loyal to the prick though. Fi should have known that. “No.”
The look on her face told me she didn’t believe me. “Not a chance? Not even the slightest bit of one?”
I felt my jaw flex with tension. There had been a time when I wanted nothing more than to steal Gabby from my brother, to claim her body, mark her as mine. Make her forget that she’d ever been with anyone other than me. She was mine in every way but that one. I hadn’t taken my chance while Dustin was alive, scared of rejection, terrified that she’d choose that piece of shit over me. That would always be one of my biggest regrets. By the time I figured out was going on, it was too late.
“No,” I growled.
“It’s a valid question, and you know it,” she snapped, never taking her eyes off me. “He looks just like you.”
He had the same features as his father and grandfather. And my grandfather before them. Not just me. But I didn’t point that out. “Why not ask his mother then?”
“He’s my nephew either way, and I love him. I didn’t know which one of you was his dad, and I didn’t care. There’s so much of you in him…” She glanced away as if she’d said too much. Clearing her throat, she continued. “Gabby was terrified that Grady would grow up and act just like Dustin. So she gave him a different man to idolize. The man who went to prison for saving a little boy he loved more than his own life. His uncle, the hero.”
“I’m no hero.”
Her eyes met mine again, and she shook her head. “That’s not how I see it. That kid is my life. Gabby is my sister in every way t
hat counts. They wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t done what you did. You gave me a family. You’re a hero whether you want to be or not.”
We’d never talked about this before. I had always refused. There was no point in rehashing the past because it didn’t change anything. But she needed to get her facts straight. “What I did had nothing to do with Gabby or Grady. Dusty was fucking Dad over. He made a bad deal that would have screwed all of us, and I found out. When I confronted him, he pulled a gun. I did what I had to to save myself, Fiona. It was a selfish move, that’s it.”
She nodded, but the look she gave me told me she didn’t buy the lies I was selling. Not for one minute. “Oh, I know. You have an answer to every question. Your story is perfect. It explains why there were two guns and why the room was trashed. It also explains why Dusty’s hands were beat to shit—ya know, ‘cause you two fought.” She raised an eyebrow, tapping a blood-red fingernail next to her mouth exaggeratedly. When the skin between her eyes crinkled in mock confusion, I knew I wouldn’t like what she was about to say. “How did you make it out without a scratch on you? Our brother had very obviously been in a knock-out brawl. Yet you had nothing.”
“He trashed the fucking room, Fi. Or did you forget that? He’d gone manic.”
My sister leveled her eyes on me. “What about the bruises all over Gabby’s body—some that took months to heal? And the handprints around her neck where our brother tried to squeeze the life out of her? What about the boot prints he left on her stomach when he tried to kill his son? If it was a business deal gone bad, why was Gabby hurt?”
Before I could answer her, she stepped in close. “Gabby had your gun that day, I have no doubt. You either gave it to her so she could protect herself, or she stole it. But she never would have pulled the trigger. She was too scared of him. If you hadn’t busted in when you did, it would have been Gabby we buried and not Dusty. And then I still would have lost both of my brothers, because you would have gone crazy, the guilt eating at you for not saving the woman you loved. And I would have killed Dustin in cold blood, shot him in the back of the head the way I wanted to so many times. You are our hero, Dec. Because you saved me that night too.”
Well, fuck.
Chapter Seven
Gabby
I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling, long after the sun came up. I needed to get my butt in gear and take the dog for her run, then go get my son, yet the motivation wouldn’t come. All I wanted to do was lie there and do nothing. I didn’t even have the urge to call Fi.
It was probably pure exhaustion. I’d been so worried about the meeting with the SammWell agents that I hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks. Had that really only been yesterday? God, it felt like a lifetime ago.
Last night had been a complete wash. My brain wouldn’t shut down long enough for me to catch some shut-eye, even though my body was telling me that I needed to close my eyes and rest. Funny how the two—my brain and body—always seemed to be at war. God knew they’d been at odds for years, especially where Declan was concerned.
Declan. As much as I tried to avoid it, my thoughts always seemed to drift back to him. A jumble of emotions came after that, ranging from guilt to gratitude. I was lost when it came to Dec.
How had he known where I lived? I’d gone to great lengths to hide that information from everyone who didn’t need to know. My mother didn’t even know where the house was. When she came to see us, every fourth or fifth blue moon when she wanted to prove to her boyfriend of the week that she was a good mom, we’d meet at a restaurant in Portland.
I’d become a pathetic spinster who didn’t trust easily. Declan’s words of warning had never been far from my mind, making me look at people differently. Because of that, I didn’t share much of myself.
Moira knew where I lived, of course. I may not like Mrs. Callaghan, but she was family and loved Grady almost as much as I did. I couldn’t imagine Dec’s mother telling him. She wanted him as far away from me as he could get. In her mind, I’d poisoned one of her sons, and she wasn’t going to give me the chance to destroy the other.
I didn’t blame her.
Fi had probably told him. Maybe she’d hoped he’d come here months ago. Yet he hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to see me. That fact still stung.
To make matters worse, he’d blatantly lied when I asked him how he knew where I lived. That little tidbit did more than sting—it burned like a son of a bitch. Dec was the king of omission, always had been. He lied expertly when he was backed into a corner. Never to me though. For me, yeah. More times than I could count.
Yet he’d always been painfully honest with me. Even when a lie would spare my feelings, he laid the truth out for me clearly, in black and white. It should have made me hate him, especially when his truths verged on being hurtful, but it had only made me appreciate him that much more.
How long had he known where I lived? Would he ever have come on his own? The same questions looped through my mind over and over as I sighed and glanced around my room.
This was my little piece of heaven, my escape from the world. In this room, I didn’t have to worry if everything was where it belonged or if it made the “right” impression. Instead, it was pure chaos. Clothes were draped over every piece of furniture I owned, books scattered over every open surface, and the little knick-knacks that reminded me who I truly was lined the shelves. It looked like a teenager’s room.
I’d purchased the small cape not long after I’d gotten my first real job. I wanted to prove I could stand on my own two feet, but Moira had given me the giant down payment. She claimed it was money that had been set aside for Dustin’s first house, that all of her children got one, and since he was gone, the money was mine. I’d accepted only because Grady needed a real home, one where he could build a fort in the backyard, get a puppy, and make positive memories that would last a lifetime.
Something I had never had.
We loved it there—the boy, Zahira, and me. We were happy, hidden, free to live the life I’d always hoped for. I felt safe here, secure. Almost untouchable. It had taken me years to gain that freedom.
After the police had hauled Declan away, I could barely tolerate being alone. Half the time, I forced Fi into the bathroom with me, mumbling whatever excuse I could think of at the time, because I was too afraid to even pee alone, never mind shut myself behind a solid shower curtain where I couldn’t see what was coming at me. Modesty didn’t have a place in your life when you had been through what I had.
I wouldn’t even attempt sleep unless someone was with me, right there within arm’s reach. The times I had, I’d woken up reaching for Dec and sobbing until I cried myself into exhaustion after I remembered he was gone. Thank God for Fi. I wouldn’t have survived my pregnancy without her.
I was terrified of my own shadow, jumpy as shit, and a textbook example of a battered woman.
Until Grady came. One look at him, and I knew I had to be strong for the both of us. I couldn’t get over what had happened overnight—hell, I knew that I would probably never get over it—but I could definitely fake it until I made it. Which I did. For years.
I was the queen of putting on a happy façade and pretending to be someone I wasn’t. No one—not my students, not my friends, and certainly not Grady—would ever guess the strong, confident, capable woman they knew was once the sad and lost girl I had been. Not even Fi knew the whole truth. I didn’t trust anyone enough to share that part of me.
Except Declan.
To this day, I trusted Dec with every fiber of my being. Yet having him know where I lived, where my son lived, without me being the one to tell him set off warning bells in the back of my mind. I couldn’t force the nagging feeling away. If Dec knew, then others could find out too.
We’d been followed by God knows who. Declan had told whoever he called that there were two cars. I’d learned enough to know that two cars was more than someone trying to scare you. What would have happened if he hadn’t seen them? Who in the
hell was it? Were they there to settle the debt he’d made when Dustin died?
Would he have led them straight to Grady and me? Moira had done a great job keeping the family at bay, but eventually they would want someone to take over Callaghan Industries. Since Dec wouldn’t do it, they’d come after Dustin’s son. My son.
After everything I’d done to keep him safe, the idea of Dustin reaching out from the grave and controlling me once again made my blood turn to ice.
“Dustin is gone,” a tiny voice reminded me.
But he isn’t. Not really. I swallowed hard, closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths as I dropped my head back onto my pillow, trying to force away the dread that had started to circle in my stomach. There was a time when even the thought of him would leave me nauseated and running for a bucket. Now I was usually just left with a killer migraine.
It wasn’t just the things he’d done that made me sick—it was the deep-seeded regret of what I’d allowed to happen. I’d never been someone I considered weak. I’d never been afraid of my own shadow. Not until him.
The first time Dustin hit me, I’d thought it was a fluke. I wasn’t the type of girl who let boys take control. I would never have considered myself that weak.
Dustin had spent months wearing me down, seeking me out in the middle of the school day, appearing out of thin air to offer me help with whatever I needed, and flirting shamelessly every time he saw me. A boy who wanted a girl so much that he spent all his energy trying to get her to notice him would cherish her, not hurt her. So it had to be a mistake, right?
I squeezed my eyelids tight, trying to fight back as memories flooded in without warning or invitation. It was no use. They played before my eyes as if I was watching some cheesy Saturday morning teen show. The popular senior boy with a bad reputation was doing whatever he could to convince the unknown and uninterested freshman girl that he wasn’t as bad as people thought.
I shook my head, trying to force away the vivid images. I probably couldn’t remember all the times he’d struck me, and I didn’t even want to try. Yet I’d never forget the last. Or the first.
