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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Sept 28, 2020 2:23:45 GMT -5
Katherine Fellowes Pete didn’t want to be worried anymore, but the niggling feeling had started to drive inside him like a worm. Even if there /wasn’t/ a problem, Lara would persist until there was. Sometimes they created arguments out of nothing; false accusations, insecurities, and the rude words would fly and then a problem /would/ be upon them. It was easy to soothe down with kisses until it became about Max Sullivan.
A few days after Charlie was born, Pete recalled waking up in the middle of the night to find the bed beside him empty. Padding down the stairs, he heard a gentle cooing sound, followed by the tinkling of chimes. The living room window had a pretty dreamcatcher dangling, bells and feathers and ribbons streaming from below and catching and playing in the breeze.
Lara was stood by it, the window pulled up halfway so the cool air cascaded in, blowing the wisps of hair that framed her face. For a moment Pete just watched her. She was cradling Charlie in her arms, swaying him ever so gently, cooing gently words. The longer he looked, however, the easier it was to spot the tears glistening down her pinched cheeks.
Charlie hadn’t wanted to settle that night. Both of them had battled and Pete had grown frustrated and locked himself in the bathroom to calm down. The never ending crying had managed to seep through their pillows and in his anger, exhaustion and frustration he’d snapped.
‘He won’t fuckin’ stop.’
‘Don’t swear, Pete!’
‘I can’t do it.’
‘Pete –‘
‘Maybe he just wants his /real/ father.’ He had spat, storming off.
Pete had sat on the side of the bath and smoked furiously out of the window. By the time he had calmed down, Lara had disappeared downstairs and the crying had stilled, so he went back to bed. He wasn’t proud, but he felt too embarrassed to try again. His own son wouldn’t stop wailing, no matter how much he had tried. It was common, he knew, in new-borns, but the fact that his hair was already sprouting in black curls had made it harder.
Seeing Lara by the window, sobbing, Pete had set up pillows and a duvet on the sofa and the two fell asleep, cocooned with Charlie between them. It was difficult, or, it /had/ been difficult. Pete didn’t want times like those again. Didn’t want Max Sullivan fracturing their life, even when he wasn’t here. So, the whispers had to stop and whoever was spreading them would be silenced.
There was a commotion back in the real world. Pete had been talking to Dave, leaning on the bar and relaxing his shoulders when Jock had walked in. Why? What had Pete been doing wrong these last few years to deserve this? Rather than squaring up to the man, Pete dragged his eyes across to Bovver. Who could forget that night? Pete had thought him dead as he’d left Bovver outside, limp and bleeding claret pools, to save Lara.
Jock or Dermot may not have pulled the trigger, but they hadn’t stopped it either. Jock had, however, tried to destroy The Abbey. It was people like Jock and Max that made it hard to believe Dermot was a genuinely nice person. Sometimes Pete got wary, other times he was too exhausted. He had put trust in this man, and hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed.
‘No.’ Bovver slammed his drink down, not too far down the bar. ‘It’s Charlie’s fuckin’ birthday.’
The boys had been whispering, throwing shady looks towards their guest. /No/, Bovver had decided and Pete felt a pang of relief. Not another fight today. Charlie had already taken a liking to punching Pete in the stomach when he was trying to sleep, he didn’t need any more motivation to brawl.
Pete acknowledged Bovver’s calmness with a nod, knowing the boys wouldn’t stop an inch out of line if he didn’t want them too. They either respected or feared him more, but Pete was content with the arrangement. It was good. A quiet life was /good/. Chewing his lip, he sipped the rest of his pint and placed it down.
‘Probably just found out he’s a sandwich.’ Swill muttered and everyone turned to look at him. Sometimes Pete worried for his friend and merely shook his head.
‘I think that brick to the head in ’95 gave you brain damage, mate.’ He chuckled, ordering another round.
‘Inbred.’ Swill reiterated, slowly. ‘In-bread? Cunts.’
‘None of the C word in this place, alright.’ Pete warned, but winked playfully.
Dave nodded, taking a fresh pint from the bar. ‘Yeah. Freddie has started to say fuck now, and I can’t get ‘im to stop.’ He winced as he looked towards Alice. ‘I was putting a canvas up in the living room when I hammered me thumb – seven shades of profanity fell from my lips, and she’s been holding it against me ever since.’
Jock and Dermot left and Pete watched the two with caution. He didn’t want things to go back – they /couldn’t/. Maybe he would have a word with him…
‘I’m back.’
Pete’s eyes were instantly drawn to Lara and he smiled, broad. She was cuddling Charlie, who, after a moment of cuddling was already running back to George. It was sweet how much he loved him, but sometimes Pete felt jealous. Walking towards Lara, Pete didn’t falter, advancing as if he hadn’t seen her in months. It was always refreshing and reassuring when she returned to him.
‘You came back then.’ He smiled as she rushed into his arms.
‘I love you, Pete.’ She whispered, unfurling herself from the fabric of his shirt and kissing him.
Holding her tight, Pete smiled and kissed the top of her head. Every time she said those words, they were always so weighted and comforting. How could anyone get tired of hearing them?
‘She that bad?’ he asked, nodding over her shoulder towards Kimmy. Pulling back, he looked down into her eyes as Lara touched his jaw, sending shivers through him. Chuckling, he took her hand and squeezed it, leaning down to kiss her nose. ‘I love you always, Lara Dunham.’
‘Get out of it.’ Dave made a fake gagging noise as he elbowed past, flashing a wink before joining Alice.
They were happy, Pete reminded himself. All of them. Focus on that.
Still squeezing Lara’s hand, Pete glanced at the doorway and sighed. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ He murmured, feeling like he was in a game of revolving doors. ‘I just want to check on Dermot.’ With a reassuring smile, he headed out, the sun blinding him as he stepped onto the pavement.
‘Lara.’ Nora called from a booth, waving a hand for her to come over. ‘I think we need a night out.’ She whispered as her friend slid in beside her, Kimmy on her lap. ‘Without party poppers and balloons and /men/.’ She glanced at the door briefly before sighing, sipping her Bacardi. Flashing playful look towards Aoife, Nora raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you say, little one?’
Katherine Fellowes ‘Your uncle Max is alive.’
Pete stopped the second he heard the words leave Jock’s mouth. Aoife was stood staring at the two, mouth agape and before she could argue, Pete placed a hand on her shoulder.
‘Get inside, darlin’.’ He was gentle in his touch, but his gaze was serious.
Dermot looked ready to argue, but the look Pete shot him wore him down. Before anyone else could even /breathe/, the second Aoife was inside, he stalked across to Jock. Gripping him by the collar, he slammed him into the wall, anger in his eyes. ‘So you’re the one spreading the rumours?’ Pete hissed, tightening his grip. ‘I have a /wife/ and my two kids in there. So keep your bullshit to yourself, you Irish bastard.’ Glancing at Dermot, Pete let Jock go with a huff.
‘And please don’t get involved in this, Dermot. You did well to even get out alive last time.’ CLaire For a moment, Aoife could only stare at Jock as she processed his words. They weren't quite connecting though. Max was... But that was impossible? Her hands began to tremble, lips parted in shock. But before she could ask him to repeat himself, a firm hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped, turning to see Pete Dunham looking down at her. There was a look in his eye she had never seen before, but she allowed him to guide her back into the Abbey. Before she disappeared inside, she cast another look back at her Dad. Dermot still had his back to her, shoulders bunched and back tense.
It couldn't be true. Dad wouldn't do that to them.
Dazed, she drifted back through the crowd towards the table at the back. Nora and Lara were sat together, Kimmy gnawing the corner of a beer mat. In silence, she sank down, her mind a whirl.
"What do you say, little one?"
"Huh?" Blinking, she glanced over at the pair. Lara smiled gently.
"A night out. No men. No drama. Would you like to come?"
Aoife nodded. "Yeah. I'm free tonight?"
"Perfect." Lara's smile brightened. If anything, this was exactly what she needed. A chance to let her hair down, to let her worries fade away for a night. To take back her normality. Now she was back surrounded by her friends, she felt safer. More secure in the idea that Max /was/ dead and that it /had/ to be some sicko.
It had to be Jock. Nothing else made any sense. Cards and flowers turn up the /day/ he arrives out of the blue? He could have easily sent that card before coming to London, and put flowers on the grave. But why? That was the part she didn't understand. But she was going to find out. "We'll pick you up at eight..." She said to Aoife, but she was clearly distracted. "Are you sure you're okay?" She frowned. Aoife just nodded, anxiously looking at the front door. Lara tensed. "What's wrong?"
"It... It's probably nothing." Aoife got to her feet. "Jock's high again," she muttered, before she made her way towards George. Silently, she slipped her arm around his waist and leaned into him, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Just what was going on? And Pete was out there too. Lara pushed a hand through her hair and picked up her cola, ice cubes clinking against the glass.
"Why can't anything just be normal around here?" she muttered, Kimmy gurgling in agreement.
***
Jock watched as Aoife disappeared back into the pub. Before he could even open his mouth to say anything, Pete had strode forward, snatching him by the collar of his shirt and shoving him back into the wall. Jock growled, grabbing Pete's arms so he couldn't shove him further. Just what did this little English prick think he was-
"So you're the one spreading the rumours? I have a /wife/ and my two kids in there. So keep your bullshit to yourself, you Irish bastard."
"My bullshit?" Jock spat when Pete released him, straightening his jacket with a scowl. Staring at Pete's profile, he knew it would only take a moment to smash Pete into the floor and take his fucking face with him. The furious heat was there, the red mist threatening to descend. It would be all /too/ easy to paste the fucking both of them right now.
"And please don't get involved in this, Dermot. You did well to even get out alive last time."
Dermot nodded, but didn't say a word. Jock curled his lip and shook his head as he looked between the pair. "Sorry to burst your fuckin' bubble," he spat at Pete, kicking himself away from the wall. "But that fuckin' scumbag Max was stood in my hallway an hour ago. Face a bit fucked up, but one hundred fuckin' percent alive." He looked Pete up and down in disdain. "Maybe you should be more appreciative of the warning instead of throwing me up against the fuckin' wall."
"Jock-"
Jock wheeled around to face his cousin, barking a harsh laugh. "Did you know all this time?"
"I swear to you, I... I don't know anything!" Dermot raised his hands, looking between Pete and Jock. He didn't want to lie. Not to the people he considered family. Dermot didn't want to destroy everything he had built in the past three years. What the fuck was Max thinking? He'd made no noise about coming back to London. Now he was turning up at the house? And if Nora found out he lied.... Dermot felt sick. He pushed a hand through his hair and paced outside the front of the pub, aware of the two lingering gazes following his every movement.
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he turned back to face them. "I saw Max get shot. I saw him fall in the water. I..." His throat felt constricted and he shook his head desperately. "Are you sure it was him?"
"You think I'd mistake that little cunt?" Jock snapped. "I've known him all his fuckin' life."
Dermot looked at Pete, stepping forward. "You know I would /never/ put Charlie in danger, Pete, you know that."
Jock sighed, shaking his head and moving to sit on the wall. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. He believed Dermot. Max was somehow alive, seemingly indestructable, and Dermot really did know nothing about it. In fact, he couldn't even seem to grasp the idea that Max /was/ alive. Jock sighed. Maybe he should have waited until later after all.
Charlie was fast asleep by the end of the party. Aoife, Nora, Alice and herself had arranged to meet at Lara's by eight pm and hit the town. And Lara was looking forward to it. As the last of the lads left, Swill hugging her extra tight, Lara made her way over to Pete. He was lifting Charlie into his arms, the little boy's head rolling gently on his shoulder, his lips a sleepy pout. Lara felt the overwhelming swell of love in her heart, the same feeling she experienced whenever she looked at her children.
Being a mother was surreal. Everything she thought it would be and everything she thought it wouldn't. Plus a hundred other challenges that came from having two children under five. But she wouldn't have changed it for the world. For the first time in her life, she had a purpose. A reason for being. Nothing was going to stand in the way of that. "Are you sure you don't mind me going out?" She asked Pete, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning into his side.
"Hey, bruv." It was Bov. He was waiting by the doors, Bobby Moore sat patiently at his feet. Lara wheeled Kimmy past in her pushchair and waited outside as Bov approached Pete. "I 'eard the girls are goin' out for the night. Mind if I pop round later?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "There's summing I wanna talk about."
Once Pete and Lara arrived home, he took Charlie straight up to bed and tucked him in. After a bottle of warm milk, Kimmy was fast asleep in her cot, small fists bunched either side of her head; a golden-haired cherub. As Lara washed the bottle out, she heard Pete enter the kitchen behind her. She flashed him a smile.
"I don't think Charlies gone to sleep this easily in months," she teased, setting the bottle on the draining board. Drying her hands on a tea towel, she moved across the kitchen to him, leaning up to loop her arms around his neck. "What did Jock want? Earlier?" She worried her bottom lip as she searched his eyes. "... I think he sent the card, Pete. It... makes sense." For some reason, she didn't want to mention the flowers. And what was the point? She knew without a doubt it was that crackhead Jock - because when did crackheads need a reason to do anything? - and she didn't want to worry Pete any more than necessary.
"I have to get ready, Nora will be here soon. But I'll be back by midnight at the latest." She leaned up to kiss him softly, her fingers trailing over the stubble on his jaw. "Are you sure you'll survive here without me?" She laughed lightly, glancing around at the chaos their children had left earlier; toys, wrapping paper, balloons.
Upstairs, she showered quickly, drying her hair so the waves fell naturally over her shoulders. It had been a few months since she'd had a good night out with Nora and she didn't realise how desperate she was for it until now. Being a mum was her entire life, but sometimes it was nice to step out just as Lara. She did her make up and slipped on a nice dress, which wasn't too frumpy or revealing. Giving herself one last look in the mirror and feeling satisfied, she left the room.
Stepping quietly into Charlie's room, she crouched beside the bed and smoothed back his messy curls. "I love you so much," she whispered, leaning over to kiss his warm brow. "Happy birthday, little man." Creeping from the room, she entered Kimmy's, leaning over to kiss her also. Why did they look so cute and yummy when they slept? She could have honestly watched them all night.
There was a knock at the door and Lara arrived downstairs to see Bovver coming in. "No Bobby?" She smiled warmly as she reached the hall. Bov chuckled.
"Too much excitement for one day. He's been asleep since we got 'ome." The pair walked through to where Pete was sat, a couple of tins of beer already set out on the coffee table. He'd also tidied up while she was getting ready and she felt her heart warm. They had had their troubles, especially in the early days with a newborn, but she knew they were stronger than ever. Outside, an engine purred and a horn beeped lightly.
"Right, I'm off. If you need anything, just call. I'll have my phone on me at all times." She looked briefly worried, but forced a smile. She kissed Pete, inhaling the familiar smell of his aftershave, already looking forward to getting back into his arms. "I love you," she whispered, before grabbing her jacket off the back of the armchair Bov was occupying. And with a last fleeting smile, she was out the door.
***
Once Lara had gone, Bov cracked open a can and took a drink. Finally he had Pete alone, which was perferable as he had no idea how his best mate was going to react to his question. Something he'd been wanting to ask for days, yet hadn't seemed to gather the courage to.
Well, it was now or never.
As Pete got comfy, Bov sat back in the armchair and studied him. "I might as well jus' come straight out with it," he shrugged. "Ryan's leg is fucked and we've got a meet on Saturday. I need you, Bruv." He raised his hands before Pete could protest. "I know, look, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate. Just one meet. Lara don't need to know and the boys won't say a word."
He sighed and glanced around at the room; various photos on the wall of Lara and Pete - wedding day - and a load of Charlie and Kimmy. Pete was a family man now, Bov was well aware, but he also wasn't stupid. He had seen the way Pete watched after them sometimes as they left for matches, or the look of longing in his eyes when they returned battered and bloodied and jublient. If he wanted another go, even just once, this was his chance.
"Don't make me beg," he finally said, bringing his gaze back to Pete and watching him steadily. "We could all do with you there. So 'ow about it?"
***
The music in the club was loud and bassy and /exactly/ what Lara needed. It was also packed, the dance floor and bar crammed. The four women managed to locate a table at the back, claiming it before two girls in ultra short skirts could. They walked away scowling as they threw down their bags and took seats.
"I'll buy the first round because I have to leave early," Aoife smiled, already freeing her purse. She was dressed in a mid-thigh length figure-hugging blue dress, her hair curled and looking stunning. "What is everyone having?"
As everyone shouted their orders, Lara let her gaze drift around the room. She felt a little on edge and she wasn't quite sure why. Dermot would deal with Jock, she had nothing to be scared about. She could almost laugh at the thought of letting a pathetic little card send her into a panic. All because some nutcase with a thing for her best friend was trying to cause trouble.
Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Lara turned her attention back to the group, smiling brightly. Aoife had left for the bar, chatting to the barmaid as she served the drinks. "Well, I certainly can't wait to get completely drunk. Especially after today." She glanced at Nora. "How are you feeling? Was Dermot okay? After Bov and then... Jock coming, y'know?" Though the real question was, was /Nora/ okay?
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Sept 29, 2020 15:26:06 GMT -5
Rosa felt /amazing/, as if she were wrapped up in a warm fluffy cloud. Hmm. She could stay here forever. Nothing was better than this feeling. Floating. Drifting. All dreamy and safe. Hmmm.
Her favourite thing about being high was that it chased all the bad stuff away. The people she'd hurt. The lives she'd torn apart. The horrific things she had been involved in. All the dark thoughts and the fucked up memories of bad decisions she'd made. Meeting Nick Walker was number one on the list. Nineteen years old and working a part time bar job in Luton. The Friday night had been no different to any other; a rowdy bunch of pissheads, each trying their hand at chatting her up - and failing miserably. Her shift had been close to finishing when /he/ had sidled up to the bar, elbows on the marked wood, his tall frame hunched. A few years older than her with blue eyes that instantly caught her attention.
"I'll take a beer." He paused, looking her up and down. "And whatever you're having."
What made him different to any other punter that night, she'll never know. But with warm cheeks, she nodded and uttered a thanks, pouring his beer and a gin and tonic for herself. And then she stayed long past her shift, sat with Nick at the bar, enjoying the attention he was lavishing on her. Loving the fact that he seemed interested in /her/ and not just her pretty face. If only she'd known then what she knew now.
"Rosa." Someone nudged her side and she groaned, unable to even open her eyes. Visions of Nick's face swam in her mind. His smirk as he bore down on her, ignoring her cries of pain. The hand clamped over her mouth... and a distant echo of a young girl's scream.
"G'way."
"Rosa." Someone was shaking her shoulders now. Sighing, she blinked blearily, forcing her eyes open. It was Robbie. "Let me take you home."
"Where's that?" She asked and then laughed bitterly. Did she even have a place to call home anymore? She knew it would only be a matter of time before Jock got bored and ditched her somewhere. They always did. Robbie hauled her to her feet, and catching sight of the window, she saw it was dark.
"You've been out for hours," he said as if reading her mind. "Time to go.:
On the drive back to Jock's, Rosa rested her head against the window and watched the dark streets of London pass by. Skyscrapers and restaurants and run down housing estates. The radio was on low in the background, until Robbie reached out and turned it off. "I've got summin' to tell you."
"Oh, yeah?" She looked over at his profile; a frown creasing his brow as he focused on the road.
"Yeah, I've uh... I've applied to be a copper."
"You what?" Rosa sat upright and stared at him in disbelief. "Why?"
"Cause I want to." He scowled at her.
"Yeah but /why/?!"
"Well... I dunno." Robbie clenched the steering wheel and stared ahead. A few moments later, he pulled up outside the large house.
"Coppers are fuckin' scumbags. Corrupt bastards, the lot of 'em. You really gonna turn on me like that?"
"I ain't turnin on you, Rosa."
"Bullshit. You fuckin' idiot. You join those pigs and we are done." Rosa shoved open the door and got out with a huff. Without another word to her brother, she slammed the door and stalked up to the house. She heard the squeal of tyres as he sped off down the driveway and out into the night. "Fuckin' copper," she muttered. "Over my dead body."
Nobody was home. Rosa wandered the house, until she found the bedroom she would now share with Jock. She moved to the bed he had pushed up against the window for her and picked up her teddy. She squidged the middle, feeling the hard lump inside. Then, she turned it over and unpicked the loose stitches at the back. Rooting around inside the bear, she pulled free a large blue gem the size of her palm. Sapphire. It glittered amd reflected the light as she sat on the bed and inspected it.
When the door burst open, she screamed and dropped it on the floor. Jock stood, glancing from her to the sapphire before he quickly slipped in, slammed the door and turned the lock. "What do you think you're doin?!"
"Just lookin," she scowled, gathering it up and stuffing it back in the bear. "I didn't think anyone was in."
"I just got back." Jock paced to the bed and took the bear, ignoring her glare. "Rosa, this is dangerous."
"I was just lookin'! Don't even look expensive, looks like somethin' out me nan's jewellery box."
Jock ignored her, moving to his desk and yanking open his drawer. He pulled out a small sewing kit, and cursing under his breath, he worked to sew the bear back up. "It has to stay hidden, Rosa! This is the only reason we're on the run from that nutjob, all right? If somebody sees it, they'll start asking questions."
"What's the point in having it if it's just sat in a bear?!" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "We might as well pawn it-"
"Oh, come on. You think Walker hasn't got a finger in every dealer in the country? If we try and sell it, he'll be the first to know."
"Well, we could just lose it?" Rosa shrugged, enjoying the look of horror that crossed Jock's face.
"Lose it? Are ya fuckin' mad, woman? I didn't risk my life taking this bastard just to lose it. No. I just need to think." He dropped his gaze to finish sewing. "I'll figure something out."
"If you weren't such a thief, we wouldn't be in trouble anyway," she muttered, chucking herself back down on the bed. "Where is everyone anyway?"
"Dermot went for a walk. Nora's gone for a girls night out."
"A girls night out?" Rosa sat up, brow furrowed. "Without me?"
"They barely know you. Don't take it personally." Jock put down the sewing kit and inspected the stitching. With a satisfied grunt, he sat the bear on the desk.
"Well where did they go?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Jock pushed away from the desk, shoving the sewing kit into the drawer and slamming it shut. "Where did you get to earlier? You weren't at the party."
"Yeah, cause it was boring." Rosa dragged her suitcase towards her and began to rifle through. She could feel Jock's gaze on her.
"...They're fresh," he said, nodding to the puncture marks on her right arm. "You promised me... Where did you go?"
"I went to see Robbie."
"That kid is bad news," he retorted and Rosa laughed, pulling out a baby blue silk dress with a florish.
"Not anymore. He's gonna be a copper," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. Standing, she pulled off her hoody and vest, then wriggled out of her jeans, not even shy about Jock being there. He'd seen her in worst states anyway. She slid on the dress, then admired herself in the mirror. "How do I look?"
"Like a skaghead."
"Funny." She grabbed Jock's wallet off the side, slid out a bunch of twenties and slipped them into her bra.
"You owe me!" Jock called out as she reached the door and unlocked it. "Where are you going anyway?"
She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. "Girls night out."
***
He hadn't seen her in months. Four months and five days to be precise. Her hair a little longer, the shade of blonde a little lighter. She looked a little healthier too, more meat on her bones so to speak. As she strutted down the dark street in three-inch heels, he let his gaze follow the sway of her hips. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she walked, maybe to ward off the late summer breeze, or perhaps a subtle way of protecting herself. Keeping her defences up. God, he could read her like a book.
He watched Rosa disappear through the doors of a club, neon lights flashing briefly before the door swung shut behind her. Did she really think she could walk away fromeverything? No, she held too many memories, too many secrets in that pretty messed up head of hers. She was the key to his inner most depravity and in the wrong hands, that would be very dangerous. His fingers twitched on the steering wheel. How he wanted to go inside, feel her beneath his hands. Make her cry in fear. Make her regret running off with that fucking /Jock Sullivan/.
The first time he'd taken her, she'd never even known. Watched silently as she slipped the needle into her arm for the first time, watched as her eyes slid shut as she slumped against the bed. Remembered the way her cotton jumper had felt beneath his fingers as he'd eased it over her head. Explored her, tracing rosy nipples, hand dipping between her thighs. And as he'd taken her, she'd moaned and stirred a little, but never truly woke. And in the morning, when she'd awakened confused and sore, but fully dressed, she had never even found it in herself to question him. It had been easy after that.
Nick pulled away from the curb with a smirk on his face. The sapphire wasn't the only precious object he was missing.
***
It took Rosa six bars and clubs before she found them. She'd been on the verge of giving up, a little disappointed and rejected. Why was she even wasting her time? Rosa never really did friends anyway. She'd learnt from school that most girls were bitches who'd talk behind your back before you'd even turned around. And yeah, maybe she had struggled making friends, thanks to her mum being the local crackhead prostitute, but that didn't mean Rosa should have been tarred with the same brush. Not then, anyway.
And Nora didn't like her either. She saw it in her eyes the moment she stepped in the door behind Jock. Looking down at her in her expensive clothes, doused in perfume and looking like a super model. And Rosa looking like something that the cat dragged in. But, after what Jock had told it, it wasn't as if Nora was whiter than white, was it? Oh no, Little Miss Perfect had her own secrets, ones that could cause a lot of damage were they to get out. Rosa couldn't even work out why Jock was so smitten. By all accounts, it had been nothing more than a fleeting kiss, but he had carried that around with him for the past three years. Hadn't even touched another woman! It was ridiculous.
But, the others - what were their names? - oh, Lara and Alice. The others seemed nice. Maybe they'd be more accepting of her. Maybe. If she could even find them.
Turning, Rosa was about to leave when she caught sight of Nora at the back of the room. Head thrown back as she laughed at something that red maned Alice had said. Lara swirling an umbrella in her cocktail, smiling, eyes downcast. Another woman that Rosa didn't recognise; dark hair and piercing blue eyes. For a moment, Rosa didn't move, stomach clenching nervously.
What was she actually doing here? Other than feeling very left out. Her inner wrist began to itch ferociously, and she scratched at it. "Come on, Rosa. You can do this," she muttered to herself, before pushing her way through the crowd and joining the four women at the table. Her gaze swept Nora as she smiled pleasantly and tilted her head. "I 'ope you don't mind, but I thought I'd join yous."
"Uh, sure," Lara blinked in surprise as Rosa popped up out of nowhere. They'd been laughing about something, but Lara was struggling to keep her mind on the conversation; it was still at the cemetary, with the flowers. At the cemetary, with Max. She smiled brightly at Nora and nudged her under the table with her foot. "That's okay, isn't it?"
"Good." Rosa didn't wait for another answer as she squeezed into the stool between Nora and Aoife. "I'm Rosa. Nora's friend."
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Post by katherinesullivan on Sept 29, 2020 15:31:11 GMT -5
Pete just knew that Bovver was going to want something. Knew, or rather, hoped.
It was a strange craving, like when he had tried to give up smoking and knew it was bad, /knew/ it was dangerous and wrong and yet he swore the Marlboros were calling his name through the locked drawer. He had caved, smoked three in secretive succession at the end of the drive.
He could feel Bovver climbing inside his subconscious every time they locked eyes across the bar, the mention of match-day and kick-off sending him spiralling. With these things came the threats he didn’t want to involve his family in — involve Lara in. But somehow the black eyes, the broken bones and having their bloody faces across the Daily Mail didn’t dampen the euphoria.
He had tried to explain it to Lara once. That it wasn’t /actually/ that bad. Being a Hammers fan, going to a game, drinking a pint or two and bringing down chaos in darkened alleyways. It was a sport and only ever personal when they made it. Asked for it. Deserved it.
The reason it had been so tough before was merely because of Max Sullivan. Lara had brandished Tommy Hatcher and Mark Turners name in the air like poison, but Pete had shrugged it off, adamant that they had only spiked because of the wild influence of an Irishman.
‘I’ve been in this game for years.’ Pete had cried. ‘And I’m still here!’
That had been a mistake. /Game/ Lara had repeated like a banshee and he’d stormed off. She didn’t understand. So he hadn't tried to make her anymore. Kept the longing inside himself, withheld the excitement he could feel boiling every time he played with Charlie in the garden and imagined carrying him on his shoulders through the stalls.
Pete Dunham had never believed he would have children, and now he did, he was disheartened they wouldn’t understand the world in the same way as he had. Be bought up in the Abbey in the same with, with its grimes walks, beer stained seats and defeating crackle of the television as it struggled to belt out a classic match. It was calmer now, more modern and silent. Games were now played on silent with subtitles, not to disturb those actually requesting a calming atmosphere.
Strange, how times changed. How the world changed, albeit the past would never stop calling to them all. It was why it was so hard to leave — why Dave was still involved. Why no woman, child or contented life could rival. Like rhythmic drums, Pete Dunham had the claret beating in his very veins.
‘What did Jock want, earlier?’ Lara’s voice coaxed Pete from his thoughts and he sighed.
‘A smack in the jaw?’ Pete mumbled, intending on sarcasm but sounding bitter. ‘Sorry, babe. Nothing. He didn’t want anything, just to say that he’s back.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘I think he sent the card, Pete.’
Lara’s arms were around his neck and he smiled, squeezed her middle hard. She was still worried and it upset him, but Pete had learned a long time ago that there was nothing he could do to stop his wife’s mind wandering to the worst. He didn’t want to mention what Jock had been yelling adamantly outside.
‘Silly Irish twat.’ Pete murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head. ‘Dermot will sort him out.’ Another hope.
‘Are you sure you’ll survive here without me?’ She then teased and Pete growled, kissing her neck.
‘I always survive without you. Just about.’ The kiss was sweet and he smiled as she sauntered off to get ready.
Whilst Lara was busying herself, Pete pulled a shoe box from the cupboard and sat it on his lap. It had been a long while since he had looked inside, the edges battered and the left side reinforced with brown tape. Taking off the kid, he peered inside and the nostalgia hit him like a wave.
1997, a West Ham ticket, the edges clipped where they had stamped it on his way in. A bottle cap from his first ever /legal/ beer. A scrap of paper with a redheads number on he had achieved in year eight. A badge he once had sewn on his P.E kit of the West Ham logo. Pete chuckled then as he picked up a sepia picture, a little worn at the edges.
‘Me old pal Bovver.’ He whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.
Both of them had shaggy blonde hair, long fringes framing young faces. Bovver was more dirty blonde, tufts sticking up in odd directions like they still did now if it grew too long. He was grinning, for once, his arm around Petes shoulder as the two of them stood before the football stadium. A strange pang in his chest made him flinch and he felt a moment of guilt and then heavy longing.
The knock at the door made his head shoot up. Quickly putting the box back, Pete ran a hand over his head with a sigh.
‘Come in already.’ Pete called as Bovver hammered again. He wasn’t always so cations, but they had recently installed a security camera above the door and he could see the screen from the corner or his eye. For the /unexpected/ visitor.
The home they had now was a far cry from the cramped flat Pete had had before, wedged in the middle of a leaning block of flats, druggies and whores on every other door, separated by the Indian and Latvian families struggling to survive. Now they had a house and security, four walls, two floors, two bathrooms! Smiling to himself, he heard Bovver let himself in as Lara came down the stairs.
‘No Bobby?’ He heard her soft voice. They all spoke about Bobby as if he were Bovvers partner and not a dog.
Whilst Lara had been upstairs, Pete had managed to clear the carnage of toys so they could see thick wooden flooring and no longer threatening pieces of Lego. It wasn’t much, but he knew she worried about leaving him in such a chaotic environment, albeit Pete was used to stepped on something or other every five minutes now. It would no doubt become messy the moment she stepped out the door, too.
‘You look beautiful, Lar.’ Pete smiled, looking past his friend and to his wife. ‘If anyone tries anything, let me know, alright?’ A playful threat. He knew people watched her, even when they were together. She was a natural beauty, slim but with a nice shape, great ass, big eyes. Something for someone to envy.
A horn beeped outside and they all turned to the sound. On the table were a few cans of beer, and the night they had ahead didn’t seem half as fun as holding Lara’s waist in a pumping nightclub, adrenaline and alcohol soaring through them.
‘I love you.’ Lara whispered and Pete closed his eyes with a content sigh. She always smelt so perfect. Like home.
‘Love you too, always will.’ Pete watched her leave and flashed a warning look at Bovver not to scoff.
It was strange and in the past Pete would’ve judged anyone in his position, and had with his own brother, but now it made sense. You never knew until you /knew/. Bovver had known, which was why it was so strange he was still unsure about everything. Acted like Dave and he were somehow traitors; he had been besotted with Nora, and then Emily. It was the heartbreak that made him wary and it made Pete saddened to know the man who had tried so hard to evade love had been fractured twice in such short succession.
‘I might as well jus’ come straight out with it.’ Bov was in within seconds and Pete laughed, having barely opened his first can. Taking a sip he leaned back, raised an eyebrow at his old friend.
What would he say this time? Doubts about Lara, again? Wariness at Jock — perhaps even suggesting a fight. Taking Dermot aside to measure his loyalty. Perhaps, just a catch up?
‘So you didn’t just stop by to see my sweet face, eh?’ Pete was smiling when he said it. They were close friends — blood brothers — but most of the understanding and love was in passing, small gestures and tokens not words.
‘I need you, Bruv —‘
Pete barely got a scoff out before Bovver raised a hand.
‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.’
‘Don’t sugar coat it, will ya?’ Pete laughed.
‘Just one meet. Lara don’t need to know.’ They caught one another’s gaze. ‘The boys won’t say a word.’
Pete didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched Bovver take in the photos on the walls, letting the offer settle between them. /One meet/. One supposed last opportunity to be with the boys.
‘Don’t make me beg.’ He finally said after what felt like the heaviest two minutes. ‘So ‘ow about it?’
Sipping his drink, Pete tried to hide his grin behind the can.
‘I still remember asking you to be Major.’ Pete mused, shaking his head. Like it was yesterday. A king handing down his sceptre to a more worthy successor. ‘I was scared. Fuckin’ petrified actually.’ He saw Bovvers face and laughed. ‘I knew you’d do a better job than me.’ Sitting back in the chair, he let his mind wander for a moment.
He had dreamt of being asked back, but had always prepared the answer of ‘no’ because of Lara. /For/ Lara. He didn’t want to make the decision seem like he was forced, but turning it wasn’t first option, anyway.
‘I remember when Steve was thinking about leaving. I was a bag of nerves for two weeks waiting to see if he would ask me to take over. If I was good enough. I thought he was going to ask you.’ He nodded his drink at Bovver. ‘He should’ve picked you.’ He admitted, sounding a little sad. ‘You’re doing a good job, Bov. The boys are beaming and Ryan is just a casualty — there’s always a few. They’re normally always Swill.’ Both of them laughed. ‘I don’t think you need me, mate. I just think you’d like me there. Which is nice, and I wish I could accept...’ he hesitated, looked away.
But?
But what? Was it any different than going to the pub with the boys? Just like old times, say around a table talking about football. The nostalgia hit him in a wave. Standing up, Pete placed his can down and went to grab the shoe box from earlier. Rummaging through it he picked up the picture from earlier and handed it to Bovver.
‘One meet?’ He asked, looking down at his friend. ‘For old time’s sake?’
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Sept 30, 2020 7:42:32 GMT -5
"I still remember asking you to be Major. I was scared. Fuckin' petrified actually."
Bov sat on the edge of the armchair, tension making his shoulders tight. He'd asked the question that had taken him a good week to build the courage up for. All week it had been playing on his mind. Knowing he needed someone while Ryan was out of the count, couldn't think of anybody else who knew their game like the back of his hand. Nobody else who would understand the pull of the aftermatch fights, the euphoria, the glory...
Pete took a drink and Bov swore he saw the corners of his mouth twitch. He sat back, ready for the verbal lashing he was sure he was about to get. /I'm married now... kids... Lara... a new life/. Though sometimes Bov thought Pete protested a little /too/ much.
"I knew you'd do a better job than me."
Bov gave a small shrug as Pete laughed and sat back, the can resting in a hand. It was true that the GSE were winning more fights than before, but Bov didn't believe it was because he was a better Major. Everything the firm went through three years ago had changed them. They shared a bloodlust that came straight from Max Sullivan. A need to cause more damage, to gain control. They weren't some two bit firm anymore. The GSE's reputation had spread right across the country.
As Pete began to talk about Steve, and becoming the Major originally, Bov listened with a soft smile. It had been many years since that day, but Bov could easily recall Pete pacing his bedroom, scrubbing his hands through his hair as he nervously awaited the verdict. And Bov couldn't deny he had felt jealous when his best friend got the spot of Major, head of the firm. He'd been happy for him, but jealous. Wanting the fame and glory for himself. Though now he had it, he realised exactly what a burden it truly was. Hated by anyone who wasn't a West Ham supporter, always having to watch your back, the planning and organising...
"I don't think you need me, mate," Pete began and Bov felt his shoulders slump. Though was this answer really a surprise? Had he expected anything more? Part of him had been hoping Pete would jump at the opportunity and it made Bov feel guilty for even asking. "I just think you'd like me there. Which is nice, and I wish I could accept.."
Bov saw the hesitation in his eyes and he sat forward. There was never hesitation with Pete. It was always a straight up no, along with some mumbo-jumbo about Lara. This time though, Pete actually looked like he was considering it. His gaze followed Pete as he stood and crossed the room. Bov recognised the shoebox, had seen it knocking around Pete's wardrobe even as young teens. Pete lifted a photograph free, moved to Bov and handed it to him.
Bov chuckled. Looking at their youthful faces, bright grins and rather dodgy haircuts, the memory flooded back. Both wore West Ham strips and there was a battered football tucked beneath Pete's arm. They'd met at secondary school and after a classroom scrap, they'd soon become fast friends over their mutual love of football - and more importantly - West Ham. "They were good days, bruv," he smiled, glancing back up at Pete.
"One meet? For old times sake?"
Bov's face erupted into a rarely seen grin as he stood, pulling Pete into a tight embrace. "It's good to 'ave you back, bruv," he murmured, drawing back and clapping his shoulder. "I honestly didn't think you'd agree. But what you gonna tell Lara? You know she ain't gonna be 'appy about this." Bov set the photograph down and drained his beer in celebration. "Seriously, wait 'til the boys hear about this. They're gonna be well pleased."
"Daddy?" A small voice in the doorway and they turned to see Charlie, rubbing sleepy eyes and holding his favourite teddy bear beneath one arm. Even Bov had to admit he looked cute in his little West Ham pyjamas and, strangely, felt a sudden longing for something he never realised he wanted. Imagined having a son that /he/ could share all his passions with. He quickly looked away, grabbing another beer. "I should probably get going."
Charlie raced across the room and grabbed Pete by the legs, swinging off them with a toothy smile in Bov's direction. Bov winked back.
"Match is on Monday. I'll 'ave Dave swing by and pick you up at half five." Moving to the door, he paused before looking over at Pete, the smile still broad on his face. "I knew you wouldn't let us down." Then he walked out the door, whistling 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles' as he headed down the street. What a result!
"Daddy, can't sleep," Charlie said after he had gone. His dark curls were untidy and he gave a big yawn as he looked around. "Where's Mummy?"
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 2, 2020 2:30:18 GMT -5
Nora didn’t know why she had suggested going out. Granted, it had been a while since her and Lara had really done anything, but not long ago Dermot had taken her to a fancy bar in London and she couldn’t remember the taxi home.
The atmosphere in the pub was very strange, not quite toxic but very thick and uncomfortable. There was a foreshadowing hanging over all of them, some secretive and terrifying threat they were all blindly awaiting. Even Aoife looked like something was wrong and normally she was the calmest one out of the four, even though she was the youngest. It had always amazed Nora that Aoife hadn’t gone through the chaotic rebellious faze and was rather jealous she hadn’t the same composure.
‘Jock’s high again.’ Aoife murmured before she got up and Nora sighed. She wasn’t wrong.
Every time she heard Aoife mention Jock, all Nora saw in her head was the night the two of them had returned from the boat to find Aoife and George with wide eyes, desperate to hear if Dermot was safe. And they hadn’t had an answer. Why? Because they had been selfish. Since then, Nora had vowed to pay Dermot back the respect he deserved and yet people like Jock and Rosa had appeared to test her.
‘It’ll be great.’ Nora smiled, wider than she felt. ‘Honest.’
Lara was murmuring something under her breath and she knew her friend was still shook about the card. It didn’t help that Jock was now spouting the same bullshit story. What did he have to gain from it all, planting a seed of destruction in the midst of them all in the hopes of what?
If he thought bringing up Max Sullivan would have her running into his arms, Jock had another thing coming.
After a while Dermot came back in and sat beside her. Across the bar, George was holding Aoifes waist with a smile, his long toned arms protecting her instinctively from the world. Over the past few years, he had really grown. It almost seemed impossible that his father had been a Millwall leader, brutal and selfish. George Turner was the kindest gentleman she had ever met, besides Dermot. He had grown broader, his jaw more defined, if possible. His hair a little longer lately, slicked back.
‘You okay, babe?’ George asked, kissing the top of Aoifes head. ‘I’m more tired than I thought I was.’ He laughed, rubbing his eye with his palm. ‘Did I hear you making plans without me?’ He playfully pouted, downing the last of his drink. ‘It’s okay, I’ll keep the bed warm.’
He loved Aoife but George loved sleep. She didn’t go out often and when she did she never stayed late; either work or a flirtatious late-night text bought her home. She was the perfect girl. Beautiful with or without makeup. Hair up or down, in plaits or buns; wet and slicked down the back of her neck as she emerged from the pool on their last holiday together, that had been heaven. Aoife had the charm, the humour, the sincerity, the loyalty. Levelheaded and stunning, it had been foolish to ever risk that.
George regretted what he had done all those years ago, a drunken mistake with a stupid girl with nothing but long legs and low standards. He was lucky Aoife had forgiven him and that Dermot hadn’t murdered him.
‘You sure you’re okay?’ George asked when they began the drive home, Aoifes head against the window. Sometimes she managed to look very lost. ‘Have fun tonight, and don’t come home early on my account. You deserve a break.’ He reached over and squeezed her knee. ‘You know I love you, right?’ He caught her gaze in the rear view mirror and smiled. ‘I’m sorry I’m a tired old man now, but I’ll make it up to you.’
Smirk moving onto his face, George let his hand slide up the inside of her thigh, his eyes changing between the road and her own. It had been a few days since they’d had sex, both falling asleep wrapped around one another, exhausted. It wasn’t like George didn’t want to, be just couldn’t keep his eyes open.
Someone at work had told him about caffeine pills, skating over the fact they were addictive and potentially harmful and mentioned the benefits of helping him maintain a good work /and/ sex life. He could feel the packet of little pills weighing down his pocket and knew what decision to make.
‘I’ll be awake when you get back.’ George murmured as they pulled into the drive. His hand was brushing the soft cotton of her underwear now. He had been inching closer every second they drove. The warmth he felt at his fingertips was astounding. ‘Promise.’ Tearing his hand away, he switched off the ignition before leaning over to kiss her. A kiss with an incentive. ‘So actually, maybe /don't/ be so late.’ He grinned against her mouth, sucking on her lower lip to earn a moan.
A short while later, Aoife was in the shower getting ready. George had made a coffee and sat on the bed, sipping it gently as he listened to her humming. It had been his dream to do this job, but somehow his stamina was faltering. It was rewarding as well as draining; for every inch of satisfaction you felt, you lost an hours sleep or an hour with your girlfriend, your friends, yourself. He laid back and sighed, imaging the water rippling down her body.
An hour ago he had taken a caffeine tablet and could feel it making his veins itch.
They had had a good three years, almost four. Aoife had taken to her job better than he had and as well as feeling proud he was a little envious. That was the part of Mark he couldn’t erase from him; the inferiority that had been pumped into him like heroin, infecting his every move. It wasn’t Aoifes fault, it was his.
Walking into the bathroom, George leaned against the doorframe for a moment and watched her figure silhouetted against the glass. Aoife never stopped managing to make his heart jump each time he saw her. The idea of growing old and out of love seemed an impossibility when he found himself falling more and more every day.
Pulling his t-shirt off, George chuckled as Aoife stopped humming and glanced over her shoulder at him. Her hair was dripping wet, still covered in shampoo suds. She murmured something and he merely undid his belt buckle, climbing out of his jeans as he advanced. ‘Conserving water.’ He whispered as he slid open the door and stepped inside, the warm water relaxing against his skin. She always had it so warm it was almost a competition to see if he could handle it. Stood behind her, George pushed her hair to one side and kissed the softness of Aoifes neck.
They finally made it home and Nora felt a mixture of nerves and excitement about going out. It felt almost rebellious and she didn’t know why. There wasn’t anything she kept from Dermot, unless it involved his cousin, and he alone had been the catalyst for her urge to drink. /Did/ it mean anything?
As Nora watched Dermot open the door, she stared at the back of his head, the hairs on his neck she liked to smooth, and knew it would mean /everything/ to him if he found out.
‘You sure you don’t mind?’ Nora asked as she flicked the kettle on. A coffee to perk her up. ‘I just thought Lara needed a night out, you know. Juggling two kids must be exhausting.’ Meeting Dermots gaze she smiled. The mention of children had always been tentative. He wanted more, she didn’t doubt, but Nora knew she was in no clear headspace to become a mother.
The idea was in fact utterly terrifying, so the birth control stayed hidden in the back of her bedside drawer and she smoothed his want over with the promise that ‘after the wedding’ it would become considered. There was no doubt that he was good at what he did, but there was always an uncertain niggle that made her hesitate every morning she popped open the packet and placed the pill on her tongue, diminishing their chances by 99%.
She was the problem, not him. He had never been the problem, even between the lies and the pain, Dermot had been the one trying to stop it all, protect them all. He would never hurt her, would he? Would she ever hurt him? Even though he and Bovver were completely different, they seemed so similar to her; how she treated them. The lack of respect.
Moving around the island, Nora grabbed Dermots wrist and pulled him close, nestling her head on his firm chest. ‘Weird things are happening.’ She murmured, tilting her head to look at him. ‘There’s nothing I need to know, right?’ She asked, hoping he wouldn’t return the question.
Later, after a long, scalding shower, Nora got ready to go out. Who was she dressing for? Dermot had gotten her an array of designer dresses over the years, flaunting his wealth like it was nothing. Malachi had done the same, but there was no pressure now not to wear the Gucci snake skin skirt or the teetering stilettos. He let her buy cashmere jumpers and heeled lace up boots she could actually walk in. Maybe she would wear them tonight.
Shorter hair was easier, and it had been a refreshing change from years of having to tame long locks. Curling her hair, it bounced around her ears; dark liner rimmed eyes and gloss covered lips. The mini dress was floral print but edgy, small cut outs in the side. She was ready, for whatever was going to happen tonight. A small handbag and a leather jacket, Nora padded down the stairs. Jock and Rosa weren’t back and she was glad for it.
‘I’m going.’ Nora called as she walked into the living room. Dermot was wearing a chunky jumper and sipping a little whiskey. Part of her wanted to stay here with him, wrap in one of his cardigans in the chair and share a cigarette. It was easier when it was just the two of them. ‘Call me if you miss me.’ She teased when he pulled her close for a kiss. ‘And stay away from Jock. I mean... stay away from anything dangerous, okay?’ Holding his gaze seriously for a moment, Nora forced a smile and kissed him one last time before leaving.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 7, 2020 6:59:13 GMT -5
"You sure you're okay?"
It was a quiet drive back home. Aoife rested her head against the window, fatigue making her eyes droop, as the city whizzed past. The late summer sun casting a red glow across the sky. What was it her Grams always used to tell her? "/Red sky at night, Shephard's delight. Red sky in morning, Shephard's warning./"
Well, at least the Shephard would be happy.
Stifling a yawn, she glanced over at George when he spoke, felt his warm hand skirt her knee gently. Yet again, she was struck by how this wonderful handsome man was still at her side. But then again, they had been through so much together in such a short amount of time... that kind of stuff bonded people for life. George understood her fully in a way nobody else ever could. Both had lost a parent in the most brutal way. Both had sought a career in health and healing, to free themselves from the chaos of their backgrounds, their families. To put something good back into the world. They just hadn't taken into account how exhausting it would be.
"I'm good. Just tired, I guess."
"Have fun tonight, and don't come home early on my account. You deserve a break." He squeezed her knee lightly. "You know I love you, right?"
"I love you too," she smiled warmly, reaching to rest her hand on top of his. She stroked his knuckles softly. "Still trying to figure out how I got so lucky," she teased.
"I'm sorry I'm an old man now, but I'll make it up to you."
Not that she minded them both acting like old people. She barely had the energy for social events and parties, let alone staying up all night sloshing the alcohol. No, an early night in with George was more than tempting and she wondered if they would notice if she didn't show up. George's hand began to shift upwards and she glanced to see the hint of a smirk on his face. She matched it with one of her own. "You tease." By the time they reached home, his fingers were brushing the front of her underwear, heat flushing from the apex of her thighs upwards. Even his simple touch still sent her to dizzying heights and damn... the girls wouldn't mind if she was a little late, would they?
"I'll be awake when you get back," George murmured, cutting the engine once they were outside the house. "Promise." Leaning over, he kissed her; a slow heated kiss which teased at what later would bring. She grinned against his mouth, fingers brushing the soft hairs at the back of his neck. "So actually maybe /don't/ be so late." He toyed her bottom lip with his teeth and she groaned softly.
"Hmm, /maybe/ I won't," she teased playfully. "But try to get some sleep before I get back." The bags beneath his eyes were bigger than hers; there'd be three seperate stabbings last night. One survivor. Two dead at the scene. They tried not to linger on the bad stuff, but Aoife knew it took its toll on the both of them. She felt a nip of guilt then that she was spending a night with the girls and not the rare evening with George that they both had off together. But it was one night and as much as she wanted to stay home, she also wanted to hear the gossip on why the hell Jock was back and why the hell he was saying Max was alive.
Because it wasn't true. So why the lies?
Inside, Aoife stripped out of her clothes, put the shower on hot and climbed in when the steam was billowing. Sinking beneath the hot spray, Aoife sighed and let the tension slide away. The drum of water across her back and shoulders was a small pleasure, almost the highlight of her day. Showers meant home. Home meant relaxing. There was no stress nor worry here. She shampooed her hair and had just lathered up the sponge when she sensed, more than heard, movement behind her. She looked behind to see George topless, the t-shirt falling from hand to floor. She couldn't help but grin as he continued to strip down.
"Conserving water."
"Oh, is that what you call it?" Aoife laughed as he slid the door open and stepped in. Letting it slide shut again, she giggled as he reached for her. The spray soaked him in moments as she looped her arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss him. Releasing him, she turned away to rinse off, but George stepped close behind her, hand sliding down her slick body. His other hand brushed her soapy hair aside as his mouth began to pepper kisses up the side of her throat.
Aoife shivered and leaned back, angling her head so he had better access. She could feel his excitement against her back and it made her grin. She playfully wriggled her hips as she rocked back against him, giving George a coy look over her shoulder. "No more teasing, please, I can't handle it." She moaned as he gripped her hips hard, rolling her ass back, hearing his low groan beneath the rush of the water.
When he entered her, she gasped and arched her back, head falling to rest on his shoulder. The sex was fast and furious, her palms leaving prints on the steamy glass as he took her from behind. The rthymic slap of skin, the way his fingers dug into her flesh, sure to leave marks. At one point, he turned her and lifted her into his arms, slamming her back against the cool tiles as her legs enveloped his waist.
Aoife's teeth found purchase below his jaw, nipping the skin until it was red. "I love you so much," she gasped as he pinned her against the wall, his hand catching her wrists and holding them above her head.
By the time they were finished, the water was starting to run cold. Aoife gave a breathless laugh as he set her on her feet and she groped for the dial on the wall to turn the water off. She hugged into his nude form with a big smile. "Where do you even find the energy?" She joked, wishing they could just cuddle up in bed already. Opening the door, Aoife grabbed two towels, handing one to George before she stepped out and wrapped herself up. Her wet hair fell around her shoulders, cheeks pink. "Now I am going to be late," she laughed, as she took his hand and led him through into the bedroom.
They'd moved in a year ago. A small flat near the hospital. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen and living room. To be honest, they didn't need anything bigger. The small amount of time they spent here was for eating, sleeping and quick sex whenever they could fit it in. But it was all theirs and that, to Aoife, was absolutely perfect. And when the topic of starting a family did pop up... well, they had years for that, surely? Aoife couldn't even imagine bringing a baby into their busy lives anyway. She'd have to quit her job and all her years of hard work...
Shaking the thoughts away, Aoife moved to her wardrobe and pulled out a dress she hadn't worn for a couple of years. It fell past her knees and there was a slit up the thigh, but more importantly she knew George liked it. Letting the towel fall, she slid it on. "How do I look?" She asked, giving a small twirl so the dress fanned out.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 9, 2020 4:04:04 GMT -5
Dermot hadn't said much on the way home. Nora seemed content to listen to the radio - a couple of songs and the local news - but Dermot couldn't take his mind off what Jock had said. /Max is alive. Max was at the house./ Part of him was furious at Jock for bringing it to the pub, announcing it in front of Nora, Aoife and Pete... He was furious at Max too. Him coming back was never part of the deal. He was putting himself at risk and everyone else. Dermot didn't doubt that Jock was telling the truth, and to have to lie to him as well made Dermot's stomach clench nauceously.
But moreso, Dermot was furious with himself. Did he really think he could have gotten away with this? Faking Max's death and then living his life peaceful and free? He should have known Max would get twitchy. Three years was a long time, but it wasn't long enough and Max was clearly done with being dead. He had something up his sleeve, he always did.
So why was he back? For his son? For Lara? /Why couldn't he just let anything go??/
At home, he stripped off his jacket and hung it over the kitchen chair. Nora put the kettle on and as it rumbled into life, she turned and took his wrist, pulling him close with a small, strained smile. He could see in her eyes that she knew something was up, something was wrong. Did she know he was lying?
"Weird things are happening," she murmured, gazing up at him. "There's nothing I need to know, right?"
He could have told her everything. It was all there on the tip of his tongue, the urge to spill the truth overwhelming. Nora tilted her head, adorably birdlike, and he felt sick with the guilt. He forced a smile. "Jock's talking shit. I don't know why. But Max is dead, I saw it with my own eyes." Dipping his head, he kissed her briefly on the corner of the mouth. "Don't worry, okay? We've got enough to think about with the wedding."
The wedding. In a month, they would be walking down the aisle and Nora would become his wife. That thought normally filled him with joy; finally, after all these years he had found someone who saw his worth and loved him for him, both ready to start the next chapter of life together. They'd even spoken occassionally about children and the thought of bringing a little piece of Nora into the world made him feel incredible.
But now, he felt nothing but a sinking sadness. Was he really going to start married life under a web of lies? As much as he loved his younger brother, Dermot was perfectly aware he was a dangerous and unpredictable man. He'd hurt a lot of people, and Dermot had let him live. Had practically saved his life on that boat. How would Nora look at him if she knew the truth?
Dermot made coffee as Nora showered and got ready for her night out. As evening set in, he changed into a jumper and jeans, poured a whiskey and sat in front of the window to watch the sun disappear over the horizon. Where was Max now? Close by? In some seedy hotel in the city? Or was he in some penthouse suite, splashing the cash like he used to? Dermot needed to find him, tonight.
"I'm going."
He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the door open and didn't see Nora until she was practically above him. She was wearing a beautiful dress, with cut outs which hinted at the creamy skin beneath. As she leaned close to kiss him, he reached for her, hand on her hip, lips brushing her jaw before he caught her lips. He made a noise of approval. She smelt soapy and fresh, her perfume sharp and alluring.
"Call me if you miss me," she teased, the smile on her red lips enough to make his heart clench. God, he adored her. He just wanted her to be happy forever. Why was something always threatening that?
"Miss you already," he murmured, running his finger down the column of her throat and feeling her heartbeat skip. He smiled and looked up at her, studying every contour and angle. The way her long dark lashes curved upwards, the sparkle in her brown eyes.
"And stay away from Jock. I mean... stay away from anything dangerous, okay?" She looked at him seriously for a moment and Dermot nodded with a small sigh.
"I will. That's all I ever try to do." Leaning up, he kissed her again, a little harder, a little more wanting. "I love you, okay? Have a good night."
Once she had gone, Dermot stood, drained his whiskey and moved to the phone. For a minute, he didn't even pick it up, just stared at it. But he knew there was only one way to find out the truth and that was to ask Max himself. He jabbed in the number he had memorised for all these years, held the phone to his ear and listened to the ring. It rang five times, and just as Dermot was about to slam down the phone in frustration, Max answered.
"Tell me it isn't true, deartháir." Dermot launched into it before Max could even give a lazy 'hello'. "Tell me you aren't in London. Tell me Jock is fucking lying."
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 12, 2020 11:44:19 GMT -5
‘Are clubs getting louder or am I getting older?’ Nora joked as she nudged Lara in the side. ‘You look stunning by the way.’ Her friend really did. Sometimes she envied her natural beauty and had joked to Dermot about how he would leave her for Lara because she was the better of the two. He’d merely said something cheesy about comparing diamonds.
This was a new club and they hadn’t been there before. It twisted and turned on three floors, the basement or the rooftop having the most life, with those uncertain swaying in the middle. There had been someone handing out flyers earlier, granting them free entry and two free drinks if they came before 10; an offer they couldn’t refuse. Nora didn’t notice that the man was Irish, it didn’t mean much to her anymore with Jock and Dermot. London was full of every race, that someone could’ve spoken in Alien and she would’ve still accepted it.
Max’s club had been bought not long after the fire by someone young American. /That/ place they stayed away from, even if Millwall wasn’t deemed a threat anymore, it wasn’t worth the risk. How were they supposed to know that the Yank was in liaise with a dead man, as was almost every other night club manager in South London; Max Sullivan was doing a lot of business from the grave. Used them as his circuit. Dispersed cocaine and heroin around, took a cream off the top of the overflowing earnings. No one had seen him, but his signature was on every file.
All of the girls looked amazing and it was quite surreal for Nora to think that Aoife would become her daughter within the next month. She had authority over someone who wasn’t that much younger than she was; someone who actually had their life together. At least it was a good relationship, she told herself, having always feared being the evil stepmother. Then the recollection came of Suzies death and the subject grew uncomfortable. It wasn’t hard to be better than her, but it wasn’t easy to forget, either.
‘Dave missing you?’ Nora asked Alice who smiled across the table, her perfect cherub face that of Snow White. She’d just checked her phone for the second time since they’d gotten out the car.
‘He and Freddie put the computer on the second I told them I was leaving, and I don’t doubt they’ll still be on it when I get back.’ She laughed. Dave was good, she didn’t mind what they did as long as they were watching out for one another. It was nice for Freddie to have that figure back in his life, one Alice didn’t believe she’d ever have room for in her heart again. ‘I just got a message from Freddie saying they’d just had sausage and spaghetti hoops on toast for tea.’ She giggled. A proper boys meal.
Aoife got up to get the first round in and Nora leaned close to Lara as she spoke. The bass really was rippling through her body.
‘Well I certainly can’t wait to get really drunk.’
‘It has been a while.’ Nora smiled.
‘Especially after today.’
‘Being at the Abbey reminded me of how this all started. You and Pete. I remember when you used to work behind that bar — you were so bossy!’ A playful smirk. ‘How things have changed.’
How things /had/ changed.
‘How are you feeling? Was Dermot okay, after Bov...’
Had Dermot /ever/ been okay, /since/ Bovver. Nora shrugged her shoulders. ‘Every time I think he’s doing better, he goes and does something stupid, like at the game today.’ Lara mentioned Jock and Nora wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s just.... I didn’t think we’d see him again, after.... but he’s got /Rosa/ now, so I guess it’s different.’ What a lie, she felt her stomach clench.
It wasn’t different, if anything it was worse. She felt /more/. How was that even possible, she hadn’t even seen him for years. Nora had come to the realisation she could just never be content, always bent on destroying her own future. When Aoife came back, she took the drink desperately and downed half.
‘Let’s not talk about men.’ Nora announced. ‘Especially Irish ones.’
They all drank the first round, Aoife animatedly telling them one of her gory work tales with everyone listening wide eyed. It was always unnerving and astounding the work that doctors and nurses did and it made Nora feel a little queasy.
‘I don’t miss the fights.’ Nora murmured and then looked up to see Alice raising an eyebrow. ‘I mean, you know...’
‘Patching them up when they come home with their tale between their legs? Dave couldn’t keep it from me for long.’ A small smile. ‘It’s okay. My last husband faced war zones, so I understand. London isn’t so bad.’
‘One of the first times I met Aoife and she was sewing Dermots wounds back together.’ A smile at the recollection. ‘You always were a carer.’ She smiled softly at Aoife across the table. ‘I just stick a plaster on and hope it stops bleeding.’
‘First time Dave showed up with a cut across his brow, I purposely poked it twice and put on a /tonnes/ of antiseptic to make it sting.’ Alice gave a tinkling laugh. She had been mad at the time, but she loved him. ‘He was /very/ apologetic.’ Sticking her tongue between her teeth, Alice burst into laughter and so did all the girls. Apologetic three times that night.
‘I ‘ope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d join yous.’
Alice stopped laughing almost instantly, seeing the darkness pass over Nora’s features. Alice had only seen that look when there was something or someone threatening around.
All the girls turned to look at Rosa and Alice knew Nora was trying to compose herself. The new girl should be glad Nora was only on her first drink, and Alice really /didn’t/ want a fight tonight.
‘Uh, sure.’ Lara blinked and Nora kicked her hard beneath the table.
/Sure/? Nora felt an unwarranted anger stir in her stomach. Jealousy? Sipping the dregs of her drink, Nora swallowed and forced a smile onto her face.
‘That’s okay, isn’t it?’ Lara nudged Nora gently and she regretted hitting her so hard.
‘More the merrier.’ Nora murmured, not wanting to meet the woman’s gaze. She was beautiful, but in a nothing-is-hidden slutty kind of way. The kind of outfit and body that any man would go for and hopefully would tonight, taking her away as soon as possible.
‘Good.’ Rosa made herself settled at the table between her and Aoife and Nora tried so hard not to narrow her eyes. ‘I’m Rosa.’ She introduces and Nora almost said /like you need introducing/ but the woman said something else. ‘Nora’s friend.’
The drink got stuck on her throat and Alice slammed her hand on her back to help.
‘Thanks.’ Nora smiled across the table before standing. ‘I’d say you’re more Jocks /friend/. Does he mind you’re here tonight?’ Moving around them all, she grabbed her purse. ‘I’m getting another round. Rosa, do you want anything?’ Not even waiting, she turned. ‘No? Okay. I’ll be back.’
‘Ignore her.’ Alice smiled, feeling uncomfortable already. ‘She’s just mad she’s still sober.’
At the bar, Nora pulled her phone out of her bag and was messaging before she even knew what she was saying.
/WTF? I’m going to be nice to her for you, but I can’t believe Rosa is at the fucking club. I’m no babysitter/. It whizzed for Jocks inbox in seconds. A short while down from her, Luke grinned as a blonde told him some simple joke, her hand smoothing the hairs on the back of his neck as he downed his second vodka shot. It was good to be back.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 14, 2020 2:43:38 GMT -5
"Being at the Abbey reminded me of how all this started. You and Pete..."
Lara smiled at the memory. Turning up for her first shift, knowing Terry had been taking a risk in employing her in the first place. She hadn't even known if she had planned on staying, but meeting Pete really had changed all that. Like a saviour, a knight in shining armour, coming to save her from her own mess. Her own insanity. By that time, she had been on the run from Max for a year, had felt nothing but lost and confused. Struggling to survive. Sneaking visits with her mum when she could, before she got too ill. Taking each day as it came, finding money where she could and moving, /always/ on the move.
And it was only then, with a jolt, Lara realised that this was probably the longest she had been in one place in all her life. All she knew was running. From bailiffs with Sarah, to fleeing for her life from a man that was supposed to love her. /Always running./
Was that why she had never really felt settled, even after Max's death? Always on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now it had. The card. The flowers. /Was it really Jock?/
"Everytime I think he's doing better, he goes and does something stupid, like at the game today."
Lara nodded, pushing away the thought of the flowers on her mother's grave. "Can he still be in love with you? I mean, it's been three years..." The conversation moved to Jock and Lara felt her muscles tense.
"It's fine. He's fine. It's just... I didn't think we'd see him again, after... but he's got /Rosa/ now so I guess it's different."
The way Nora said /Rosa/... Lara watched as she took a drink, almost as if to silence herself, and felt a pang of pity. The sudden appearance of Jock and Rosa had knocked her world off its orbit, that much was clear. And she knew Nora didn't have /feelings/ for Jock, that would be ridiculous. The real fear was Dermot finding out about the kiss, a secret which may destroy their relationship. Lara would have been annoyed too.
"He might not stay for long," Lara replied softly, flashing her best friend a reassuring smile. Aoife returned with a tray of cocktails, which they all chinked with a cheer. Lara felt her worries fade a little then. Girls nights out were the highlight of her month and she decided there and then that nothing was going to ruin tonight.
"Let's not talk about men," Nora announced as Lara twirled the umbrella in her drink. "Especially Irish ones."
"Agreed!" Lara chuckled. The cocktails flowed as Aoife relayed a story of a teenage boy who had come into surgery with a metal railing impaled through his thigh. "He was running from the police. Tried to jump a garden fence but fell. Took the firefighters half an hour to free him. Nearly died of blood loss." Aoife shook her head. "The police had to cuff him to the bed though. He punched one and kept trying to escape."
"I don't miss the fights," Nora murmured, Aoife nodding in agreement. "I mean, you know..."
"Patching them up when they come home with their tail between their legs?" Alice replied with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. "Dave couldn't keep it from me for long."
As Lara listened to Alice talk so fondly of Dave, she couldn't help but feel a niggling guilt in the pit of her stomach. Alice and Nora laughed as they spoke about the fights, but it still brought on a sense of dread that Lara just couldn't seem to shake. She was the reason Pete wasn't a part of that after all, and that was a good thing, right? Love had obviously pulled the blinkers down for Alice. Being part of a firm... It wasn't all fun and games.
Alice had lost her husband to war, a real, dangerous and aggressive war. But wasn't the fighting, the firms, all the same thing? One wrong punch could kill any of them at any given weekend. And for what? Football? It was hardly protecting your country. The only thing they were protecting was their reputation. But it was all the same when you tore away all the layers. Two sides waging a battle that would never be won. Lara pushed a hand through her hair and downed the rest of the cocktail. She wasn't nearly as drunk as she wanted to be.
"One of the first times I met Aoife and she was sewing Dermot's wounds back together," Nora said, a hint of a smile across red lips. "You always were a carer. I just stick a plaster on and hope it stops bleeding."
Aoife chuckled, but it trailed off with a shake of her head. "Gosh, I remember that. I don't think there was a part of him that wasn't messed up. To be honest, he was very lucky to get out of that warehouse alive." Bov and Mark Turner had really done a number on her dad and he had been almost unrecognisable when Jock and Nora bought him back to the house. It felt so long ago now, yet at the same time, it could have happened yesterday. Sadly, on the day Aoife almost lost her father, George had actually lost his.
The four women burst into laughter when Alice mentioned how /apologetic/ Dave had been, and the heavy weight of the topic seemed to disperse again. But only for a moment, as a voice piped up beside them and Lara looked up to see Rosa. Rosa, here? She was wearing a brave smile, but Lara sensed something else - was she nervous? As Lara glanced at Nora, she saw a look there she hadn't seen in a long while. Was it hatred?
"Uh, sure," Lara replied, earning herself a generous kick from Nora beneath the table. She barely held back a wince, glaring back at Nora with a tilt of her head, communicating in the silent way women do. /Why not?/ "That's okay, isnt it?"
"More the merrier." Nora swirled the dregs around her glass, looking as if she wanted to launch it - either at Lara or Rosa, she wasn't even sure at this point. Rosa brightened and squeezed herself in, setting a small black handbag on the table and flipping wavy blonde hair over her shoulder.
"I'm Rosa. Nora's friend."
Nora choked on the rest of the cocktail she'd been downing and Lara had to look away to hide her grin. This had suddenly turned into a real interesting night and she wondered what Rosa was really doing here. Trying to make friends? Or worse... spying for Jock? That thought made her smile slip away and Lara looked up as Nora pushed away from the table.
"I'd say you're more Jock's /friend/. Does he mind you're here tonight?"
"I don't need to ask his permission," Rosa smiled sweetly, but she wasn't dumb. Everything about Nora screamed /I don't want you here!/ She watched carefully as Nora picked up her purse.
"I'm getting another round. Rosa, do you want anything?" And before she could even open her mouth, "No? Okay. I'll be back." Without another word, she sauntered off and disappeared into the crowd at the bar. Rosa felt her cheeks heat and for a minute, an awkward silence descended around the table.
"Here, you can have mine," Aoife smiled, pushing her barely touched cocktail towards Rosa. "I really don't want to drink much tonight." Rosa brightened as she took it.
"Thanks!"
"I'm Aoife. Aoife Sullivan."
"Oh, I know who you are," Rosa smiled warmly, plucking the umbrella out the glass and fiddling with it. "Jock's told me all about you. Is it true yous a nurse? I was gonna be a nurse once but blood makes me throw up."
"It's true," Aoife smiled. "So, how long have you and Jock...?"
"Oh, we ain't together," Rosa replied with a wrinkle of her nose. "Not like that. Anyway, he's in love with someone else."
"Oh, really?" Aoife asked, perking up with interest. Lara said nothing as she watched the conversation carefully. So Rosa knew. Did Nora know that Rosa knew? "Who is it?" Aoife pressed, but Rosa tapped her nose, looking smug.
"It's a secret." Then she grinned and lifted the cocktail. "Though I'm sure another three of these will 'ave me spillin'," she teased. By the time Nora returned with another tray - cocktails and shots - Alice, Rosa and Aoife were laughing as if they'd been best friends for years. /You okay?/ Lara mouthed to Nora.
***
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 14, 2020 8:33:58 GMT -5
Jock laid on his bed with his arms folded beneath his head and stared at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. Beside him, music played low on a radio on his bedside table. Rosa had left an hour ago, and Dermot had come home briefly and then gone straight back out. Jock had gone down to speak to him, but Dermot just shot him a dark look, walked out the front door and slammed it loudly behind him. So now Jock wasn't in anybodies good books and he wondered, not for the first time that day, if coming back had even been the right thing to do.
Then again, Max /was/ alive and he /had/ been in this house, so Dermot and Nora needed protecting. Even if they were in denial now, it wouldn't be for long. There was going to be fireworks, that much he was certain about. His phone, resting by the radio, vibrated. With another sigh, he rolled over and snatched it up. When he saw Nora's name on the screen, his heart jerked almost violently, and he jabbed the screen quickly.
/WTF? I'm going to be nice to her for you, but I can't believe that Rosa is at the fucking club. I'm no babysitter./
Jock grinned. Ah. So Rosa had found them, quickly too. He read the message again. /I'm no babysitter/. Could see Nora's angry face as she sent the text. It was clear she disapproved of Rosa, but why? There was no reason, unless... Was Nora jealous? Why else would she have such a problem with Rosa? After all, she had barely been here a day. What was there to hate other than the fact that she was close to Jock?
He replied with a soft smile on his face. If anything, he wanted to provoke a reaction from Nora. He clicked send with a smirk.
/U sound annoyed. Wats ur prob with Rosa? Jealous?/
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 15, 2020 6:00:50 GMT -5
It had been an interesting three years for Luke Winter. Ever since Max Sullivan had sauntered through his house and knocked him unconscious, it wasn't just the party that had ended. Freedom dissipated like the steam from a kettle and everything changed. How his family viewed him, for one. A week later they were shipping him off to some boarding school in Edinburgh, a Saints name plastered to the historic building as if the power of the almighty could fix this problem.
The problem was he didn't know what he wanted or who he was. He was rich and lost; those that said money bought happiness were wrong. It gave you so many endless opportunities and widened horizons that you didn't know which one to take. Partying and gambling had been an easy fix, something sure. Luke hadn't planned on being so shit at it, though. He also hadn't factored on people being wealthier than him here. The boys ranged from 16-26, cravats around their necks, cigars between polished fingers.
You see, the problem was money. It created evil, and yet the only way to survive this place was to join it and flaunt it. The first night, the initiation as they had insisted, wasn't so easily bought. Two boys had come for him in the middle of the night, slipped a linen bag over his head and tied his arms behind his back. Before Luke had chance to argue, he felt the wet mud from the gardens sinking between his toes and the crispness of the fall air. Next thing he knew he was being pushed to his knees, the running of the fountain in the distance making his stomach ache.
Luke would liked to have thought of himself as composed but he had yelled and sworn so much on the way from his dorm that his face was flushed. It reminded him all too much of Max Sullivan and George Turner, attacking him when he was most vulnerable. The only difference was this wasn't deserved. Shaking his head and panting, Luke looked up at the boys stood around him, in a cult like circle. One of them was holding a large piece of wood, the end wrapped with cloth and aflame.
'Welcome.' one of the boys stepped forward and smirked, shirt sleeves rolled up. He sounded like he was from Chelsea and Luke hated him already.
They proceeded to ask him question after question about Royalty, the history of England, Biology, Art -- all the things Luke didn't know. Things that didn't matter and were only useful in moment such as these. Each incorrect answer or desperate shrug resulted in his head being dunked into the fountain, freezing water sending his senses soaring. It must've been the twentieth dunk when he yelled out, shoving the boys off him who were holding his head.
'You want money?' Luke asked and they all laughed, the sound making his head hurt. 'Well, what!?' looking at them all, water dripping down his shirt, his heart racing, he didn't understand. He had never had to fight to fit in anywhere. 'I didn't ask to fucking be here. I would rather /daddy/ just gave me the ten grand its costing for you to do this to me, than having to look at any of you cunts again!'
The crowd went silent. The boy from earlier was watching Luke with an eyebrow raised. Lawrence Shaw stayed here almost every other year, his parents trying to whip him into the perfect man he wouldn't become. It was quite funny, actually, the amount of money all the rich parents spent trying to fix their broken youths, unaware of the anarchy on the inside.
'I don't know any of your answers.' Luke sighed, defeated as he slumped in on himself. 'And I'm so fucking cold.'
'Toughen up.' Lawrence laughed, advancing across the yard to him. 'You think all we're good for is a game of fucking Mastermind at midnight?' he scoffed and they all laughed. 'Get up. Get dried off. We'll see you in the morning.'
As they started to filter off, Luke looked back, incredulous. 'What?' he yelled, stumbling to his feet and chasing after Lawrence. He reached the boy in seconds and, now his hands were uncuffed, gripped his shoulder and swung him around, hard. 'What sick game is this?'
Lawrence was laughing and Luke didn't know why he did it, but he brought his head directly into the boys temple, sending him flying. Blood spurted from Luke's nose and both boys moaned. The feet trudging back to the house stopped and for a second time that night, eerie silence enveloped.
Nothing much made sense for the rest of the night. Someone came from his left and punched him so directly in his face that the stars in the sky multiplied. When he saw them all at breakfast in the morning, both greeted one another with a nod, a black eye and a stitched up nose on Luke's part. How he got to bed he didn't even recall. Rubbing his sore eye, he sat at the end of the large bench and looked at Lawrence. He didn't look mad, more... amused?
'You're in.' Lawrence announced and the boys all started to clink their forks against their glasses.
'What?'
'The Riot Club.' Lawrence reiterated and Luke still continued to look puzzled.
'Sorry, mate. How hard did I hit you last night?'
'Not nearly hard enough, but we'll work on that.'
The two looked at one another challenging for a long while before Luke resigned. /The Riot Club/?
'I've got nothing better to do.' He shrugged, accepting a glass of Breakfast wine. That was something he had to get used too. So much pretentious nonsense in this place, just because; no reasoning for half of it besides luxury.
It turned out, over the six months, that the Riot Club was /not/ about general knowledge, but more about survival. Luke got shown how to load a pistol, a shotgun and how to pull a grenade; climbed assault courses, lifted weights, rode horses both countryside and competitively. In the course time he continued to study etiquette and fencing, how to mix chemicals and how to write prose. It seemed their club was so secretive that no one else knew, or no one else cared. Hand-to-Hand combat was almost everyday and the few broken fingers and sprained wrists quickly went unnoticed by the nurses who did their job in silence. The boys were historic, generation after generation performing the same tricks and learning the same trades. How had Luke never heard of them? How had Luke /become/ one of them?
So, three years had changed him. He had gone back the two summers after, to meet Lawrence, to initiate newcomers, to improve. It had seemed as ample time as any to return back to London, having decided against his parents and instead sharing a Country home with the boys from the first year. They had parties, and poker nights he could win. Luke had grown, and he was ready to show everyone just how much.
He was broader now, a lot heavier, his jaw stronger, stubble thick on his chin. He'd cut his hair shorter, wore nicer shirts and walked with the confidence he had earned. This was actually his first night back in London and he hadn't expected anything to happen. To see anyone he knew. The first thing he /had / heard was about the death of Max Sullivan and he felt ecstatic.
'A shot to a fallen Irish cunt.' Luke had raised his drink and the girls around him had giggled and complied, downing happily. He was out alone, but girls quickly flocked to expensive taste. He offered them the lift they needed, in tiny little bags that could be hidden in even tinier purses. On the side he still dealt with the goods, heroine, cocaine; mixing both of them with caffeine pills that people now desperately craved. His people were dispersed everywhere, so how was George to know who he was buying from.
And how was George to know who would see Aoife tonight?
Looking across the bar, Luke scanned the people around. It was still early, time for the party to truly commence. And then he heard an Irish accent and felt his blood freeze. Seeing who had spoken the words, however, it quickly heated up; Aoife Sullivan. Luke grinned like a shark.
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The flowers had been a nice touch.
Max had laughed about it before he felt a sickening sadness. This was something new, was it remorse or jealousy? He felt a surge to protect Charlie, even though he had never truly laid eyes on him. Dermot didn't comply with the pictures and the little girl in the pram was of no interest to him. Max wanted his son -- his heir. Wanted to see how he had grown from the small bundle of flesh and tiny toes he had seen in the hospital. He wondered if Lara had even seen the ring?
She wasn't wearing it.
Would she, if she had though? Blatantly flaunting their love he knew still bloomed. Because Lara hadn't terminated the baby, when she /knew/ it was his. Could've destroyed any evidence of him and decided to let it bloom. Max had seen it in the new-borns eyes as he lay, cooing at the high ceilings as Max peered over him. There had never been any doubt who he belonged to. He would be strong, but only if he had a stronger figure. Pete Dunham was a nothing now, no depth to his hulking frame. A father with a basic job and no ambition. He could keep his daughter, he could even keep Lara, but Max wanted his son and no one would stop him from taking what he deserved.
His phone rang then and Max sighed.
One person could get in the way.
'Tell me it isn't true, Deartháir.'
Max could already here the frustration in his voice when he went to interrupt. What was it now? Never did he call for anything good anymore, only to murmur his own selfish interests, about the wedding in a month. The wedding... in a month. Max felt an idea forming in his mind when Dermot mentioned Jock.
'Tell me Jock is fucking lying.'
'When is he ever telling the truth?' Max chuckled. It was like the boy who cried wolf now, no one would ever believe a word he said for all the years of bullshit he had spread. It had been funny at the time to scare Jock, but now it had perhaps caused a problem, because he seemed desperate to talk. 'Do /you/ feel bad about lying, now?' Max went on, hearing the tension through the line. About his death, about everything since that night. The sending and accepting money, the phone calls, the deceit. Dermot couldn't escape if he tried. 'Also, whilst you're on the phone -- where's my invite to the wedding?'
Glancing around his hotel room, Max sighed at London stretched before him. It was ugly and it wasn't Ireland, but its empire was vast. Max thrived well here. 'I'm still in America, I can face time you if you're that desperate?' Max tried to sound sure but wavered slightly; what if Dermot said yes? Swallowing, he heard the /no need/ and they moved on.
'I'm not there. Ask anyone down here -- Ask Ma, I sent her a postcard last week. But I /want to come back, Deartháir.' he paused slightly. 'I want to see my son. You more than anyone know what it's like to be deprived of that. It fuckin' hurts! Plus, I'm a different person now.' a chuckle. 'Honest.'
They spoke a little while longer and Dermot was adamant Jock wouldn't lie.
'Why is that Gypsy even back? Got kicked out or rehab again?' he murmured. 'Think on it, he's not right in the head. Hasn't been since we were kids. It's all just Leprechauns and coke on a loop up there. Leathcheann.' Roughly translated to idiot or arse. 'Let's not forget he left you to die on that boat, deartháir. I'm the only one that's never left you.'
Someone knocked at his door then and Max slowly got up off the bed. Room service smiled at him, her long legs flashing her appreciation as she carried in the tray and place it on the side. 'Think on it. Let me come home. But, look, somethings come up so we'll speak later.'
Hanging up the phone, Max pushed the door shut just as the maid went to leave. Her arse had been teasing him all day, especially as she walked ahead of him that morning, pushing a trolley and swaying her hips. He was handsome and wanted again and felt sur everything would be just right.
'Can I help you?'
'Mr Sullivan.' Max smiled at the blonde who giggled. Long lashes, full lips. Barely even in her twenties.
'Can I help you, Mr Sullivan?'
'Oh yes. I think you can.' He purred.
--
Sometimes Nora felt like a grown up and other times she felt petty. It was ridiculous to be angry about Rosa, as if she had done anything wrong. She wasn't the other woman, she was the only woman. Nora was the one getting married in a month. Fuck, a month. So why was she being so aggressive? If Rosa was here, Jock would be distracted. So perhaps she shouldn't be messaging him...
Her phone buzzed as she leaned on the bar and Nora felt her blood rise.
/U Sound annoyed. Wats ur prob with Rosa? Jealous?/
Firstly it always astounding Nora how Jock couldn't find the time in his day to type out full sentences, this she would let him know. But to rile her up like that? Chewing her lip, she tapped her phone screen impatiently, unsure if it warranted a reply. He was doing it on purpose to get a response from her. Would she give him one?
'Learn how to spell. Also, you be jealous. We're going to have a great time!!!!'
That would tell him she huffed, taking a tray of drinks and shots to the table. Alice had been listening to Rosa talk with a raised eyebrow, sipping her drink as she gazed in the opposite direction.
'It wasn't so long ago I was newbie.' Alice smiled. 'It won't take long for everyone to warm up to you, I mean you're beautiful. Jock is very lucky.'
'So, how long have you and Jock...?' Aoife asked carefully and Rosa shrugged it off.
'We aint together.' Rosa admitted, not seeming to disheartened. ''He's in love with someone else.'
'Oh really?' Aoife asked and Alice felt herself turning around, interested. 'Who is it?'
'Himself?' Alice offered and then giggled, accompanied by a hiccup. 'Sorry, It's been a while.' she admitted as Nora came to sit back down.
'I got you a double vodka and coke, Rosa.' Nora murmured, leaning across the table, hesitating as she made eye contact. 'I didn't mean to be so catty lately, I'm just feeling a little tense.'
'Tequila!' Alice grinned as she raised her shot.
'Tequila.' Nora agreed, passing the shots out around the table.
One shot turned into two and then three. Nora licked the salt from her palm and bit the lime, moaning at the sourness and the sting. The more she drank, the less she found Rosa frustrating. She was trashy, but that worked for some people. She had had a hard life after all; maybe she deserved the benefit of the doubt.
'So, do you like England?' Nora asked.
Alice had slipped off to dance with Aoife and Lara was smiling at a message she had received from Pete. He had sent a picture of himself bedded down in the armchair, a child under each arm and a blanket over the three of them. He had been stuck watching kids movies all night and Frozen 2 had surprisingly gotten good. Having to explain that mummy had gone out without them was hard, but sweets, hot chocolate and Disney had appeased their little hearts. She would be back, he told himself. Jocks lies couldn't hurt her and especially not when she was with Nora. Dermot wouldn't let anything bad happen.
Turning to Rosa, Nora smiled. 'Do you like English boys?' she pushed, pointing at a couple that had been watching her since she had arrived.
Alice was enjoying the dancing, feeling free and light. It hadn't taken long to get her merry. The floor kept changing colours, shapes and shadows sliding beneath her feet. The bass rippled. If she closed her eyes, Dave was stood behind her, holding her waist and kissing that bit of skin beneath her ear she liked. He wasn't a replacement, he was a compliment of her ex husband, formed of all the wonderful traits and then his own. She didn't regret anything.
Luke watched the two dancing from across the room, shrugging a girl as she tried to paw at him. He had forgotten how long and beautiful she was, so slender and ethereal. Taking his phone from his pocket, he scrolled through the numbers. Not many managed to stay there, or even became saved, but Aoife had always had a place. Just, under something else.
/Looking good, Lucky Charm/ he sent the text, practically feeling it shiver through him on the way across the room. It seemed Lucky Charm had grown up.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 16, 2020 2:15:56 GMT -5
Dermot sat in the quiet pub with a bottle of beer and a tumbler of cheap Irish whiskey, which tasted more like paint stripper than alcohol. He hadn't been able to stay in the house after his phone call with Max. Too much playing on his mind, plus the fact that he didn't want Jock probing and asking any more questions. He'd felt a little bad when Jock called his name from the stairs, only for Dermot to glare and slam the door, but still... Jock's timing had been shit. The party of all places!
Dermot sank the whiskey with a grimace. Max's words spun around his mind, taunting him, and Dermot knew with a sickening feeling that it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. His brother was restless. Apparently still in America and despite his willingness to believe Max, there was still a niggling doubt. Why would Jock lie about seeing him? And why would Max tell the truth about being in London?
"Fuck" he cursed, causing a couple at the next table to glance at him. Dermot glared until they looked away. No matter what he did, it was always wrong. He just wanted to protect those he loved, but it always seemed to blow up in his face. At the warehouse. On the boat.
"Do /you/ feel bad about lying now?" Max had taunted. Dermot's fingers had clenched around the phone.
"I lied to protect them. To protect you. /You/ know that."
"Also whilst you're on the phone -- where's my invite to the wedding?"
Dermot had shut his eyes and exhaled slowly, doing his best to stay calm. "Don't play games, Max," he muttered in return. The wedding was a month away. The day he was going to marry the woman of his dreams, and he'd be /damned/ if anybody was going to mess that up. Nora Samuels was the love of his life, his reason for being. The last three years had been utterly magical. Holidays to hot sunny countries, Christmases spent with family; her brother James came each year with a trunk load of gifts, and Aoife and George would spend as much of the season wih them when they weren't on call. Christmas Eves spent with Charlie and little Kimmy. Life had been perfect. Until now.
"But I /want/ to come back, Deartháir. I want to see my son. You more than anyone know what it's like to be deprived of that. It fuckin' hurts!"
This statement alone had sent Dermot into a panic. Pushing a hand through his hair, he dropped his voice. "He's settled, Max. He's happy. He's in a loving family..." /He doesn't need you/. It had been on the tip of his tongue. Because what Charlie needed was love and stability and a happy upbringing, which was what he had with Lara and Pete. What he didn't need was chaos. Chaos that Max naturally brought with him anywhere. "I'll send you more pictures, I promise. But if you love him, you know this is what's best. He's happy... We /agreed/."
And then Max was throwing Jock back into the mix, putting doubts into his head. "Let's not forget he left you to die on that boat. I'm the only one that's never left you."
"I told him to leave. To save Nora," Dermot protested, but his words fell on deaf ears. They spoke a little more before Max had to go. The last words lingering on Dermot's mind. /Let me come home/. As he sat in the bar, he thought back to that day on the boat. Jock hadn't left him to die, but he had fled as soon as he realised Dermot was alive. Why? He'd made some excuse that Dermot couldn't even recall now, but... had Jock wanted him to die? Had he been disappointed to see Dermot return, still living? And on the first day back of his return, he was already making up stories about Max? It seemed too much of a coincidence now. Dermot downed the beer, feeling more frustrated than ever.
For once in his life, he didn't know what the fuck to do.
***
/Learn how to spell. Also /you/ be jealous. We're going to have a great time!!!!!!!/
Jock chuckled as he read the message, pushing himself up and sitting on the edge of the bed. There was so much he wanted to say to that, all of them risky. Was she texting Dermot right now to complain about how her night was ruined? Or was this just between her and him? His heart was still beating stupidly fast and he felt like he was a teenager again.
/Shudnt that be 'U shud be jealous?' Mybe U shud learn to write 2./
He sent it, hesitated, then tapped out another message. He stared at the screen, his throat dry. He wasnt nearly high enough or drunk enough, but still... he sent it.
/Anyway wot U wearin?/
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 16, 2020 4:22:22 GMT -5
"I got you a double vodka and coke, Rosa."
She looked up as Nora appeared back at the table with a full tray in her hands. Rosa brightened instantly, a warmth in her eyes as Nora handed out the drinks. "Thanks! Best only 'ave a couple though or I'll be on my face!"
"I didn't mean to be so catty lately, I'm just feeling a little tense."
"No surprise with the wedding coming up," Lara cut in, before Rosa could say anything to potentially cause more upset. She was sure the blonde knew more than she was letting on. "Remember when I was getting married to Pete? I was a right bitch."
"To be fair, you'd just fallen pregnant with Kimmy," Aoife pointed out with a grin. "Pregnant women are the worst."
"Cheers!" laughed Lara, though her heart was warm. She'd never really had friends as close as this in her life and now she had... It was better than she could ever have dreamed of. Women who supported her, advised her, made her laugh and wiped her tears. Her /best/ friends. Especially Nora. "My point is, it's completely normal. Next month, it'll all be over with and you can relax as Mrs Sullivan."
It didn't sound so weird to say now, but when Nora had first announced the engagement, Lara had felt... weird. She couldn't put her finger on it. Was it the fact she could have been a Mrs Sullivan too at one point? Or the fact she had spent so long with Max and he'd never thought to make her that?
Not that it mattered. She was Mrs Dunham. And she /loved/ Pete. That was the important part. The five women all knocked back tequila, lemon and salt. And again, and again, until Lara's head was spinning and she couldn't stop giggling. At some point, Alice and Aoife drifted off to dance as Rosa and Nora spoke - surprisingly pleasantly - so Lara pulled out her phone and stared blearily at the screen. It was just past 11pm and there was a photo message off Pete. She clicked it with a grin, he heart melting at the sight. Pete, snuggled down with Charlie and Kimmy, both of whom were fast asleep.
"So do you like London?" Nora was asking Rosa. Rosa shrugged as she slurped her drink through a straw.
"I guess so. Been 'ere most me life. Don't think I could live anywhere else. There's always summin' goin' on ere."
"Do you like English boys?" Nora pressed, pointing out a couple near by. Both looked like uni students with their gelled hair and polo shirts. Cute. Rosa smirked a little, tilting her head as she studied the brunette.
"Hm. Yeah. I prefer the rougher ones though. Don't like posh boys, they do me 'ead in. I dated one once, it was the most boring week of me life." Sucking the last of the drink down loudly, she pushed the glass aside and fixed Nora with a catlike gaze. "There's summin' excitin' about the dangerous ones, ain't there?" Nick flashed to mind and she forced the image of him away. "How long 'ave you known Jock?" Before Nora could answer, Lara prompty burst into tears.
She held up the phone with a drunken sob. "Why am I so lucky? Just look at them. Look at her squishy little face. Look at my boy, my wonderful husband." Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm a mum, Nora!"
"Want a tissue?" Rosa giggled, groping for the napkin in the tray and handing it to her. Lara dabbed her face, still crying. "They are real cute though, I guess."
"I made them! Inside me!"
"I think she's 'ad one shot too many," Rosa muttered to Nora.
***
Aoife and Alice danced and laughed, the music throbbing through their bodies like a wave. To be honest, Aoife hadn't had this much fun in a while. Being a nurse was a lot more stressful than she had ever imagined. The long double shifts in A+E, the constant work involved. She loved helping people, but sometimes she wondered if it was too much.
She was lucky she had George to fall back on, holding her in the early hours as she sobbed out of sheer exhaustion and frustration. A recent staff shortage meant she was at hospital more than she was at home, so tonight was a relief and she was determined to make the most of it. Warmed by alcohol, she leaned against Alice with a breathless laugh as the song came to an end.
"I need a break," she giggled, pushing her hand through her dark hair. Moving back to the table, she grabbed her purse and pulled out her phone to check the time. There was a message from an unknown number, and thinking it might be George, she grinned and opened it.
/Looking good, Lucky Charm/.
Aoife stared at the screen in shock, smile fading from her face instantly. Her heart seemed to stop, and the room seemed to halt motionless around her. /Lucky Charm./ The memory swarmed up and overwhelmed her. A poker night at a certain someone's house. His hands on her body, his mouth on her - Aoife flushed red as her head snapped up and she scanned the crowd ahead. It couldn't be... In her hand, her phone vibrated and she read the message as it flashed up.
/To your left./
Aoife's jaw was clenched so hard she thought her teeth might break. She felt sick. She was going to be sick. She looked to her left and caught sight of a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. Luke Winter was sat at the bar, a drink to hand. There was a blonde sat beside him but he was paying her no attention. And when she saw the smirk lingering on his face, she saw red.
She stormed over to him, shoving people aside as she reached the bar. "Get lost," she spat to the blonde who looked up, curling her lip in disgust.
"What?"
"I'm Aoife Sullivan, now fucking move," Aoife hissed. The name Sullivan still seemed to have an impact as the girl snatched her bag off the bar, shot Luke a look and stalked off. Aoife glared at Luke, her hands trembling, stomach roiling uncertainly. She didn't know if she was more angry or upset. "What are you doing here? Why do you still have my number?"
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 20, 2020 9:59:15 GMT -5
Just because Luke had been away to /reform/ himself, that didn't mean he didn't still like to have fun. Besides the horse racing, the boxing, the Latin lessons and the archery, there had been moments to escape. Nearly every weekend the boys had jumped into a brand new sports car and headed into the nearest town, the rubber from the tires staining the tarmac. Music blared from the speakers, their arms raised high as they hollered and cat-called the locals, sipping whiskey from paper bags and hip flasks neatly concealed in waistcoat pockets.
It was a big change from walking around in Levi jeans and trainers, but Luke had grown fond of dressing smart. Firstly, it made people think twice about challenging you; they didn't like to feel inferior and Luke loved to be envied. His shoes were always polished, hair slicked back, pocket square. Sometimes he made himself sick with how pretentious his past self would have found this all. But it had been what he was missing, the confidence and the satisfaction that he looked good, /was/ good. The girls certainly came to him now more than before and the men who had once knocked him down now grovelled at his brogues.
When they would go out to town, Luke would see the beautiful girls and they would fawn over him. In the beginning it was Lawrence they followed, but as the months went on, it changed. Lawrence actually started to grow jealous of his protegee and so a friendly rivalry had begun. A game of /who could get the girl first/ and /who could hot wire a car the quickest/.
If Lawrence was here tonight he would no doubt have his paws all over Aoife. She /was/ beautiful, but she was also a tease, in the most unrewarding sense. After that night she had forgotten Luke Winters had even existed, had even been willing to be her first, to give her a better time than George fucking Turner ever could. Story had traveled about George's expeditions that night too, so no doubt she regretted it too.
How satisfying would it have been to be the one to claim a Sullivan?
That name traveled in circles within the club, and not in a good way. An example of not what to end up like, what troubles to avoid and reasons why to not take life personal. It was just really fucking hard not to take things personally, when they were. So Luke would break a few rules for an old friend; an old friend who still had the longest legs and the most perfectly porcelain face.
The infatuation with her and been unexpected and intense. Since he had taken those photos of her in the alley, eyelids fluttering shut, teeth piercing the soft flesh of her lip as she came to the touch of George Turner, he couldn't forget. Luke had examined those photos repeatedly, even seeing them when he closed his eyes, his hand warm on the base of his cock. Was it wrong? To become so consumed by someone who didn't want you, didn't even know you. It had happened once before, when he was younger; he'd found a photo of his fathers mistress in stockings and suspenders, posed carefully on the edge of her bed. The duvet looked warm, her thighs looked soft; he had came hard.
Sometimes the world caused you to work a little different. Seeking out solace in places you shouldn't, in places the world deemed twisted and wrong. Who was anyone to set a standard anyway? Everyone nowadays was either a liar or a whore, if not for their body than for themselves; their standards, their knowledge, their money. It was practically impossible to find a genuine person who didn't have an ulterior motive, which was why Luke had been so interested when he had first laid eyes on Aoife Sullivan. She had looked as pure as snow.
The idea of purity had emanated from her like her very soul, pulsing teasingly. Someone so bewitching, who only wanted to help, not hinder. Skin as soft as white roses, lips plump, big eyes that drank in the world and yet were not harsh. It had been refreshing, a cooling balm against his consistently raging skin, until he had discovered the truth. Who her father was, her uncle; who she /really/ loved. It had been humiliating. It had been proof the world was nothing but disgusting and so Luke didn't feel any shame for being disturbed.
When Aoife's head shot up in panic, the excitement surged to his groin. Like a deer in headlights. Reminding Luke, oh so fondly, of one of the girls he and Lawrence had picked up one night, offering to show her the countryside views, only to stop in a field and humiliate her. It wasn't just sex that could fully satisfy a man, sometimes it was merely the power.
/To your left/ he text again, smirking despite himself.
Aoife turned to him then, head sharp and eyes dangerous. Where had this anger come from? Perhaps she wasn't so content in her perfect little life after all. The whole while she stalked towards him, Luke didn't take his eyes off her own. People always pretended to be good, but one push and the façade crumbled.
'Get lost.' Aoife practically spat at the girl beside him. Luke couldn't contain his laughter. He didn't say anything, merely waved his hand in Tiffany's face.
'What?' she asked, incredulous. Luke still didn't interject.
'I'm Aoife Sullivan, now fucking move.'
Once Tiffany had sauntered off with her bag, Luke nodded, slowly clapping in approval. The blonde would have no issue gathering fresh attention, as proven by the man already following her through the club. 'Nicely done.' Luke smirked, not failing to see how Aoife shook. Was that fear or adrenaline?
'What are you doing here?' she demanded. Luke lifted his glass.
'Window shopping.' he joked. Well, it wasn't wrong. 'It's a club, Aoife. What are /you/ doing here?'
'Why do you still have my number?'
'Why not?' Luke asked. 'Didn't you keep mine?' a mock frown then as he downed the rest of his drink. 'Do you want one?' he ignored the daggers she was shooting. 'I'll take a guess. Gin and tonic, no ice and a slice of cucumber?' glancing over his shoulder, he flashed a wink. 'I heard you weren't so uptight anymore.' /Tight/ So tight. Luke could recall exactly /how/ tight she had been.
When the barmaid gave them the drinks, he turned around and handed her the glass. 'Are you not happy to see me?' he asked, examining her face, her figure. /Fuck/. 'You can leave, if you want?'
Part of him thought that Aoife was going to throw the drink at him, but he knew she was interested.
'Look.' taking her arm, Luke took Aoife away from the bar. She was reluctant at first so he kept his hold light. 'It's been three years. I'm a different guy.' pointing at himself, he raised an eyebrow. 'And you're a different girl, I can see that.' when he saw her narrowed her eyes, he raised his hands. 'Woman.' he corrected quickly. 'Not married yet, though? What's Turner waiting for?' he smiled then. 'I hear things. Only the good things.' glancing over at her friends, he nodded his head. 'The blonde doesn't seem like your type. Do you need rescuing?'
They battled a little before Luke resigned, hanging his head. 'I hate the way I treated you. But know nothing was without respect. I was just young and foolish, and you were... you were the most stunning thing I'd ever seen. I lost my head. I'm obviously not as put together, but I'm here to make amends.' raising an eyebrow, he held Aoife's gaze. 'What do you say, Lucky Charm?'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 21, 2020 4:08:50 GMT -5
He changed a surprising amount in three years. Broader, taller somehow. Wearing a suit, expensive too. Held himself with a calm authority, a stark contrast to the boy she had left, knocked out on his bedroom floor. The humilation of that day had never left her. Parading around in a stupidly short dress /pretending/ to be his girlfriend, all to stop a rude video being passed onto her friends. Her family. Her dad. Taking things too far; the cocaine, the alcohol... so close to sleeping with Luke it made her sick.
And then her uncle bursting into the room, dark eyes wild, his fist connecting hard with Luke's face, a dull thud. Aoife never spoke about that day but she thought about it a lot. How things could have gone so wrong, even worse than it had. Now she was a nurse, she saw first hand the dangers she had put herself in. Teenage girls in A+E, paraletic and bleeding between their thighs from an assault they didn't even remember. Teenage boys coming in, their faces blue as they overdosed on whatever party drug was popular at the time.
Now, as she stood in front of Luke, trembling furiously, she tried hard to fight those memories off. Luke's hands on her body and the feeling of cocaine running through her system and making her heart feel four times larger as it drummed in her chest. Other than losing her Mam on the boat, that had been the second worse night of her entire life. Part of her always wished she had just come clean to Dermot. He would have taken Jock and they would have found Luke and he would never have been seen again.
But no. She hadn't and here he was. Back to make more trouble? As his little friend strutted off in heels three inches too tall, she leveled him with a dark stare. Luke was clapping slowly, cool blue eyes alight. "Nicely done," he complimented her. When she demanded what he was doing here, he chuckled softly. "Window shopping. It's a club, Aoife. What are /you/ doing here?"
"Trying to have a good time with my friends," she snapped back. "Why do you still have my number?"
"Why not?" He replied simply, knocking back the rest of his drink. "Didn't you keep mine?"
"Of course not," Aoife spat, words dripping with venom.
"Do you want one?" Luke continued, shaking the empty glass, the ice at the bottom tinkling, and ignoring the fact that she looked ready to kill. "Let me guess. Gin and tonic, no ice with a slice of cucumber? I heard you weren't so uptight anymore." And then he /winked/ at her.
Aoife's lip curled. "Wrong. And I'm not drinking, so keep it." Again, he ignored her and a moment latee, the barman was setting two fresh drinks on the bar. Aoife stood, back stiff. He pushed the glass to her but she made no move to take it. Luke turned in his stool to face her properly and she caught the waft of rich aftershave, a pricey one at that. Just what circles had he found himself in?
"Are you not happy to see me?" He asked, genuinely curious as his gaze roamed her figure and she felt suddenly vulnerable, a teenager again. Her cheeks heated and she folded her arms. "You can leave, if you want?"
"Why would /I/ leave? I was clearly here first. And no, I'm not happy to see you to be honest." Was she being too harsh? He hadn't actually /said/ anything untoward... but this was Luke Winters! His whole being was /untoward/.
"Look," Luke said, slipping off the stool and guiding her away from the bar. His grip was firm. "It's been three years. I'm a different guy." He gestured to himself with a raised eyebrow. She'd forgotten how tall he was and she found herself looking up at him. "And you're a different girl, I can see that." At her glare, he raised his hands. "Woman. Not married yet, though? What's Turner waiting for?"
"Don't say his name," she whispered, voice lost to the din of the club.
"I hear things," he continued. "Only good things." He nodded towards her table then and she glanced, saw Lara sobbing over a phone as Nora and Rosa looked on amused. Alice was still dancing. "The blonde doesn't seem like your type. Do you need rescuing?"
"Rosa's a good friend," she flushed, feeling oddly defensive. "And I don't need rescuing by the likes of you, thanks."
At this, he hung his head with a dejected sigh. "I hate the way I treated you. But you know nothing was without respect. I was just young and foolish, and you were... you were the most stunning thing I'd ever seen. I lost my head. I'm obviously not as put together, but I'm here to make amends. What do you say, Lucky Charm?"
Aoife's eyes widened. Was this an... apology? An admission to the horrible person he had been? Aoife didn't know what to say for a moment, fiddling with her bracelet uncertainly. "I..." She nibbled her bottom lip then sighed as she looked up at him. "Fine. I accept your apology. But if you're buying me a drink, you can buy the girls one as well." She looked at the gin and tonic sat on the bar, then straightened her shoulders and looked at him with a fresh fire in her eyes. "You can bring them over. I'm still a Sullivan after all." Without another word, she turned and strutted back to the table, sliding in between Nora and Lara with a quick glance at her watch.
Half an hour and she was out of here. She just wanted to be home with George.
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