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Post by katherinesullivan on Jul 1, 2022 10:26:30 GMT -5
Pete had been reading a book recently. He knew it was stupid. Someone had left it in the hospital library and in the midst of all his self-made turmoil, it had caught his eye. The cover was an acid green, the font a striking gold. It was called ‘The Soulmate experiment’. The premise of it all was that in the not-too-distant future, fractions of your soul could be examined to determine your perfect soulmate. It also gave lists on how to be the best version of yourself, and fuck Pete knew then he needed all the help he could get.
There was a couples experience in the book where a woman was unhappy with her husband, her beautiful two children, and wanted to find out who her true mate was. She spoke about how life was fine -- just fine. Always fine. They were fine, the sex was fine, the company was fine. She loved her husband as a father, as a friend, but… anything more than that? There was doubt.
Pete was engrossed in it, page after page he would read it when Lara was out or asleep. He wanted to know how to become the perfect partner, because he knew that Lara was his.
Right?
Who was to determine a soulmate anyway? No one was perfect, it was impossible. A man and a woman didn’t bump into one another in the street one-hundred percent matching with goals and morals. You grew together, wasn’t that half the fun? You created life, you /enjoyed/ life. Until life became too full, too busy, and routine became monotonous. It had been hard, in the beginning, trying to get Kimmy to sleep when they wanted sleep, and to not wake up a disgruntled Charlie. Of course it was hard, but life wasn’t some videogame set on easy, it was exploration, it was thrill seeking, it was real.
He realised in those brief thoughts that the only thing that had recently brought him that kind of rush had been, well… football. The games, being with the boys, getting riled up the Abbey. Even fighting with Bovver, as much as it had been difficult, it had cracked open a vault Pete thought had believed long since closed. The one that invited him back to the sport, to his purpose.
Now he was even more confused.
Pete did resent Lara for having to give up what he loved. He also hated Steve for constantly suggesting it and planting all the seeds of doubt in his head over the last few months. Why couldn’t he have both? Why weren’t they happy? Why was he drinking so fucking much? His head swam as he tried to fix everything with the mere aid of a womens romance novel and taking it into the garden he stuck it in a pit in the ground and burnt it. The pages crinkled and singed, their lies and false promises dissipating.
Pete Dunham had somehow forgotten who he was in the winding uncertainty of life. When they first met, Pete could remember seeing Lara leaning against the bar and his heart had jumped into his throat. He had been battered and bruised and loud, and at the time she had accepted that. Now when he looked at her, he saw her beauty radiate, but not as brightly as before. Sometimes she shone dull, as if someone had thrown a cloth over a bulb. She flickered, exhausted, and he wondered if he was to blame for the lack of spark.
Life had just not gone to plan for them, not for a long time. Was it Max, or Charlie, or was it everything? Was it a culmination of all the little things they had dismissed in the beginning, believing themselves able to conquer anything. Truth was, no one could manage everything. Everyone had a point, and standing on the stairs screaming at one another, Pete knew they had come to theirs.
‘How dare you touch him like that.’
Lara was blocking the stairwell, her voice a low hiss as protective mother overrode adoring wife.
‘Max Sullivan could have been stood in the fucking living room for all I care, you NEVER touch him like that again!’
‘Are you fuckin’ serious, Lar?’ Pete snarled, the mention of Max’s name sending heat up his neck. There would never, never be a reason to have that man in their household. Why had he spent so long building up their family for her to tear it down. Lara was stood and Pete felt an anger inside his stomach he didn’t know he could have held for her. ‘You’re so fuckin’ self-righteous, you know -- ’
‘And as for the fucking jacket –’
Pete steadied himself for the worst, but the words that came out were unexpected, a different name on her lips.
‘It’s Dermot’s.’
Dermot’s? His brow furrowed.
‘He came by this morning to apologise for last night. Is that a crime? Is there some reason why I should stop talking to him? I’ve known him a long time, Pete. He made a mistake, we’ve all made mistakes.’
‘He lied about his psychopathic brother being dead, Lar –’
‘And you? You’ve just made the biggest mistake of all because I will never let you touch another of my children like that again, Pete, I swear.’
‘What?’ his tone was incredulous as Lara continued to tower over him. He wanted to grab her and shake her, but he could never hurt her, no matter how much hatred settled on his chest. Your children?’ he asked, eyebrow raised. ‘Kimmy is mine. You can see it in her fuckin’ face, that beautiful girl is mine and you will not be taking her away!’
She wasn’t listening though, or she didn’t care enough to humour him. Pete had never seen Lara like this, not in a good few years. Apparently she had snapped at Bovver with such ferocity he had felt uncomfortable and strangely turned on. When Lara got heated, there didn’t seem to be a way to bring her back down and her temper could rival any hot-blooded male.
‘I want a divorce.’
The rest of her words were suddenly muted, a background mumble he couldn’t comprehend. A divorce? It was as if a steel rode had been pierced through his chest and speared him to the wall. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. As Lara snarled and snapped at him, all Pete could see was her lithe figure dancing in front of him on the beach during their honeymoon. The moon was shining down, casting her as its biggest star. The water lapped at her toes, her hair damp from diving in the ocean; she looked radiant. They were married. They were safe. She had told Pete he was her saviour. It was how it was always supposed to be.
‘Will you still love me, even when I’m old and grey?’ Pete had come behind her, wrapping his big arms around her middle.
‘You’re not far off.’ She had teased and he’d kissed her neck with a playful growl.
They continued to walk the stretch of cool sand, hand in hand, no words necessary. It was just easy. Then in the distance they could hear some raised voices, a couple arguing behind a big rock formation. As they rounded the corner they could see a man and woman face to face, their cheeks flushed and their words volatile. Lara had squeezed his hand extra tight in that moment.
‘Promise me we’ll stay on this side of the rock.’ Pete had murmured, unable to take his eyes off the waring couple. ‘And if we ever stray onto their side, that we’ll work it out?’
‘Always.’ Lara had smiled and kissed his cheek and they’d rushed home to fuck on the balcony.
‘You look at him and you see Max and you can’t tell me that you don’t.’
Pete looked back up, his eyes distant. ‘Of course I see Max.’ he replied, voice less harsh now. ‘He is Max.’ He had always been Max from the moment he was born; his eyes, that hair… ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to be reminded every fuckin’ day, that your wife, the woman you love, that she had a child with someone else? And I raised him every fuckin’ day as if he was mine. But it just got hard. It’s so fuckin’ hard to know what he did to you, and I can’t change that.’
‘And this fucking sickening obsession you have over this football firm...’
‘I gave it up for you!’ Pete snapped, throat suddenly dry. ‘Everything I’ve done is for you!’
‘We’re done, Pete.’
‘Lara –’
‘I can’t do it anymore. I want you to pack your stuff and go.’
‘Lara –’
‘Today.’
Pete swallowed, unable to find the words. Suddenly she was placing her rings in his palm and his chest tightened. This has happened before, not so many months ago. He thought they had gotten past this. Did she know how much it hurt him when she took off the silver band and placed it in his palm as if it were scrap? This was their married – this signified their union, and she so easily broke it again and again.
‘This is my house.’ Pete found his voice as Lara stormed off into the living room. She was separating piles of clothes, throwing his to one side. ‘This is my house as well, Lara! But tell me, what have I done that is so despicable to you, huh?’ he demanded but she was glaring at his shirts, her eyes narrowed. ‘What have I done but always put you first? I left the firm for you and you have no idea how difficult that was. That was a part of me! Unlike your son who has nothing to do with me whatsoever. That was my life but I did it for you. Again and again I have made room for you and your mistakes. For Charlie. Your biggest fuckin’ mistake of all, but what have I actually done but love you –’
He grabbed her shoulder, harder than he should’ve and Lara spun around to slap him for it. For the audacity of touching his own wife in his own home. His cheek stung but he didn’t’ move, his expression stony.
‘I slept with Dermot!’
What? His legs suddenly felt weak beneath him and he put out a hand to steady himself.
‘Last night.’
If he thought the wind had been knocked out of him before, he was certainly empty now. His head felt light, a static ringing in his ears, crackling and deafening. Pete couldn’t see straight, his world suddenly tipped on its axis. Surely she had meant Max. Lara had slept with Max, that was it, it made sense, it was to be expected. It was seemingly inevitable, again.
“He kissed me, I... I drove him home and we...”
She wasn’t talking about Max. Pete thought back to the party, to Dermot arriving, angry and drunk and sad. He had seen the sadness in his eyes and felt a moment of pity. Pete had left Lara to take care of him, to drive him home, to… she didn’t need to say what had happened next, because he could already imagine it.
‘I’ve wanted to end this for a while. I tried before, but you... Well, you tried to kill yourself. What kind of person would I have been if I’d left you then? But I’m not happy. I’m fucking miserable, Pete. And last night? Being with Dermot was easy, I didn’t even need to think about it.’
Pete looked up at her but she was turned away, her face flushed.
‘You... slut.’ He hissed, voice low with a shake of his head. His jaw was tense, his hands clenched by his side. ‘He made it easy, huh?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘You mean I made it easy for you. I’m the one that let you take care of him. I’m the one that always stood up for him, defended him against my own fuckin’ best mate, because of you. Because I trusted your instinct that he was a good guy. That he was decent and kind and trusted, when all he was was a good fuck!’ he yelled the last part, his heart hammering. ‘I’m sorry to hear that you’re miserable, and that your life has been so difficult and un-fuckin-liveable. Were our sacrifices not great enough for you, huh?’ he took a step towards Lara, trying to hold back the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her.
‘I know that Nora has her faults, but she must be a real understanding friend to let you fuck him the week after their engagement has ended.’ He backed Lara against the wall, his whole body filled with static. Pete felt sick and betrayed and stupid. ‘You made a fool out of me.’ His words were quiet again. It still didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. ‘You strung me along, keeping you safe for all these years, until were ready to run back to Dermot fucking Sullivan!’ he just hit out without thinking, without realising, his clenched fist punching a hole in the dry-wall beside her head. Lara screamed but he didn’t care anymore. ‘All along I thought it was Max I had to be worried about and, well, you had me fooled. You had us all fooled!’ he gave a manic laugh, running a hand over his face. ‘I just hope he can protect you from his brother, that’s all.’
Stepping back, he rubbed the dust from his knuckles and took a deep breath.
‘You’ve destroyed my life for your own gain. Do you realise that? And Nora’s. For what?’ rubbing his eyes, he grabbed his car keys from the side and flipped them in his hand. ‘Perhaps you’re right, you know? You do make a good Sullivan, you fuckin’ selfish bitch.’ Turning away he headed for the door and slammed it shut before Lara could follow. He didn’t think she would, and even if she did, there was nothing left to say. His heart was hammering so fast that if he stopped he would pass out.
Jumping into the car he pulled off the drive with such speed that the tired squealed, living rubber tracks on the pavement. He needed to get out of here and for his head to stop spinning. When had this happened? How blind had he been? Dermot? Dermot? Was this why Nora and him had ended? How long had this been going on for? Did Max know? Maybe Max should know…
Pete pulled the car into a junction and stopped the engine, resting his head against the steering wheel. Two seconds later and he felt thick acid climbing up his throat and kicking open his door he vomited all over the roadside. He heaved for what felt like hours, hunched over in the drivers seat, the cool breeze against his face drying the sick on his chin. He needed a drink and he needed some space.
The drinking had only started after Charlie was born. Then the letter from Max came and everything just seemed to spiral. Pete had never felt in control with Lara, he had always felt like he was living on the edge and it was exciting until it was terrifying. Always an uncertainty that she would leave him, or cheat on him, or both. Dermot had come back into the picture after the truth had surfaced about Max and Pete had been foolish enough to accept it. Had fought Bovver over it, just to keep the peace. Perhaps because he knew that something was wrong and would do whatever it took to patch over the forming cracks. But… Dermot? He and Nora had been so in love, so when had it happened? How had he let it happen?
Pulling into a local hotel, Pete booked a basic room and headed down to the bar for a drink, and then another and soon six empty pint glasses sat before him. He felt alone. For the first time in a long time, Pete was accepting the fact he was alone. Over the last few weeks he had diminished his relationship with Bovver, over what? Being imperfect, being human? Lara, Dermot, Nora, Jock… he had never truly settled a relationship with them, and he didn’t’ even feel welcome at the moment. Did they all know? Was it all some joke and they were laughing at him as he slurred at the bar in the Abbey last night? Steve would find it hilarious, knowing he was right.
Everyone else was right and Pete was just some stupid mug who belonged with nobody.
He wanted to call Max, and to tell him what was happening, but somehow his hatred couldn’t stretch so far just yet. He felt dejected and sad. Why did he still care? Why did his heart hurt so much? Tears stinging his eyes he ordered another pint and pressed his fingers into his temple.
A blonde woman sat at the opposite end of the bar, swirling an olive in her drink, a suggestive look on her face. She smiled, flashed her eyelashes and Pete smiled back. An incentive?
‘Hey.’ A voice from behind him made him jump and Pete glanced over his shoulder to see Isla looking at him. She was wearing a tight pencil skirt and a white blouse buttoned low enough to suggest something. A name badge was pinned to her chest and as he looked up, her expression was concerned.
‘What are you doing here?’ he turned back to the bar as she sat beside him.
‘There was a seminar in one of the meeting rooms I was forced to attend. Something about how to run a successful business, you know, important bullshit.’ She smiled and Pete forced one back. ‘Where’s your ring?’ she asked, nodding at the faint tan line on his ring finger.
Wrapping his hand around his glass, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m getting a divorce.’ He said, his voice low. Saying it felt weird and rough on his tongue.
‘Oh.’ Isla shifted nervously. ‘I got divorced once. When I was twenty-one. It was a stupid decision in the first place –'
‘D’ya want a drink?’ Pete asked, not acknowledging what she had said.
Isla nodded, placing her bag on the side. ‘Sure. A vodka lemonade.’ She told the bartender with a smile.
‘Make it a double.’ Pete slid his card across the bar with a grunt. ‘D’ya want to fuck me?’ he turned to her, face expressionless. He was tired, she was hot. He didn’t care anymore.
Isla gave a small laugh, and not the pitying kind he deserved either. ‘No.’ she placed a hand on his arm, her voice gentle.
‘Alright.’ Pete shrugged. ‘D’ya want to get pissed?’
‘That I can do.’
For a moment Nora had looked fragile and Max had felt a flicker of something other than his usual distaste for her. Perhaps it was more the way his brother had looked at her, relief flooding his face, shedding the genuine fear he may never have seen her again. Max wondered what it was like for someone to look at you like that.
‘I’m taking Nora now. She needs help.’
Dermot scooped Nora up into his arms and for a brief moment Max blinked, seeing Lara. The way she gripped Dermot’s arm, looking up at him with sheer adoration and relief dripping across her features. Ten years ago, when they were all a lot younger and unwise; Max had his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie loose around his neck as he carried Lara over the threshold of his flat.
‘This is ours now.’ He had smiled. Actually smiled. When was the last time he had done that? She had held his arm like that, as if her life depended on it. Wanting nothing more than to be as close to one another as possible. In love.
Swallowing, Max turned away as the two of them left and he glanced back at the building.
Was he going soft in his old age? He scoffed at the idea as he stalked towards the entrance. If he was soft he wouldn’t be stood here with his glock loaded and excitement in his belly. He hadn’t shot someone since Sammy Mullins. That one had hit in the gut. Nick Walker however was nothing to him. Max didn’t really understand where the man had come from or why, but he had no quarrel in ending his life for merely existing.
Sometimes he thought the world was too crowed; filled with sick, puss-filled people who had big egos and empty personalities. Majority of them sauntered the earth as if they owned it, as if they were owed something for merely existing. As confident as Max was, he had at least earned the authority he lorded over others. Then there had been Lara Smith, the most beautifully apologetic person you could have ever met – when he was done with her, that was. A soul sorry for simply being.
In the days before he’d met her, merely watching her from the shadows, she had been energetic and wild. It was a pity how easily subdued she had become, because watching her now with the fire in her eyes, she was all the more appealing. Pete Dunham didn’t realise exactly what he had in his hands with her, raw and exciting in his calloused palm.
That was the one thing that Nora had never done for Dermot; subdued. Was that because she didn’t love and respect him? Max, honestly, found her erratic, obnoxious and bi-polar. He didn’t trust her, but then he never trusted anyone, so that red flag had seemed insignificant. She was certainly no Susie, but she was something else. She was settled in Jock’s back pocket, and Max believed she had always been there from the beginning, even if she hadn’t admitted it until now. Sometimes the complete opposite to what you knew seemed tantalising, even if it wasn’t always best for you.
Jock and Dermot were counterparts.
But what now?
Nick Walker, that was now.
Walking into the building, it was all too much like one of those horror films. He half expected a zombie to jump out at him any second now. If he wasn’t quick, some unsuspecting stranger would walk in and bring with them a trail of police and he’d be pinned to the floor before even having his fun. Blood smeared the walls like cave-man art, hand prints smattered and claret drops on the polished flooring.
Hesitating, Max backed out and instead went round to the back of the building. He didn’t want to waste time with this intricate maze of metal doors when Nick was obviously heading for the quickest, subtlest way out. There was a wall of trees at the back of the building and a verge, practically untouched bar a few pieces of litter carried on the wind.
Max stood on the grassy verge and glanced down at his watch. He was genuinely irritated at this outcome. It was always disappointing when someone like himself had to be destroyed. Nick Walker had just gotten greedy, that was all. He appeared smart and twisted in other ways that Max could appreciate, but then his plans had all come to fruition at the same time and overwhelmed and wounded, he hadn’t stood a chance.
Where would they all be now if Dermot had never failed in the first place? Nick Walker, dead and scarred in his gritty, dim apartment, blood spooling between the floorboards and onto the neighbours below? The again his brother wouldn’t have been given a second shot with Nora if things had gone right, so he wondered what outcome he would have preferred? Did Dermot regret what had happened, or just that he hadn’t finished it in the first place.
As if on queue, Nick stumbled out into the daylight and Max tilted his head to the side with a tut. He looked badly injured, his whole demeanour hunched and pained. Had Nora done this? Recalling the footage, Max didn’t think so. Charlotte had truly put up a fight until the end. Staring at the man as he came to a faltering stop, he imagined the satisfying ‘S’ carved into his chest and felt a smirk rise.
Max cocked the gun, the metallic click causing Nick to look up in shock.
‘The infamous Nick Walker.’ Max drawled, taking a step forward.
If this was a film he would be making a satisfying speech right now, about how everything had come to plan, and how he was going to kill him and all the unnecessary time wasting bullshit they added. Max didn’t care for explanations; he didn’t need for his plans to be justified or appreciated by those who fell into his path, he just needed to finish the job Dermot couldn’t.
‘Sullivan’s don’t leave things unfinished --’
There was a sound of someone in the distance and both glanced at the open exit. A second later a man walked out, a calm, composed way he held his body, bus his face twisted with anger. Max didn’t know why, but he thought this man had something to do with Charlotte. Nick recognised him, suspicions confirmed. He had blood down his shirt and jeans, smeared on the sides of his Nike trainers. /Her/ blood. Although not threatened, Max didn’t lower his gun.
‘Are you going to do it, then?’
Max raised an eyebrow, a second later his finger jerking the trigger. No hesitation. No time to waste and talk and play games, leaving an opportunity for someone else to take his glory. The bullet ripped through the air with a whistle, seeking its target and landing perfectly between Nick Walker’s eyes. The wounded man swayed back and forth before falling back, his limbs moving like a ragdoll in slow motion until he touched the ground.
Benji was looking at him like he was crazy. Max would always deny he wasn’t. He wasn’t. Whenever Dermot came to him, head filled with darkness, he thought it was madness, but it was realness. It was rawness. It was this fucking system with its toxicity and destruction. Max wasn’t mad, he was just real. Everyone else was walking around with this bullshit façade that everything was perfect, and when it wasn’t, it was wrong.
There was no such thing as perfect. Even Lara with her beautiful porcelain skin and soft touch had her flaws. Max Sullivan wasn’t mad, he just wasn’t perfect. When he was little he was taught about the garden of Eden and sin; how it was inherited and how that people today were so damaged because they were so far away from their perfect origin that they couldn’t even reach it if they tried.
It made sense, if you placed it next to the scriptures but truly Max thought humanity had no hope. It was why he had no fault in killing, fearing no repercussions in this world or the next.
Max thought about simply turning away, but something about the manner in which Benji spoke to him, without even knowing him, without concern or intimidation had interested him. For a long time Max had worked with Dermot, or alone. In the last few years, with no other choice as his fake death circulated, he had hired Luke and a couple others passed down from Shaw. His businesses had grown, having to cross under different financial umbrellas and trusted men. Perhaps this man could be of use; perhaps Benji could be trusted?
‘The girl is to do with you?’ Max asked and he saw a flicker of pain cross the mans face. ‘Pity.’ There was no genuine sadness in his voice, but a dead beautiful woman was a waste. ‘She fought until the end, you know? She’s the reason he looks like…’ he gestured with his gun to the limp, mangled corpse of Nick Walker. ‘…this.’
Placing his gun back in the band of his trousers, Max raised his hands to show he meant no harm. Benji was still holding his gun high, but Max’s intuition told him Benji wasn’t the type to hurt without cause. He was here for Charlotte, he was not here for a war, not now Nick lay dead.
‘I’m Max Sullivan.’ Max announced, hands still high. ‘And you are?’
Benji made some excuse to leave, heading back into the building. After a beat Max followed. They could hear sirens in the distance, the lights in the building flickering ominously.
‘They’ll be here in five.’ Max announced but Benji wasn’t listening. He had stepped into the room where Charlotte lay, the walls lined with blood and grime. Respectfully Max stayed outside. When Benji came back out holding Charlotte, it was almost romantic. ‘You need to leave now.’ He murmured when Benji glanced back. ‘I’ll sort our friend out but….’ He hesitated a moment, meeting Benji’s gaze. ‘Meet me at this address tomorrow. Do what you need to do tonight, but be here tomorrow.’ He handed Benji a business card which he was reluctant to take. ‘Don’t waste time over what can’t be changed and instead do something worth remembering.’ before turning on his heel and disappearing back out the exit.
For a fraction of a second, the images of the room flashing in his mind, Max wondered if this is what it had looked like when they found Lara, after he had dragged the blade across her throat. It was strange how much blood a body could produce if you cut the right artery. He wondered who found her, what they said, did they scream? What did it feel like to almost die, or see the one you love dying?
Kicking the thought away Max grabbed Nick’s feet, hauling the man over his shoulder and grunting at the dead weight. An amateur would’ve dragged the body but then the police would follow the trail, see the set-up. Max Sullivan certainly wasn’t an amateur. Moving round to the front of the building he threw Nick into the front of Charlotte’s car, and it wasn’t until he slammed the door shut he realised he was still alive.
Pulling a blade from his back pocket, Max popped open the bonnet and cut the fuel line. Petrol spewed everywhere as he aimed the pipe towards the window, dowsing the vehicle.
In the front seat, Nick’s head lolled against the window, his eyes rolling in his head. When you died, sometimes the shock kept your body going, especially if it was trauma to the head. It was where the ideas of zombies had come from; that cells in your body mutated as you slowly died, with the possibility to create something greater, yet twisted. Nick was reaching for the door handle but his limbs wouldn’t work, and Max didn’t care.
Stepping back, he pulled the lighter from his pocket and struck it. Sirens grew louder, wailing round the corner as Max threw the zippo onto the windscreen and with a roar the flames lapped up the petrol, bursting into life. The car went up in less than a minute, a loud cry of agony erupting from Nick’s chest as they consumed him.
‘No unfinished business.’
Max was already back in his own vehicle in the street over by the time the police arrived.
Dermot and Nora would be at the penthouse. Max wondered if he had told Jock yet, or wasn’t going to. Seeing them bickering was satisfying; they had always gelled so well as children it had been almost sickly, and yes he had been a bit jealous. Why did everyone like Jock? He was loud, rough and ready. His hair was red and always badly shaved at the sides; his knuckles always bust, his mouth always lingering with foul words. But he was kind Dermot had said one day and Max had rolled his eyes.
Kind of a fucking idiot.
There had just been so much blood.
When Bovver had come back, covered in what had spilt from Tommy Hatcher it had seemed nothing in comparison. Susie dying, it had been quick and easy and clean. The claret pooling around Jock’s neck, the barbed wire tight in his skin had then dripped like rubies against her fingers, but this… Nora could see it
It had been so unexpected, random and violent, that her brain was struggling to comprehend what had happened. How it had happened. Nora felt useless; she felt she was to blame. It was very apparent that whoever this woman had been, Nick had known her, yet had Nora not been foolish enough to let herself get into this situation, perhaps she would still be alive.
Nora should be the one that was dead.
It had been a warm blur as Dermot lifted her into his arms and placed her in the passenger seat of his car. Her eyes couldn’t focus on anything, only looking up when he leaned in to adjust her seatbelt and the welcome scent of him had sent her reeling.
Looking down at her hands, she saw blood beneath her nails and furrowed her brow. Nora felt both weightless and weighted with the numbness of it all. She could still smell the copper from the pools of blood, ruining what had been a brief reminder of her past in Dermot’s soft aftershave. Seconds before reality had decided to cave, Nora had been on her knees, believing she was smart, now suddenly aware of how naïve she had been.
Nick Walker was a murderer, a rapist, a paedophile; he could’ve killed her. Why hadn’t he?
‘What happened to your wrist?’ Dermot’s voice sounded distant as she kept her eyes on her lap, one hand limp and bruised, the bone protruding at a jaunty angle. It was kind of comical how ridiculous it looked and she chewed her lip. ‘What happened, Nora?’
If she focused on the pain, it was as if electricity was pulsing through her arm. Her fingers wouldn’t move when she demanded and it felt strangely cold, as if the limb wasn’t part of her and merely some foreign object. Purple and blue and black, mingled with congealed blood. This was all that had happened, and she had done it to herself. She swallowed, looking out of the window for a moment. Wasn’t that always the case? She was the creator of her own doom.
She didn’t reply and in what seemed a second later the car stopped. Still glancing out of the window, Nora saw the penthouse looming and her stomach clenched. This whole time she had been overwhelmed and grateful for Dermot, yet now she was unsure. She had seen what he had done to Nick, the wound red and infected… she turned her eyes to him, then to his hands and couldn’t imagine them doing such a thing. Nora swallowed.
‘Please don’t panic.’ He saw the worry in her eye and she looked down. ‘I’m going to take you back home to Jock. I… I love you enough to respect that’s, um, your choice.’
Jock.
Nora felt conflicted as Dermot unclipped her belt and his voice suddenly grew sad, dejected. Why wasn’t he here? Did he know? Had he seen?
‘He’s really worried about you. But will you at least let me bind that wrist?’
As she sat there, there seemed no real alternative available and truth be told, she was scared. Nick had still been alive when she had left and the danger of someone else grabbing her… it made her heart thump. Nodding her head, the two of them entered the building and it felt like stepping back in time.
Where their humble beginnings had been born, the walls the same shade, the furniture slightly different. It smelt the same, of dark wood and spices. Was he living here now? What must it have been like for him to regress, whilst she lived in luxury in his house. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Nora watched him hunt down a first aid kit and she recalled Aoife placing it there with a smile one day.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked and she slowly tilted her head to him.
She had almost forgotten what he looked like. Tall, broad, but in a different way to Jock. His hair was cropped short at the back, a little long at the front so when it was damp it flopped forward and she would run her fingers through it. The last time she had seen him had been at the Abbey, the anger making the veins on his neck prominent, his eyes dark. That had been a different Dermot, but she realised she had created that.
She had broken his heart, on purpose, when all he had done was try to keep everyone safe. Pushing him away hadn’t benefited either of them; Dermot had turned to… whatever he had done to Nick, for Max, no doubt. That was her fault. This was all her fault.
‘What happened?’
Moving towards him, Nora took a tub of aspirin off the side and popped three, downing them with a wince. Then she turned to look at him, really look at him and her chest hurt. She felt her bottom lip wobble and slowly leaned forward, resting her forehead against Dermot’s chest so he couldn’t see her cry.
‘It’s all such a mess.’ She whispered, feeling his hand on the small of her back. It felt like being home. Her throat stung, voice low.
His jacket was warm and protective around her shoulders, his chest strong and reassuring. Why had she run from him? Jock was adventure and adrenaline, and she felt wrong for comparing them, for believing Dermot was boring in contrast.
Once again Dermot was doing what he always did – saved everyone, when no one was there to save him. Who had been there to help him, when she’d damaged him… again. Tilting her head up, Nora held his gaze. Dermot’s eyes were blue, still brimming with concern, but a definite change from the anger they’d held days before. So stupidly handsome and constant and so close to being hers, before she’d ruined it.
Rising onto her tip toes, she felt Dermot lower his chin to meet her and their lips brushed for the briefest of seconds. Nora felt lightheaded and dazed, her heart pumping angrily against her chest. It was if it was the first time again and she was just as terrified. Then the doorbell rang. Jumping, Nora stumbled back against the counter and found herself grappling for one of the knives resting in the wooden block. Dermot raised his hands to show her it was okay but suddenly she was trembling again.
He glanced at the camera, reassured her it was just Aoife and pressed the buzzer to let her in.
Nora couldn’t breathe. What if it had been Nick? She was holding one of the steak knives in her hand and it shook, her breath short and sharp and making her head spin. Panic driving her, the knife clattered to the floor and she gave a whimper as Dermot rushed to her side.
‘W-why did you attack him?’ Nora asked, tears flooding her face. Her words came out in jagged pants as Dermot reassured her he had just come to save her, but she shook her head. ‘I- I saw what you did t-to him.’ She managed and saw the realisation flicker in Dermot’s eyes.
As Dermot struggled to to calm her down, Nora continued to hyperventilate, not noticing as Aoife stepped into the kitchen, heavy bag slung over her shoulder. Aoife said something, but then the world began to shift sideways and Nora didn’t realise she was falling until her face hit the cool tiles. Darkness welcomed her and it was an empty dream, no noise, no threat. Nora floated in her head for a few hours before the monsters tried to invade, creeping through cracks with Charlotte’s face and piercing cry.
Jolting up, Nora gasped and felt panic tight in her chest, but the room was still. Looking around her, the curtains had been pulled shut and she was laying on Dermot’s bed, the sheets crisp beneath her touch. Letting her fingers run along them, she saw that her wrist had been bandaged up, a metal splint running beneath. The pain had subdued for the moment and she wiggled her fingers, watching them move slightly.
And then she saw Dermot in the chair opposite the bed, his chin resting on his palm as he’d propped his head up to keep himself awake but had failed. His eyes were shut, breathing gentle and Nora just watched him for a while. How many times had they been together in this room? Laying awake at night, discussing their wildest dreams and fantasies. It seemed a life time ago. Clambering out of the bed, she made her way towards him but decided to let him sleep a while longer.
Padding towards the walk in wardrobe, she opened one of the doors and grabbed Dermot’s shirt, slipping it on over her shoulders. It was big and soft and she pulled the sleeves to her face, inhaling the familiar scent. Then something caught her eye and she pushed the door wider, an expensive suit bag hanging in the midst of all the white shirts. Dragging it towards her, she saw a label safety-pinned to the side and turned it over.
Dermot Sullivan Wedding Suit -- Custom Her heart panged and she let it go, hanging her head. How many days to go before their wedding was due? Nora hadn’t even cancelled anything, had he? There was a shuffle behind her and she spun quickly to see Dermot awake, having seen what she was doing. He looked sad and she felt devastated for all the hurt she had caused him.
‘Do you still love me?’ she asked, voice barely audible.
He asked if she still loved him after what he had done to Nick and she hesitated for a moment before nodding. That was all the reassurance Dermot needed and he filled the gap between them, picking her up so she could wrap her thighs around his waist. As Dermot slammed her against the wall, his phone started to vibrate down the side of the armchair, Lara's name flashing up on the screen.
Isla didn’t know truly what had happened, but she heard enough from the boys to know Pete Dunham hadn’t been his usual self for a while. The stories they told didn’t seem to match with the man who at her bar, night after night with a distant look in his eyes. As he downed another pint she excused herself to the bathroom and took out her phone .
Two double vodka lemonades and she was already feeling the warmth of the liquor in her throat and her nervousness had vanished. As confident as she was in the workplace, sometimes Isla didn’t feel good enough when compared to the other women out there. She was boyish, red-headed, rude; she didn’t like to wear flowy dresses and heels, feeling comfort in a pair of trainers and some Levis. Not everyone wanted that.
Flicking through her contacts she settled on one and put her phone to her ear.
‘Hey.’ She smiled, leaning against the cubicle and trying to act nonchalant. ‘It’s Isla.’
The voice on the other end had sounded annoyed, until they’d realised who was calling.
‘I need your help.’
Leaving the toilet for a few minutes later, she joined Pete back at the bar and he turned to her with a sad smile. They sat in silence for a while and she stirred the olive in her drink, stabbing it with a cocktail stick and feeling tension suddenly rising between them. Ten minutes must’ve passed before either spoke.
‘Why doesn’t she love me?’ Pete asked and Isla shifted in her seat.
‘She does –’
‘No she fuckin’ doesn’t!’ Pete yelled and Isla reached out to place a hand on his arm.
‘She does!’ She repeated, flashing an apologetic look to the waitress. ‘Just… in a different way now.’
‘What do you know.’ Pete slurred, shrugging her off. ‘You don’t know me –’
‘I do though, you daft cunt.’
Isla turned to see Swill stood in the entrance of the bar and she beamed at him in a way she had never allowed herself to before. He looked tired, but she was glad he had made it. Without thinking she got down from her seat and walked over to meet him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
‘Thank you.’ She whispered in his ear before letting go.
‘Swilliam!’ Pete exclaimed with a hiccup as the two awkwardly broke away. ‘What d’ya say to a round of shots?’ he asked with a boyish grin.
It was if life had just been injected into all of them, and Isla gave in to the peer pressure of a nudging Swill and joined in with the drinking. They were obnoxious and loud, but Pete seemed momentarily distracted, and he was safe with them. Swill kept mentioning how he wanted to speak to Pete but Isla shook her head.
‘Just humour him, please. For me?’ She had said when Pete had stumbled to the bathroom. ‘You can talk to him about whatever you want tomorrow.’ Isla didn’t know what he was going to say, but she knew anything serious would not go down well tonight.
When Swill asked what was wrong, she suddenly felt wrong for exposing Pete's secrets. She shrugged her shoulders, unsure what to say. 'Lara.' she managed and Swill nodded.
So they drank and laughed and she listened to stories about their Green Street Elite days and it explained a lot about who they were, and their friendship and the love there.
When the end of the night came, Swill helped lead Pete to his room, his friends arm over his shoulders. They were singing ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’ as if their life depended on it so Isla had to keep shushing them both. Swill put Pete down in his bed, took off his shoes and managed to put a pint of water beside his bed, not before sloshing half of it on the carpet.
‘I need to speak to you tomorrow mornin’, Bruv.’ Swill murmured but Pete ignored him, burying his face in the pillows.
Behind him, Isla tugged him back out of the room and shut it with a gentle click. Now the two of them were stood in the hallway and their breathing was heavy in the silence.
‘Thank you, again,’ Isla said, smiling. Tipsy, she stumbled a little and put her arm out against the wall.
Swill was smiling back, that big toothy smile she saw him do whenever he told the boys a funny story. His hair was flopping in boyish curls on his head, his cheeks rosy. He was handsome, in a way she had never thought of before. He was clumsy and cute and kind and he had really helped her tonight. Looking down at the floor, she played with her room key, fumbling with the edges of the card awkwardly.
When he asked if she was alright, she nodded, looking up to meet his gaze. Without a word she reached out and took his hand, leading him down the hall to her own room.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jul 1, 2022 13:45:54 GMT -5
“Are you sure you’ll be alright if I leave you?”
Oh, Luke. She kind of understood his concern then, but she knew those words wouldn’t help at all. As if George was the unstable one, as if George had invited some woman back and Aoife had walked in on them. What had she been thinking? A sober guilt shot through her, dampening the effect of the alcohol currently buzzing around her system. He might not have walked in on anything, but he may have well as. Yet if he could just see she was trying to help Luke...
“No.” Aoife blinked at George, noticing the change of tone; suddenly calmer. She didn’t like that, for some reason.
Luke seemed confused too. “No, she won’t be safe?”
“No, I mean... don’t leave.” Don’t leave? Aoife resisted the urge to look back at Luke; what was George doing? Her palm was still against his chest, but he edged her away now, eyes still on Luke. “Have a drink with me.” He moved past her and into the kitchen, heading for the bottle on the side. “Unless you’ve had too many?” Aoife swallowed, hard. She didn’t know what to do. She watched, still glued to the spot, as George filled a glass and turned to hand it to Luke. “I’ve had a long day, a few more minutes won’t make a difference.” This just made Aoife feel even worse. He’d been out since the crack of dawn, had stayed overtime to ensure people were taken care of... and here she was getting drunk with Luke Winters without a care in the world. A lump formed in her throat and she blinked rapidly to shift the tears suddenly stinging her eyes.
Luke, to give it to him, wasn’t raising to any bait. “Really, I know what this must look like. I should go.”
“I insist.” George practically growled the word, reaching to grab Luke’s arm, and Aoife could see this spiralling out of control. “I haven’t seen you in years.” She took an uncertain step forward.
“Luke’s dad is unwell, I invited him back so we could-“
“Did Aoife tell you about the wedding?” George breezes over her words, still without looking at her, and her stomach was churning and she felt so sick, the alcohol swirling with the guilt and the embarrassment.
“Whose?”
“Ours.”
“Of course I did,” she said at the same time Luke said, “She told me you were engaged, yeah. Congratulations.” Luke looked over at her, meeting her eye, and Aoife struggled to read his emotions, his thoughts. She flashed George a pleading look. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Look at me when you say that.” The low threat was back in George’s voice. Luke looked back at him and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t repeat himself and a long minute of tense silence drew out. “Would you say I’m a reasonable man, Luke?”
"I don't know you." Luke shrugged, a nervous chuckle escaping as he set the whisky aside, and Aoife was actually really impressed by his restraint. George was being a real pig right now and prt of her wanted to slug him herself. She moved to his side, reaching for his arm, but George was quick to shrug her off. It was if she was barely even there, he was so intent on Luke.
"From what you do know of me, then."
"This is weird, man." Luke shook his head and made his way to the door, but George pushed away from the side and quickly strode to block his path. Aoife started after him.
"George!"
Luke slowed to a stop in front of him. "I just came to see if Aoife was alright."
"Why wouldn't she be?" The two men were nearly face-to-face and Aoife knew one could easily strike the other if he chose. Aoife realised she was trembling and clenched her fists tight, nails digging into her palms, and she tried to focus on that and not what was spiralling in front of her. How had she allowed this to happen? She knew George was just tired - no, exhausted - so she could understand his irritability and overreaction, but Luke wouldn't see it like that. He'd see a woman stuck in a miserable relationship with a horrible man and it wasn't that way at all. She'd known the wine and the pizza would be a bad idea. "It’s been four years, and you just get the urge to visit her now? What game are you playing?"
Luke glanced at her and she gave the faintest shake of her head. She knew in her gut what the question in his eyes was about. Of course she hadn't told George, for this very reason. And maybe that had been a good thing, seeing as she'd been wrong about his intentions back then, something she still felt bad about. People were allowed to grow, to change. Hadn't they all? They weren't stupid teenagers anymore.
Luke met George's gaze. "My dad is sick. Like Aoife said. He’s dying. I just bumped into her in the hospital, and we got talking." Aoife nodded eagerly behind him, desperate for George to see reason and step aside. What was he planning? To hold Luke hostage all night? How Luke hadn't flipped yet, she had no idea, but he certainly had a lot more resolve than she gave him credit for.
"To answer my question, I think I am a reasonable person."
"Alright.
"I’m being reasonable by letting you stay in my my house uninvited without punching you in the fucking face!"
"George!" Aoife stepped closer, now level with Luke.
"Just your house?"
"Luke!" She shot him a glare, but the two men didn't seem to notice her anymore as they sniped back and forth.
"Yes!"
"If you say so."
"Yes, I say so. I also say get the fuck out of my house, actually." George reached forward, grabbing Luke by the shoulder, but when he went to pull him, Luke resisted. And that's when Aoife really noticed that Luke wasn't as restrained as he'd seemed. His eyes flashed, a tick in his jaw, and she noticed the fist at his side had clenched. George looked just as furious, eyes dark beneath his hair; he looked a little unhinged, and Aoife stepped away, fear flickering in her heart.
"You're scaring her." He shoved George, but it was the cue George had been waiting for, and a moment later, the two men were tussling in the hallway, knocking frames off the wall and sending coats falling from the hooks. Aoife raced in after that, eyes wide.
"Stop it! Please! This is ridiculous!"
George slammed him hard against the front door, and Luke spat words and fought against him. "You don’t appreciate her. She’s helping me, because she’s a good fucking person, but you’re not. I haven’t even done anything wrong and you’ve just attacked me!"
"Not done anything wrong?" George gave a manic laugh and he sounded so unlike him that even Aoife recoiled a step. What was happening? Aoife was confused, she didn't understand how this had escalated so far... "You’ve never done anything right! Since the day you came into Aoife’s life you’ve been nothing but poison. You ruined everything!"
"What are you talking about? If anything in your life is a mess, it isn’t my fault! I haven’t been in it for four years, you just said so yourself!"
"You know what I’m talking about!"
"The party? I apologised for that. You’re the one that cheated on her --"
"Fuck you."
"George, stop it." Her voice was weak when she finally found it, and he faltered a little, glancing over his shoulder at her. Disappointment welled up inside her, because she knew this wasn't George, so why was he being like this? And then he swung around and punched Luke in the face with a hard crack. Aoife gave a small scream and rushed forward, grabbing at George's arm and trying to pull him away, and somehow Luke managed to slip out the door. "George-" His elbow caught her nose sharply, and she felt a burn and warm gush of blood. She stumbled back into the doorframe, crying out, hands coming up to cup her face.
"I saw a young girl today, who had thrown herself out of a hotel window because some bastard had raped her." His voice was low, and he wasn't even looking at her, but at the floor, eyes distant. Whatever had happened tonight had been bad, she knew it explained his behaviour but... She was shaking all over, her face hurt, she was mopping blood up with her sleeve. Was he having some kind of mental break-down? "We tried to save her, but we couldn’t." He finally looked at her, but he didn't seem to register what he'd just done, and Aoife felt a push of anger. Blinking back tears, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "It’s people like Luke Winters that do these things to innocent girls."
"This evening was completely innocent, you had no reason... You're being crazy," she retorted, then winced at her choice of word. She couldn't think. Part of her wanted to run away, hide from him. She turned for the kitchen, but he grabbed her elbow and spun her back to face him.
"How am I the bad one in this situation?" Was he joking? Luke had been nothing but respectful, had been willing to leave, yet George had... had done this. He suddenly lowered his head, kissing her roughly, and Aoife whimpered a little; when she raised her hands to push him off, he grabbed her wrists and forced her back against the wall. Her heart began to race. What was he doing? "George?" And then his hand was pushing between her thighs, his lips on her throat, and she gave a panicked cry. "George!" Her fear only seemed to make things worse, as he gave a low growl and spun her, pressing her hard against the wall. Her heart was hammering so hard she wanted to be sick, the wall cold beneath her cheek, arms pinned behind her back, and a small sob broke out. Why was he doing this? He wouldn't go that far, surely he wouldn't -
"Isn’t this how he treats you?" His words were a hiss in her ear and Aoife squeezed her eyes shut and expected the worst. He held her there, the moments passing agonisingly slow and his grip was so tight and she could feel him right behind her and -
He let her go suddenly. Without a word, he grabbed his keys, snatched his jacket off the floor and left. Aoife didn't move. She heard the slam of the front door, another sob escaping. And another. A minute later, she heard an engine start and pull off down the street. She sank down, sobbing hard, arms wrapped tightly around herself. What the fuck had just happened? Why would George have done that to her? Why did he think.... Did he assume this was some disgusting affair, that she’d been playing behind his back? That had never been her intention. She couldn’t stay here. She didn’t know what to do but she couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t be here when he got back.
Ten minutes later, she had packed a bag and was driving across the city, one destination in mind. She didn’t want to go, but she really had nowhere else.
--
Dermot didn't return. The sky had shifted to an ominous red, and he'd cursed softly when he realised what had happened. Dermot hadn't answered his calls, and after a few tries, he'd been unable to connect at all. He didn't doubt at all that his cousin knew where Nora was, that he was ensuring he was the one who saved her and not Jock. That he put a bullet between Nick's eyes and not Jock. He wasn't fucking stupid. And worse of all, there was nothing he could do. He had no idea where to start in his search for Nora. He'd examined the photographs, then searched for storage facilities in the area. There were a lot. And once he was inside, how many units would he have to search? How did he know which one to pick? He drank a few whiskies, restless and angry and terrified. What would he do if something happened to her? Murdered at the hands of some dirty little psychopath. He'd regretted not killing Nick for Rosa's sake, but now, he wished desperately that he could turn back time, stop her from leaving, killing Nick like he'd intended. Now it was all backfiring and Dermot would come out looking the hero.
But he had to do something. He just didn't know what. He was pulling on his jacket when there was a knock at the door and he jumped, then quickly left to answer it. He yanked it open, expecting anybody really than George Turner. He squinted at the rejected look on his exhausted face, shoulders slumped, a dull look in his eyes. "I fucked up." Him and Aoife? Jock stared at him for a moment, then sighed and reached out to gently drag him in by the shoulder.
"Same, Pup. Same. Come and get a drink down ya."
Ten minutes later, they were drinking whiskey in the front room, Jock listening as George spoke and told him all about Luke Winters, and truthfully, Jock didn't like the sound of him at all. "I think you did right, kid. I wouldn't trust anybody at the moment. Tides are turnin', I can promise you that."
---
“You dumb fucking cunt.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Charlotte stepped forward and plunged the knife right into his shoulder. Nick cried out, stepping back and yanking it out, blood spurting and speckling his shirt and the floor. He hadn’t even noticed the knife. He’d been so surprised to see her there, trying to work out how, and if it had been that easy for her, how easy would it be for the Sullivans? Now she was kneeling by Nora, soothing her with soft words, and Nick could not stop the burning fury firing up in every cell of his body. How dare she.
Nick stalked towards her, grabbing he back of her neck tightly and flinging her away from Nora. “You bitch!” He slapped her, forcing Charlotte onto her back and straddling her. She was yelling at him to get off, fighting with everything she had, and she was surprisingly tough. Nick grit his teeth, trying to reach her throat, wanting nothing more than to squeeze the life out of her.
The adrenaline and anger seemed to dampen the agony in his chest and shoulder, blood still pouring down his arm. “You interfering fucking whore, how the fuck did you find me, eh? How the fuck did you find me?” He caught her throat, squeezing hard but then she rammed her knee between them and agony exploded in his chest. He keeled over with a cry of pain, and Charlotte turned, scrambling for the knife. Gritting his teeth, he grunted as he rolled onto his front, grabbing Charlotte’s ankle with his good hand and yanking her back with all his might. Charlotte screamed, kicking out as she tried to break free. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
“Get out of here!”
“I can’t!” Nora’s words screamed in absolute terror.
No, she couldn’t, she was trapped, and Nick was doing to ensure Charlotte never left this place either. Never would this bitch whore see the light of day again. Thee sound of metal smashing metal ground in his brain, beat in time with the terrible pain of his wounds. He sat on Charlotte’s back, pressing her face hard into the ground, as Nora continued to bang the cuff, and Charlotte was reaching for the knife -
He fisted her hair and slammed her face forcefully into the ground and a moment later, blood began to speckle the ground, dribbling from her nose. Good. Leaning forward, he snatched up the knife, raised it, then plunged it down. It sunk deep into her back and Charlotte screamed in pain, and her body went rigid then limp as he severed nerve endings. He raised it again, stabbing it, over and over, until she was still, her breath coming in shallow gurgles until there was no sound at all.
Nora was gone. There wasn’t time to chase her. He was in no condition to follow her, to fight her. He set down the knife and sat back with a heavy sigh, his whole body in pain and -
“Fuck. You.”
The knife lodged deep in his thigh and Nick yelled, then roared, yanking it free. But she was already dead. He tossed it down and rolled off her, struggling to his feet. He needed to get out of here and fast. He had no idea if he could even get to the car... Staggering from the unit, he gasped and looked down; blood was pouring from his leg, hot in his shoes, soaking into his socks and puddling in the floor. Arm wrapped around his middle, Nick began to drag himself through the network of corridors. He knew there was a back exit, had memorised the layout of the place, but it was slow going.
Pushing out the door, he gasped the fresh air. Night was starting to fall, the air was cool tonight. He hobbled out onto the grass and looked up at the verge, contemplating how he was going to climb it. And then he heard the cold click of a barrel and turned to see the one remaining Sullivan he had yet to meet.
Max. And he had a gun aimed right at him.
—-
There was a car abandoned on a grassy verge and he recognised it as Charlotte's. Squealing to a stop, Benji pulled up behind and cut the engine, jumping out straight away. Where was she? He scanned the area, seeing a woman retching on the floor, holding her limp and bloodied wrist in a way that told him it was badly injured. He didn't recognise her; for a brief moment, the dark hair had made him think it was Charlotte, but this woman was taller, though her face was smaller, features daintier.
He knew Charlotte was inside, or Nick at least. As he ran past the woman and into the building, he barely paid attention to the vehicle pulling up over the road. Running through the open door, it was easy to see where the woman had come from, blood smeared on walls and unit fronts, dripped and smeared on the floor. He heard a nosie up ahead, a clatter, and was full on running down the corridor. Skidding to a stop at the end, he saw a large amount of blood outside one open unit. Heart in his throat, Benji pulled the gun out the back of his trousers and ventured forward.
There was a second trail of blood leading away from him in the opposite direction. Had Charlotte been injured too? Had she escaped? But, as he rounded the doorway and looked into the unit and saw Charlotte's lifeless body on the floor, that tiny bit of hope vanished. "No." The word was barely a sound at all, gun limp in his hand as he stared at the absolute horror in front of him; Charlotte's body, blood soaking her back from the clear stab wounds, hand still outstretched towards the door. Her eyes were open, staring. There was a broken chair and some boxes and a handbag with its contents strewn across the floor. Lots of blood. A chain with four cuffs lay like a snake on the floor, one cuff splashed red, more blood splashed across the walls.
What the fuck had this man done?
Benji could barely believe it. He couldn't move. It was like he was frozen, unable to tear his eyes away, yet the longer he looked, the worse it got. He never would have imagined this Nick being capable of something so atrocious, and Benji had seen a lot of fucking shit on the street, but this was... This was cold. This was pure slaughter. Two defenceless woman, one now dead, her blood cooling rapidly across the concrete floor... Benji turned, throwing up in the corridor, vomit mixing with blood and splashing his Nikes. Fuck. His head was spinning. Fuck.
Forcing composure, Benji wiped his mouth and walked into the unit. He kicked away the knife used to kill her, then knelt and gently turned her body over. There was no pulse, no breath, no life in her eyes. Benji's throat worked, tears burning and he grit his teeth, shaking his head in dismay. It was as if she had known. I could've fallen in love with you... Look after Tristan for me. Benji had never believed in God, but he was praying now, praying she'd find peace and that God would give him the strength, because Benji didn't think he had it. He needed to find Walker and kill him. But, he couldn't leave Charlotte here either. It wasn't fair, he couldn't leave her to rot away as if she were nobody.
"I love you, Charlotte Foster," he murmured, stroking her face as he held her body to his chest. "I'm sorry I din't get 'ere quick enough. Oh, fuck..." Wiping his eyes, he gently eased her body back onto the floor, then stood, shaking, covered in her blood. He felt completely numb, his mind completely blank, and he let instinct lead him. Grabbing his gun off the floor, Benji turned and left the unit, following the second blood trail. It led to the back door, a small grassy alcove, hidden from view by a tall row of hedges. Nick was there; he was stooped over, one leg at the point of collapse, one hand to his chest as he breathed heavily. Blood stained a shoulder wound and he was sweaty profusely. He looked rather green.
He wasn't alone. There was another man, one Benji didn't recognise. Tall, broad, with dark curly hair and a scar down one side of his face. He had a gun pointed at Nick, and when he glanced towards Benji, he noticed the man had a brown eye and a blue. Who was this? Then, he realised he didn't care. As long as Nick Walker died in the next five minutes, he didn't give a fuck who did it. He lowered his gun, then gestured to Nick, though he addressed Max when he spoke. "Are you going to do it, then?"
--
Dermot watched the man run past Nora and into the building as he climbed out the car. He had no idea who it was, but he hadn't even seemed to notice Nora, so intent on his own mission. Maybe this Nick had a lot of enemies, but Dermot couldn't concentrate on that. There was only one person of importance to him right now and she was just across the street.
"Nora?"
She looked over at him and he felt a rush of relief as he hurried over to her. He saw the tears glistening in Nora's eyes and the sheer relief on her own face and he muttered a prayer to God that she was alive. "What happened?" Helping her to her feet, he saw the tear in her dress and quickly removed his own jacket, putting it around her so she could cover up. Her wrist was limp and bloody, clearly broken, and she hadn't said a word, clearly stunned by whatever had happened inside. He lifted it as gently as he could, but Nora hissed and pulled it away sharply.
"S-she’s d-dead." Who was dead? Nora's voice was weak and unsteady, raspy in a way that told him she'd spent a lot of time screaming. His stomach clenched. "This woman. S-she saved me, and h-he… killed her –" Nora was completely pale, bottom lip trembling, and he was pretty sure she was in shock. Whatever she'd seen, including whatever had happened when her wrist got damaged. He felt anger then, and the sudden approaching footsteps on the gravel made him turn quickly, pulling Nora closer. In a way that shamed him, it gave him an undeserving satisfaction at the fact she clung to him too. "Max?"
Dermot relaxed a little at the sight of his brother, but didn't release his hold on Nora. He'd followed? Dermot was surprised, but should he have been? Of course Max would have his back. If anything, they'd always have each other, and Dermot was thankful to see him here. Dermot had done a lot of shit recently and he was getting tired. He just wanted to get Nora safe. The two brothers looked at each other for a moment, Max standing with a smirk.
"Go." A command, not a request. Still, Dermot opened his mouth to argue that he could finish this, when Max slid the gun from behind him. He felt Nora tense in his arms and rubbed her shoulder softly with his hand, trying to soothe her. Max waved the gun. "Go."
"Why?" Dermot asked, a little perplexed. Max gave a soft shrug, a nonchalant look on his face.
"So you don't have to."
Dermot looked at him for a beat longer before he nodded. "I'm taking Nora now. She needs help." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and lifted Nora easily into his arms. Heading for his car, he helped her into the passenger seat and seat belted her in. He couldn't have gotten out of there quick enough. He kept glancing in the rear-view mirror, then glancing at Nora, then the road in front, then the rear-view mirror... until finally he deemed them far enough away to relax. Max had it in hand. Max had never failed him and he never would fail him. Which would make his betrayal with Lara all the worse. And Nora... Nora was sat here, and he'd been with Lara and -
No. He pushed Lara away, dampened her down and smothered her, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. What had he even been thinking? He was in love with Nora, he'd always be in love with Nora and it was always going to hurt. "What happened to your wrist? What happened? Nora?" She'd still barely said a word, was just staring out the window, eyes wide and distant and full of tears. Her broken wrist was cradled to her chest. He wasn't even sure she noticed where he was heading, and when he pulled up outside the penthouse, he gave her no time to protest as he pulled into the underground car park.
"Please don't panic," he murmured, cutting the engine and looking over at her. "I'm going to take you back home to Jock. I... I love you enough to respect that, um, your choice." He dampened his bottom lip, then unclipped his seatbelt and leaned over to gently remove hers. "He's really worried about you. But will you at least let me bind that wrist?" After a moment, she agreed, though whether it was the pain, the trauma or the fact that maybe she did want to hear him out, to really talk to him for the first time since... since all that? He wasn't sure. He got out, helping Nora out the other side before leading her upstairs into the penthouse. It had been years since Nora had stepped foot here, though things hadn't changed too much. Different art pieces, better technology, bigger TV. He led her to the kitchen and hunted for the first aid kit. It would only work temporarily; Jock would have to take her to the hospital to get it set. "Do you want to talk about it? What happened?" He turned to her, opening the kit and pulling out various bits and pieces. Where was Aoife when he needed her?
--
"Of course I see Max. He is Max. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be reminded every fuckin’ day, that your wife, the woman you love, that she had a child with someone else? And I raised him every fuckin’ day as if he was mine. But it just got hard. It’s so fuckin’ hard to know what he did to you, and I can’t change that."
And there it was. The truth they'd been dancing around for three years. He'd been a good father, she couldn't deny, but there'd always been something lacking. The way Pete would never quite meet his eyes, or gave quick hugs, or played for a few minutes and distracted him with something else. It was something that became more apparent once Kimmy came along; he'd hold her and carry her around, read and play and sit at the table making funny faces as he served her dinner. And it soon became a Pete and Kimmy, Lara and Charlie sort of situation. As much as she'd tried to dismiss the fact, reminding herself that he loved both their children equally, his words confirmed her fears with pinpoint accuracy.
Charlie looked like Max. From the way his dark curls fell to the exact size and shape of his brown eyes, fanned with dark lashes. His nose, the way he grinned, how he held himself. It was like an exact replica. And though Lara could see past that to the sweet, gentle, funny and warm boy beneath, it seemed not everybody could. Pete couldn't. He saw Max in everything he did; he saw a future of destruction and murder and violence, of seeking control and power, when that wasn't Charlie at all. He might have had Max's looks, but he had Lara's heart and that meant everything.
They were arguing loudly and Lara couldn't even think straight, her mind ringing with his words. He'd never have touched Kimmy like that. He wouldn't have snatched her arm and swung her like a doll, he wouldn't have shouted at her like that. He was always treating Charlie differently and she'd had enough.
"This is my house. This is my house as well, Lara! But tell me, what have I done that is so despicable to you, huh? What have I done but always put you first? I left the firm for you and you have no idea how difficult that was. That was a part of me!" Lara faltered, feeling a stab of guilt; she had made him leave, but couldn't he see it had been for his own benefit? That life was dangerous, she'd been at risk of losing him so many times... Pete was glaring at her now, towering and angry, and she both thrived on it and regretted ever letting it get this far and it was a horrible feeling. She hadn't want to argue. This wasn't what she'd wanted at all.
"Unlike your son who has nothing to do with me whatsoever. That was my life but I did it for you. Again and again I have made room for you and your mistakes. For Charlie. Your biggest fuckin’ mistake of all, but what have I actually done but love you –"
The words hit Lara like a bullet in the heart and everything tiny bit of restraint she'd still clung to fell away entirely. Her ears were ringing, she couldn't release breath - her mistake?! - and she spun and slapped him. He barely even flinched, so she spilled the words that would hurt him. I slept with Dermot. She watched as Pete stepped away, unsteady, confusion marring the anger on his features. As Lara spoke, she found it harder and harder to look at him, her whole face - no, her body- burning uncomfortably. And then the truth was there bare in the ringing silence that suddenly descended on the room. And for the first time, Lara was afraid. What was she doing? Trying to push him even further?
"You... slut."
Lara flinched, tears springing as she squeezed her eyes shut. His voice low and cold, anger fighting with hurt.
"He made it easy, huh? You mean I made it easy for you. I’m the one that let you take care of him. I’m the one that always stood up for him, defended him against my own fuckin’ best mate, because of you. Because I trusted your instinct that he was a good guy. That he was decent and kind and trusted, when all he was was a good fuck!"
"It wasn't like that," she said, but her voice came out weak and pathetic.
"I’m sorry to hear that you’re miserable, and that your life has been so difficult and un-fuckin-liveable. Were our sacrifices not great enough for you, huh?" He took a step towards her and Lara took a step away, bringing her arms up, a flicker of fear dancing beneath her ribs. He was right. She was being so fucking selfish, but it had to be said, these things had to be said. "I know that Nora has her faults, but she must be a real understanding friend to let you fuck him the week after their engagement has ended." He kept approaching until her back bumped the wall, and Lara couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his. His normally warm eyes were stormy, face shadowed, and she saw hatred there. Pete hated her. She pressed her palms flat against the wall, her legs threatening to give way.
"You made a fool out of me. You strung me along, keeping you safe for all these years, until were ready to run back to Dermot fucking Sullivan!" Pete punched out, fist slamming against the wall inches from her head. Lara screamed, ducking away, heart in her throat, but to her relief, he stepped back instead of turning that fist on her. "All along I thought it was Max I had to be worried about and, well, you had me fooled. You had us all fooled!" He gave a harsh manical laugh and Lara sobbed, hand coming up to stifle it. "I just hope he can protect you from his brother, that’s all."
Dusting off his knuckles, he inhaled sharply and gave her a disgusted look. "You’ve destroyed my life for your own gain. Do you realise that? And Nora’s. For what?" Lara opened her mouth, but she couldn't even speak. She watched as he grabbed his car keys and tossed them in a hand. "Perhaps you’re right, you know? You do make a good Sullivan, you fuckin’ selfish bitch."
"Pete-"
The only answer was the loud slam of the front door as he left. What had she done? Lara sank down against the wall and clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle her sobs. Her whole body was shaking and she felt nauseously sick, bile in her throat as tears poured down her face. What had she done? Pete was right; she was a selfish bitch, a slut who’d thrown away everything... She tried to remember her real reasons behind leaving, behind the break-up, but the reasons didn’t seem as effective and righteous now. Pete had sacrificed so much. He’d left the firm for her, his life, his stepped in and taken all his choices away. With Max, with Charlie, with everything. What kind of person was she? Did she even know herself anymore?
Sometimes, in the early hours, she would remember the girl she’d been before Max. Intelligent and confident with a head full of dreams. She’d planned to go to college, had wanted to study psychology. She’d literally had the world at her fingertips, a good circle of friends, she and her mum had a great relationship... It was funny, in a perverse way, how her life had actually played out, and she’d noticed the changes in her long before she met Pete. Slowly, Max had made her fearful and paranoid, angry and hateful, alienated from anybody she knew, and those she did interact with were only the ones deemed appropriate by Max. His thugs, his business partners, Dermot. Her own kind nature had started to tarnish, and in the end, she could match Max for every cold word and look, every snide remark and hate-filled glance. And she’d brought that poison into this relationship, her marriage with Pete, and she’d let it infect and fester until the whole thing crumbled from the inside like ashes.
Lara was poison and she’d ruined Pete Dunham.
“Mummy?” A small whimper in the doorway and Lara shot to her feet, wiping her face and trying desperately to compose herself. Charlie was peering around the door, his face pale, his eyes big. He’d never witnessed anything like this before. They’d had arguments, of course, heated discussions, but never anything like this. She noticed Charlie’s eyes trail to the fist-sized hole in the wall and moved to block it as she approached him. Upstairs, Kimmy was wailing. Picking him up, she carried him into the kitchen and sat him at the table. “Mummy? Why was Daddy shouting?”
“Let me just get Kimmy.” Lara desperately wanted to cry as she turned away and left the kitchen, heading upstairs to fetch Kimmy. She was clinging to the bars, head thrown back as she howled. Her cheeks were bright red and wet with tears. “Ssh, baby, it’s okay,” Lara murmured, picking her up and cuddling her close. Carrying the whimpering toddler downstairs, she settled on the chair next to Charlie and cradled Kimmy on her lap. Her whimpers soon turned to hiccuppy sniffles. There was silence, the only other sound being the ticking clock.
“I’m sorry about that,” Lara said after a moment, her voice a little above a whisper. Charlie looked at her. He was fiddling with that damn dinosaur that he hadn’t released since Max gave it to him. “Sometimes grown-ups... sometimes it’s hard for us to stay calm. Sometimes we fall out as well. That doesn’t make it right. Me and Daddy shouldn’t have shouted at each other like that.” Charlie nodded, silent. “We said some bad words to each other, but we shouldn’t say those things, because it isn’t nice, okay?” Charlie nodded again, but now he was looking at the T-Rex and moving its tiny little arms. Lara swallowed, then pressed a kiss to the top of Kimmy’s head. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she said again.
Charlie frowned, smashing the toy’s big feet against the top table a few times. “... Does Daddy not like me?”
Lara blinked, then felt a pain in her heart unlike anything she’d ever felt. How much had he heard? God, she could barely even remember what they’d said; it had been so intense, yet it seemed so surreal now, like a bad dream now she was sat in the kitchen. “Of course he does. Daddy loves you.”
But Charlie shook his head. “Daddy doesn’t love me.” Sliding off the chair, he took his little dinosaur and ran off upstairs. Lara couldn’t help it then. She pressed her face into Kimmy’s hair and wept.
—
When Dave arrived, Bovver was glad the door was unlatched as he still hadn’t been able to move off the floor. Every breath was like fire and every tiny movement caused his broken ribs to dig deeper... He looked up when the door flew open, Dave coming in, taking in the scene with one look; the coffee table was in pieces, cans and bottles strewn everywhere, and there was Bov, on the floor, back propped up against the sofa, face a swollen and bloody mess.
“What the fuck ‘appened to you, son?” Dave moved to kneel beside him, taking his face and inspecting it. “Who’ve you pissed off now?”
“Fuckin’ Dermot.” Bov sniffed, tasting blood. “Him and Jock decided to pay me a visit.”
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Bov.” Dave shook his head, putting an arm beneath him. “After three, alright? One... two... three.” Bov kicked upwards as Dave lifted him, a cry of agony escaping his lips as the fire licked every fibre of his being. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t hurt. Dave settled him on the sofa, then straightened, hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “I’ve called Swill. He’s gonna ‘ave to take you to the hospital. As much as I can work a little bit of magic, I can’t fuse your ribs back together, pal.” He leaned against the arm of the chair as Bovver told him everything that had happened, about the Walker guy, about how Dermot was gonna come back and finish him off.
“He did this on purpose,” Bov spat. “He knew I wouldn’t be able to do shit! Fuckin’ ‘ell, bruv, I’m fucked. Pete ain’t no better either. He told me I’m out. How the fuck can he tell me I’m out?!”
Dave said nothing for a moment, letting his rant finally die off. Then, he rubbed his jaw with a soft sigh. “Bov, I ain’t takin’ sides ‘ere, and I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you and Pete, but you need to sort it out. Both of you. The GSE is floundering, son, people are talkin’. Even those Tottenham knobheads are getting a better rep than us at the moment.” Dave glanced away, eyes on the window for a moment. “‘Ave you still got it, Bov? Is your ‘eart still in this?”
“Are you doubtin’ me?” Bov hissed, though it was more out of pain than anger. Dave looked back at him.
“No. I’d never doubt any of yous. But, as a mate, I’m worried... we all are.” Bov didn’t answer, just nodded slowly; he knew he hadn’t really been here the past few weeks. He’d let everything get on top of him, had let Nora and Jock and Dermot cloud his focus. The GSE was what mattered. Above everything, that’s all that mattered. It was the one thing that hadn’t left him, abandoned him, chewed him up and spat him out. The GSE was his whole life and had been since he’d been fourteen. It was time to take the reins again, whether Pete liked it or not.
Swill arrived shortly after, horrified by what had happened. “You know what this means, don’t you?” He said, as he and Dave helped Bov into the car. “Fuckin’ war. Those NTO wankers tried to break us and they fuckin’ failed. We ain’t gonna let the Sullivans win, mate. This is war. We need to get back out there, fast; if the other firms ‘ear about this, we’ll be the fuckin’ laughin’ stock of East Ham!”
“Give ‘im chance to get his ribs sorted,” Dave muttered, but Swill was on a roll now and didn’t hear him; flushed indignantly, he glowered at the pair of them.
“I didn’t spend over a decade being a member of the greatest firm in fuckin’ Great Britain, to ‘ave it all ripped away by some good-for-nothing Irish cunts, all right? Our Major just got fucked, we ain’t lettin’ that lie.” He moved around to the driver’s side, still raging. “All we ‘ave to do is get each one of ‘em alone. See how fuckin’ hard they are then. Fuck, those fuckin’ cunts ‘ave got it coming to ‘em.” Slapping the top of his car, Swill puckered his lips at Dave. “Meeting at the Abbey tomorrow, first thing. Let the others know.”
Bovver ended up spending the night in hospital. Swill stayed all through the painful procedure of getting his ribs set, and now Bov laid amongst white sheets, listening to the quiet rustlings in the corridor and the distance sound of somebody coughing furiously. Two broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, a broken nose, a fractured eye socket, and a face that was swollen and bruised. Dermot had finally got his revenge for the attack at the warehouse, Bov wasn’t stupid. Now the shock had worn off and the night was quiet and he could really think, then he’d known.
This was nothing to do with Nick Walker, it was probably a name plucked from nowhere. No. The true intent was the fact Dermot finally had time to retaliate and he’d struck at the perfect moment. And to give Bov an impossible task, one in which he couldn’t succeed, he had a reason to kill him. More mind games from the Sullivans. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Picking up his phone, he checked the time. A little after 11pm. He text Ryan. Drop the task. Meeting at the Abbey first thing. Don’t be late.
Bov sat back, feeling the dull ache from deep within. His chest was bound tight and he knew he’d have to fight his way out here in the morning, but he wasn’t missing this meeting. This was probably bigger than any fight they’d encountered before, even the ones from the Sullivans all those ago, and they had plans to put in place. This was a fight of territory, of reputation, of life or death. His phone buzzed softly in his hand and Ryan’s reply popped up. Aight, boss, will b there. Bov smiled. None of his boys would let him down, he knew that. But it wasn’t the same without... he sent the text before he could change his mind.
Pete, I need you. Abbey, tomorrow morning? Then, after much hesitation, he sent another saying, Soz for bein a daft cunt.
Sighing, Bov clicked off the messages. His thumb strayed to his gallery, and he clicked it and found the photos of her. Photos he’d kept for four years, ones he still regularly looked at. There were only three, but he’d cherished them for so long. Nora at the Abbey in a beautiful red dress, Bov and Nora on his sofa, and Nora at the park, twirling a sunflower between her fingers. Their time together had been so brief, yet it had felt like everything to him. But he was tired. Tired of allowing this hurt to ruin everything he had worked so hard for. He swallowed, studying the photos with his good eye, before deleting every single one.
It was time to put the GSE back on top. And Swill had been on the mark with one thing.
This was war.
—-
“The infamous Nick Walker.”
Max had the gun pointed right at him. Nick stared back, mind racing, but he could see no way out of this. He felt weak and dizzy; he was bleeding profusely from his shoulder and his thigh, and his wound had started to bleed from Charlotte’s forceful knee in the chest. He could barely stand up right, and as he stared at the man he knew would end his life, all he could do was curse every single one of those bitches for putting him in this position.
Rosa, Charlotte, Nora... all of them desperate and disgusting and dirty. Rosa, whoring herself for drugs, so eager for that next fix. Single mum Charlotte, getting knocked up like some worthless skank. Nora, so willing to get onto her knees and suck his dick just for a bit of freedom. All of them deserved to be punished and he was glad he’d killed Charlotte, he was glad that interfering cunt was dead. And it satisfied him that her son would have to live the rest of his days without her. It’s the least she deserved.
“Sullivan’s don’t leave things unfinished —”
Someone else joined them, and Nick looked over, expecting another Sullivan. No doubt they had a bodybag and s van waiting. But he was surprised to see it was that black cunt from before, the one who’d tried to intervene in the car park. What the fuck did he have to do with all of this? Nick glowered, but it was somewhat diminished by the pain he was in, and he was finding it harder and harder to stand. There was blood on his jacket and jeans, smeared on his shoes, and Nick knew he’d found the body, could see in his eyes that he’d wept and he wanted to laugh, because -
“Are you gonna do it, then?”
Nick didn’t have time to turn. He didn’t have time to react. The gun went off, he felt heat in his face, through his face, everywhere and the heat grew and Nick felt the weightlessness of his body as he collapsed...
There was nothing. Nothing but nothing. Everywhere he looked was darkness and there was a strange sense of nothingness. As if he were floating in space as opposite to locked in a windowless room. And then there wasn’t nothing because she was there. The ghost that had tormented him for months, flickering at the edges of his vision and whispering in the back of his mind. She came out of the nothing and approached; blonde hair in two pigtails either side of her head, two buttons undone on her school blouse, tie loose. Her skirt and legs were obscured and he couldn’t focus on them even when he tried.
Natasza looked at him. She used to be pretty. Her skin warm and pink and flushed with life, eyes bright and full of life. Blue eyes, he remembered. Blue, with a silver smudge in the left iris. Now, it was a different story; her skin was grey and sallow, eyes flat and unfeeling. A ghost. Suddenly Nick was afraid.
“Leave me alone.”
She said nothing, eyes fixed to his. Then, she stretched her mouth open, abnormally wide, and screamed. Terrified, Nick scrambled back and the nothing turned to something. A car, Max Sullivan, the strong smell of fuel. And pain like no other, his head so agonising he wondered why he wasn’t dead. Why wasn’t he dead? Had Natasza stopped him from dying? Pushed him back into the world of the living just to torture him some more? He tried to talk, but he couldn’t seem to work his body anymore and it came out a groan. So he screamed it in his mind, panic running with the pain and the adrenaline. Natasza, forgive me, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry!
He tried to reach the handle, but his hand merely twitched uselessly. A figure moved at the window and he turned his eyes to see Max. He was holding a burning Zippo. And Nick heard him clearly when he spoke. Oh, God, no, no - “No unfinished business.”
Max threw the lighter onto the windscreen and the whole thing, including Nick, ignited into flames.
—-
They were stood together, all three of them, at the back end of the units. The stranger didn’t waver with the gun, an almost curious look in his eye as he looked Benji over. Walker was glaring at him, a mixture of anger and pain on his face. Blood stained his shirt, his trousers, and he looked on the verge of collapse. The man who’d murdered Charlotte.
“Are you gonna do it, then?”
The man raised an eyebrow, then shot Nick point blank in the face. His features exploded in a shower of red gore, body swaying before he toppled and hit the grass with a thud. Benji stared at the stranger incredulously. He hadn’t expected him to shoot, even at his words, but he had. He’d pulled the trigger with hesitation, without even a batter of his eyelids. Ruthlessly. Brutally. Good, Benji thought. That cunt deserved no less. But who the fuck was this guy? He must have known Nick somehow, or maybe Charlotte? Benji still had no idea what had happened inside that unit, what Charlotte had seen when she’d walked in. Had he been laying in wait? Had she even stood a chance? Confusion and unease coursed through him. Still, even if this man had slain an enemy, Benji wasn’t stupid enough to lower his gun just yet. What was stopping him putting a bullet in Benji’s brow? He was a witness to a murder, to look at it in black and white.
“The girl is to do with you?” Benji didn’t answer, but he felt the pain at the mere mention burn through him. Charlotte was dead, her body rapidly cooling in there and he needed to get her out, he needed to get her safe. “Pity. She fought until the end, you know? She’s the reason he looks like...” He waved his gun in Nick’s direction. “This.”
“I told her not to come alone,” he murmured. She shouldn’t have had to fight alone. If Benji had got here earlier, if he hadn’t gotten stuck in traffic. He should have gone a different way. He should have gotten out and ran. Anything. He watched as the man slipped his gun into the back of his trousers, then raised his hands to show Benji he wasn’t a threat. After a beat, Benji slowly lowered his gun.
The man was still watching him with that curious look in his eye; there was a scar down one side of his face, though it was faded to a silver line. His blue eye was unnerving to look at, his accent thick Irish... a bell began to ring somewhere in the back of his mind.
“I’m Max Sullivan,” he finally announced, and Benji’s blood ran cold. “And you are?”
“I need to go.”
You’d have to have been living under a rock not to have heard of the Sullivans. They were the big dicks of London; every gram of cocaine, every heavy brick of heroin, it all came through the Sullivans. They’d left a trail of bodies in their wake on their rise to the top and now controlled the city with an iron fist - and a loaded gun. They were almost mythical; working in the shadows, hardly seen by anyone, but always there, always with a finger in every pie and an eye on every thing. Nick had obviously caused enough of a stir for the Sullivans to put an end to it, but why? How had their paths crossed, and what did Charlotte have to do with it?
And then he reminded himself that she was innocent. Charlotte was a mother, she’d only ever had Tristan’s best interests at heart. And he knew without a doubt that she’d done this for her son, to protect him. God, why did she have to die? Afraid he would break down there and then, Benji shoved his gun away and turned back inside. Max followed. The blood trail guided him back to the unit, neither men speaking until Benji slipped inside. Charlotte was still laying where he’d left her and her skin was unnaturally pale, a blue tinge around her lips.
“They’ll be here in five.” A gentle warning from Max, who was waiting outside the door. Benji could hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance, and gently lifted Charlotte into his arms.
“She has a son, y’know. Tristan. He doesn’t deserve this.” None of them did. If only he’d met them sooner, before Nick came onto the scene and destroyed everything. He’d torn apart this family and for what? For what?!
In the corridor, Max spoke up again. “You need to leave now. I’ll sort our friend out, but...” He hesitated before meeting Benji’s gaze, and strangely, he didn’t feel fear at what he was about to say, there was no apprehension. Just a calm knowing that this wasn’t the last time he’d lay eyes on a Sullivan. “Meet me at this address tomorrow. Do what you need to do tonight, but be here tomorrow.” He slipped a business card out of his jacket and handing it over, though Benji didn’t take it straight away. He should refuse. Getting involved with the Sullivans wasn’t a good idea, Lucien would tell him the same and yet... he took it reluctantly. Max held him with a steady look. “Don’t waste time over what can’t be changed and instead do something worth remembering.”
He turned on his heel and walked back the way they’d came. Benji watched him go, then glanced at the card in his hand; shiny, black, Sullivan in silver lettering above an address deep in the city. Then, he looked at Charlotte. Her eyes were still open, lips parted, a drying stream of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth and over her cheek. He could feel her blood still soaking his clothes even now, but for some reason, it helped keep him steady as he walked out. He could do this for her. He had to do this for her. Crossing to his car, he noticed the woman with the bad wrist was gone. Who was she? Another victim of Nick’s? Had Charlotte helped save her? In his gut, he knew she had; she wouldn’t have wanted another woman to suffer the same as her.
—-
Benji carried Charlotte into the hospital. Her head hung limp, arms limp, legs limp. Her body a literal dead weight. The next few hours were a nightmarish blur; he spoke to nurses, to doctors, explaining how he’d found her. They’d cleaned her up and laid her on a bed and let him spend some time with her. Grasping her cold hand, Benji had sobbed. He was old enough to know life wasn’t fair, it never had been for people like him, but this was something else. This was something good that had been snatched from his hands, from his heart, before it had even began. He’d pressed a firm kiss to her brow, smoothed back her dark hair and gazed down into her peaceful face; eyes closed now, lips in a seemingly faint smile.
“I’ll look after him. I promise you I’ll never let anything happen to Tristan.”
After, he spoke to the police, too numb to even remember why he didn’t trust them, hated them, in fact. He told them most of the truth; that she’d called from the unit, that a man called Nick Walker had trapped her there. By the time he’d arrived, it was too late. He’d heard one officer muttering into his radio, and it crackled back at him, to confirm Benji was telling the truth; seemed like the coppers were already over the scene of the crime and he hoped Max had done a good enough job at destroying the evidence.
The police let him go. Benji watched as Charlotte’s body was wheeled down to the morgue. A nurse, squeezing her shoulder with a pitying expression, asked who was going to take care of the arrangements. “I will,” he told her. “I’ll take care of everything.” He was feeling pretty numb when he left the hospital, driving around aimlessly, her blood still damp on his clothes. He needed to go home, shower, change, but he couldn’t. Before he knew it, he was outside her house, pulling up on the driveway. The house still, quiet, empty. Benji checked the clock. It was a little past one in the afternoon. He’d have to pick up Tristan soon.
Benji headed inside. The front door was still unlocked. Had she known? Or had she been in that much of a rush that she’d forgotten? He wished he could ask her. He wished she was here now. He stood in the hall and looked at the wall beside the kitchen door, where just last night, he’d held her in his arms and made love to her. Her moans soft in his ear, her nails sharp on his shoulders. The house smelt like her. It lingered with every breath he took. Benji wandered around, not even knowing what he was doing here. He had to think, needed a plan.
Tristan. Think of Tristan. They’d have to stay here. He’d just lost his mum, Benji couldn’t snatch him away from everything he knew. No, they’d stay here, where they could be close to her. In her bedroom, Benji sat in the bed and picked up the dressing gown that had been slung over it. It smelt like her so strongly, it was as if she’d only just taken it off. Benji wept.
In the bathroom, he caught his reflection and stared. There was a bit of blood speckled in his face and he wasn’t sure if it was Charlotte’s or Nick’s. He looked tired. He looked old, as if he’d aged forty years in a single day. And then something else caught his eye; a pregnancy test, sat on the edge of the sink. His heart jerked almost painfully as he stared at it, then picked it up to read the result. Positive. Charlotte had been pregnant. Somehow, that made things a thousand times worse. It must have been Nick’s. Was that why he had killed her? Had he known? Another life snatched before they’d even gotten a chance to live.
Benji felt sick. Setting the pregnancy test back down, he turned and walked out.
—
At three pm, Benji pulled up outside the school. The playground was full of children and parents, most chatting about their days, unbeknownst to the horror that had occurred only a few miles away. Benji made his way inside, following the signs to the reception. Rounding another corridor, Benji saw him; sat slumped on a bench, head down, bag at his feet. An older woman stood beside him, tears in her cheeks as another officer in a yellow jacket spoke to her. They both looked up as he approached.
He recognised the officer from the hospital. She was young, dark hair short, brown eyes soft. She nodded at him. “Mr Johnson? I just wanted to confirm some arrangements for Tristan.” The boy hadn’t even looked up, eyes fixed to his knees. Benji looked back at the officer.
“He’s staying with me. At his house.” His voice sounded monotone and dull. He cleared his throat. “I thought it would be better. For him. It’s all he knows.”
Both women nodded. The officer gave a weak smile. “A social worker will visit in a few days,” she said, then noted the alarm in his eyes. “Just to assess him. Nobody is going to take him away, I promise. But they are there if you need the support. Someone will get in contact with you.” She moved to kneel down in front of Tristan, trying to catch his eye. “Mr Johnson is going to take you home now, Tristan. Is that okay?” He didn’t move for a moment, then gave one tiny nod of his head. The officer nodded, squeezed his knee and stood. “We’ll be in touch,” she said again to Benji.
“And we’ll get some work sent home for the next few weeks,” the headmistress put in, eyes still welling with tears. “Give him some time to process things before he comes back to school.” The two women said bye again to Tristan before heading into the headmistress’ office. For a moment, silence filled the corridor. Benji waved a hand.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Grabbing his bag, Tristan followed as they headed for the exit. He still hadn’t looked up, eyes fixed to his trainers, and Benji had only wished he’d been there when they’d broke the news. The poor fucking kid. He couldn’t even imagine it. Saying bye to your mum before school, only to find out she was murdered while you were learning. Did they tell him it was an accident? Did they try and soften the blow? Benji led him to the car, and Tristan got in without saying a word. Buckling him in, Benji shut the door and moved around to the other side to get in.
He didn’t start the engine. He just sat there for a moment, before looking across at Tristan. He was sitting so still, he’d almost become a statue, and his eyes were fixed firmly to his small hands. Benji dampened his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”
“The bad man did it, didn’t he? He hurt Mummy.” The words were barely a whisper and Benji had to lean forward to hear them at all. A lump instantly rose in his throat.
“Yeah. It was.”
“Why?”
Benji stared at the side of his face; a mop of golden brown hair, furrowed brows, a small upturned nose, pursed lips. He could see Charlotte in him so strongly it took his breath away for a moment. “... I don’t know, kid. The world’s a messed up place. But, I’m gonna look after you, yeah?” Tristan nodded, but didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t blink or cry, he just stared out the window, watching the passing high-rises. Benji fiddled with the radio. It was better than silence. After what felt like an excruciating amount of time, Benji pulled up at Charlotte’s. His mind had been stuck on her for the entire journey, and he didn’t doubt Tristan’s had too. He was thankful the boy didn’t see what Benji had seen though; the inside of that unit was seared in his mind and he knew nothing would ever get rid of it. That single moment in time when he’d rounded the doorway and seen Charlotte laying in a pool of her own blood would forever be a part of him.
And Benji had never felt a pain like it.
“You’ll ‘ave to show me where everythink is,” Benji said, once he’d let them inside. He locked the door behind him straight away, then pulled the thick curtain over to cover it. He wanted Tristan to feel safe. “Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll make us somethin’ to eat?” Benji watched as he trudged upstairs, still without words. Sighing, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The glass he’d drank from last night was still on the draining board, upturned, along with hers. He stared at them, knowing her touch would have been the last thing on them as she pulled them from the hot soapy water and set them there. Benji shook his head. None of it had sunk in yet.
Quiet sobbing upstairs. Benji turned, heading up, following the noise to Tristan’s bedroom. He was crumpled up on the floor, clutching a teddy, face red and cheeks wet with tears. Benji strode over. “Little man-“
“Mummy isn’t dead, you’re lying, they’re all lying!” Tristan jumped to his feet, shouting loudly, his small fists balled. “I want my mummy back now!” He ran at Benji, small fists hammering his gut, but Benji stood like a stone, looking down at him. And when he was done, he knelt down and let the sobbing boy collapse against him. “I want my mummy. I just want my mummy.”
“I know, Triss, I know. So do I.” He held Tristan close, sinking down and cradling the boy on his lap. “It’s fuckin’ horrible what happened. It’s unfair, it’s wrong. And there’s nothing we can do to change it. But that man - hey, Tristan, listen to me - that man is gone. He ain’t ever coming back, he can’t hurt you anymore, okay?” He felt Tristan nod beneath his chin. “And I swear on my life, I ain’t gonna let anybody hurt you again. I mean it. Do you understand me?” Again, Tristan nodded, but Benji pulled away and turned him so the boy could meet his eyes. “You’re one of us now, Triss. You’re part of my family and do you know what that means?” Tristan shook his head. “It means that we always have each other’s backs. I’ll always have yours, aight? It means that a person will think twice before crossing us again... we’re gonna get through this. Together.”
Tristan nodded, hugging his chest tightly, still sniffling. Benji sighed and held him back, but his mind was already drifting. To Charlotte, and her smile, and the last lingering look she’d given him before he’d walked out the door.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jul 6, 2022 5:40:22 GMT -5
When George had proposed to Aoife, he had intended for everything to be wonderful. He had been a nervous wreck for days as the ring settled at the back of his drawer, fearing she would find it at any moment balled inside a pair of socks. Marriage, to George, was complex. He had never seen true happiness and he knew Aoife hadn’t, either, not really, not until her dad had met Nora and now… well, another example of how fragile things were.
His mum and dad hadn’t been in love, and it was sad to see. The one thing that should inspire adoration was nowadays more like a chore, an addition to stress – a reason to cheat. So he had wanted everything to be perfect, for his perfect girl, and then suddenly things were spiralling and they were here. Sat in Jock’s flat, deflated. George hadn’t acted well at all prior or post the glittering diamond and wasn’t sure why he was struggling so much to stay afloat.
The both of them were scurrying as fast as they could up what seemed a never ending slope. They had points to prove; they didn’t want to be like everyone else, they wanted to be kind and strong and hard working yet all they were now was exhausted. Both wore thin. His job had seemed exciting and the right thing to do in the beginning but he knew both of their interest in the hospital was waning.
Jock had invited him in and the two sat with a glass of whiskey, staring into the amber dregs with deep sighs.
‘I don’t trust him.’ George had announced after spilling all his concern regarding Luke Winters. How Aoife did trust him and how he wasn’t sure why, unless there was something between them, unless she loved him instead? Unless it was just her nature to be kind, as Jock had corrected him and George had nodded. Yes, Aoife was kind and he had just terrified her, over what? Presumptions and low self-esteem?
‘I just can’t seem to get anything right.’ George said after a moments silence. It was strange how quiet the house was and he had only just realised Nora wasn’t there.
George wondered if he and Aoife were destined to go the same way as Nora and Dermot. They had looked in love – they had acted obsessed with one another, with gentle smiles and soft touches but now they were shattered. She was with Jock. Had anybody seen that coming? Too busy in their own worlds, for everyone else it didn’t make sense, but for Jock and Nora it seemed the only thing that did.
‘Does Nora care, about the drink and the drugs?’ George asked, leaning back in the chair as his bones creaked in welcoming to the plush fabric. ‘Do you remember the first time you met me, and I did that line of coke and…’ he gave a gentle chuckle. ‘I was such a people-pleasing wanker, I don’t know why you entertained me.’ It was a fond laugh, of a memory that seemed so many years ago.
‘But, does she? Because…’ looking down at his hands, he felt foolish and a little disappointed in himself. ‘I know it isn’t the same but, ever since I started working at the hospital I’ve been taken caffeine tablets. Dissolving them in my water, my coffee; crushing them up and adding them to my toast if I need to. Anything to keep me going. When I don’t take them I feel like my body might give way – I feel brittle, you know? I get the sweats, too. Real bad. The first time I tried to ween myself off them I told Aoife I had the flu, and I lasted a day before I just had to have them again. I don’t know why. I know I could’ve managed the transition if I’d tried harder, but I didn’t want to.’
George had never judged Jock for who he was when he’d first met him. He was unashamedly rough and ready and wound up on white dust, so George didn’t think he would find judgement here. Dermot would be questioning him within an inch of his life, no doubt, as the future father-in-law, but Jock was different. Jock was sympathetic. Sometimes George saw him as a father figure he’d never had; boisterous and fun and strong and attentive. It wasn’t what you expected when you first saw him, and it was a welcoming surprise once you got to know him.
‘I took more than my usual dose today and I got really wound up. My body was screaming for sleep, but I couldn’t… I had so much to do at work, and I wanted to come home to Aoife and well…’ his neck flushed ‘…you know, I didn’t want to... disappoint, so then I also had a couple of drinks before I left and I just flew off the handle. I hurt her and I hate myself for it.’ Clenching his fists, he felt foolish for his actions, especially since he was hiding it all from Aoife. ‘I just keep thinking she’s going to leave me. Why wouldn’t she?’ he shook his head. ‘I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be my dad, that I’m just a different version of him instead. Still fucked up and selfish and fucking insecure.’ He admitted with a sigh.
Looking up to Jock he flashed a sad look before apologising. ‘Sorry. I must sound like an idiot. I must sound like a pup more than ever, huh?’
Finishing his drink he slammed down the glass and glanced at the clock. It was the middle of the night. Time seemed so irrelevant lately. He worked mornings and nights and evenings; he didn’t see hands on a clock he just saw shift patterns for time at home, at work. Just got up and moved when he was told to, even if it was four in the morning. It wasn’t the life he wanted. George wanted to quit.
‘Where is Nora?’ George asked, glancing around. Their pictures on the mantle, her scarf draped across one of the armchairs. Sometimes he missed living here; it was lively, it was homely. They had been so adamant for their own space that sometimes he regretted it. ‘Do you get worried that she’ll go back to him? To Dermot? I’m not saying she will, but… I’ve spent my whole life never feeling good enough, and it seems unfair to make Aoife have to be with someone who is only half there. Half finished. Does that make sense?’ George chewed his lip and pulled himself from the chair. ‘Can I stay here tonight?’ he grabbed his jacket and smiled at Jock as the older man stood too.
‘I’m sorry for acting like a brat. I’ll get over myself. I just need to fix some things first, that’s all.’ As he headed up the stairs he hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. Jock looked sad, resigning to his emotions now that George was leaving him alone ‘I don’t think you have to worry about Nora, by the way. You’re one of the good guys.’
Heading up to what used to be his and Aoife’s old room, George sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. He had acted irrationally and dangerously. He knew Aoife wouldn’t do anything wrong so why was he pushing her to? Looking at his phone, he stared at her name in his contacts but couldn’t bring himself to ring her. Did she go after Luke? Was she asleep? He wanted to let her know he loved her and he was sorry but he couldn’t find the words. Taking a shower he let the scolding water appease his worry and just let himself breathe.
The caffeine pills were wearing off and he felt as if he had been hit by the force of a truck. He would quit them, and his job; he would be a better man. He would sort their life out. He would remind Aoife why she had loved him in the first place and try not to destroy Luke Winters in the process. Changing into one of Jock’s t-shirts, George settled in the big bed and pulled his phone back out. He clicked on Aoife’s name and the messaged whirred off to her before he promptly fell asleep, exhausted.
Aoife. I’ll fix this. I promise.
Another message came through to Aoife's phone a second later. The screen lighting up in the middle of the night.
I'm sorry for leaving like that, but I thought it was best. Let me know that you're safe, please? If you need me, I'm here. Luke Winters.
Pete’s head was killing him when he woke up.
Thanks to all the alcohol consumed, his sleep had been dreamless. No vivid reminder that Lara wanted a divorce and that she wanted to take his children away. After his third of fourth pint he had started to look up divorce on the internet; how to refuse the papers, and how to win custody if he had to. Charlie was Max’s. It was evident. Max wanted a paternity test, and so did Pete now, as it would work in his favour if she wanted to play games. Take Kimmy and the house? Pete wasn’t going without a fight.
As Lara had slept with someone else during their marriage, she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Pete had told Steve and the boys it was rape and had believed it himself or a while. It made it easier to think she hadn’t enjoyed or wanted it, when in fact she had. Pete had never really acknowledged that thought before, dampening it down with his hatred for the Sullivans and love for his wife. But it was true. Lara had loved Max – Lara had never been one hundred percent in, which was why Pete had exhausted himself giving enough for the both of them.
Five years ago and the only thing Pete had to worry about was what time he was meeting the boys at the Abbey and how many pints he could down before his punches threw messy. Now he had two children to be concerned about and a wife he realised recently had not loved him for a long time. Somehow fighting opposing teams and getting his head repeatedly stitched up was easier than this dull ache in his stomach. It came back the moment he woke, blinking at the ceiling slowly.
I want a divorce.
Pete rolled onto his side and glanced at his phone. No messages from Lara. One from Bov and one from Dave. Nothing else. His wallpaper was Lara holding both children in her arms, overflowing with love, a wide smile on her face. They were down at the beach, sand on their rosy cheeks. Seconds after the photo was taken Charlie had gotten an ice cream and proceeded to drop it all over his new dinosaur top.
I’ve wanted to end this for a while.
When she had said those words to him, part of Lara had looked relieved. As if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. Part of Pete had expected it, even if he’d been in denial at the time. Of course she wanted to leave him. He wasn’t’ Max Sullivan and he never could be. Then he remembered it wasn’t even Max that had ended it and the sickness came back. She’d slept with Dermot.
I’m not happy. I’m fucking miserable, Pete.
She was, wasn’t she? So was he. He’d thought it was accumulation of the alcohol, the disbandment of the firm and Charlie but.. it wasn’t, was it? It was them. They had never settled right. There had always been something at the back of their minds, each one constantly moving forwards in the fear it would catch them. Well, now it had. The realisation they were broken, and Lara didn’t want to stay and fix it. Lara didn’t want to do broken anymore, because she believed she deserved better. Whereas Pete would always take time to mend something important to him, even if it seemed futile.
Throwing his phone back down, Pete let himself be swallowed by his thoughts for a moment and tears stung his eyes. He wondered where they had done it. Did Dermot take her to his bed, or was it in the car, against the wall, on the floor? Somewhere spontaneous and desperate, as if she hadn’t ever gotten satisfaction from Pete. Dermot’s hands touching her body as if he deserved her made him angry. What had Dermot Sullivan done to believe Lara was now his reward?
Pete had been with her through everything but because he hadn’t been there in the beginning, the Max and Lara origin story springing to life before his arrival, it made him useless. He knew that was why and there was nothing he could to do change that. They both connected over the one destructive constant in their life and the spark that formed was multiplied in comparison to Pete’s dull flame.
There was a knock at the door and Pete ignored it, rubbing his temples. It grew louder, more impatient.
‘Fuck off –’
‘Let me in you hungover cunt.’ Swill demanded and Pete raised a confused eyebrow.
‘Hold on...’ He murmured, managing to somehow swing himself out of bed to unlock the door. Swill was staring back at him, messy hair and the same clothes from last night.
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’re getting a fuckin’ divorce, bruv?’ Swill asked and Pete rolled his eyes, stepping aside so he could come in.
Sighing, Pete ran a hand over his head ‘Who told you?’ he asked and then after letting his eyes settle back on Swill, he broke into a small smirk. ‘Is that a hickey on your neck?’ Swill raised a hand to cover it but was grinning like a giddy school boy.
‘Sure is.’
‘From -- no!’ Pete shook his head in shock. ‘Isla George? You lucky bastard! How did you manage that?’
Swill popped to collar on his jacket, trying to act nonchalant. ‘You know me, I’m just a natural born –’
‘She was drunk, wasn’t she?’
‘Oh yeah. We both were. It was fuckin’ awesome.’
The two of them laughed and for a second it took the sadness away. After Pete had taken a quick shower, they headed down to the restaurant for breakfast and ordered the biggest, greasiest fry-ups they could find. Downing a cup of coffee desperately, Pete raised his hand for another one and began tucking into his food.
‘I think I’m gonna be sick, watchin’ you shovel all that in your gob.’ He murmured as Swill forced his food into his mouth as if he was a starving child.
‘M-mind-yourown-business-then.’ Swill replied through a mouthful of food.
The breakfast did a small job at filling the sickness in his stomach and after a couple of aspirins, the pain in his head subsided too. Leaning back with a content sigh, Pete felt Swill’s eyes on him and scowled.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ He sighed. ‘Like you feel sorry for me.’
‘What’s been happenin’? You’re all over the place. We miss you. The old you.’
So Pete told Swill everything. From start to finish, not afraid to tell any upsetting or gory details. About his drinking, his fight with Bovver, his fight with Lara. Swill filled in him on what Dermot had done to Bovver in return for their never-ending rivalry and Pete’s face fell sour. He went on about how Max wanted custody of Charlie, and how Lara also wanted to keep the children away from Pete. ‘She slept with fuckin’ Dermot Sullivan.’ Pete’s voice was low and Swill almost choked on his drink.
‘What --’
‘I dunno–'
‘Dermot? –'
‘I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but all I do know is I’m fed up of those Irish cunts playing with our fuckin’ lives. So she wants a divorce from me, to take the kids. She said she hasn’t been happy in years. Said it was my fault. Said everything was because of me.’ He paused. ‘Said that Dermot just made everything easy.’
'After all you've done for 'er?' Swill asked ‘So, you’re not on his side anymore, right?’ Swill asked and Pete shook his head, a bitter look on his face.
‘Nah. I’m done defending any of them. They can all burn in hell, Jock included. Because I don’t doubt he’ll be the one to turn next.’
‘Good.’ Swill leaned forward on his elbows, voice low. ‘Because now we’ve got you back, there’s nothing that can stop us from taking the Sullivans and the NTO down for good. Are you in?’
Pete looked at Swill, a dark flicker in his eyes. ‘Too fuckin’ right I am, Bruv.’
They spoke a little more in a way they hadn’t really in what felt like years. About life, the silly things, the things there had felt no time to mention. About Isla. About Dave being a dad. About Pete being a dad. How things had changed and not all for the good.
‘It’s like ‘e knew.’ Pete said as they headed back up to their rooms.
‘Who?’ Swill asked
‘Bov.’ Pete smiled with a shake of his head. ‘He text me last night to apologise for being a cunt and I didn’t reply.’
’You can say you forgive him when you see him at the Abbey this afternoon.’ Swill patted him on the back with a smile.
They we’re back together again.
It was a strange feeling when Max pulled away from the merging police cars and the smoking crime scene. He could smell the singed flesh and felt annoyed he’d let petrol stain his good, white shirt. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like that. He had been so preoccupied trying to get contact with Charlie, that he hadn’t really done anything bad. Well, no murder, at least. It wasn’t because of his son, but he didn’t want him to get involved in these kind of things whilst he was young. Max wanted to enjoy their time together, as his father hadn’t with him.
Heading back to the penthouse, it dawned on him that Dermot would be there with Nora. Why he had let her keep the house was beyond him. Jock and Nora living cosied up like squirrels in the home they hadn’t done anything to deserve. She was a fucking school teacher – they earned pennies. And Jock? Did he even have a job? Had he ever had a job? Always floating around like the supposed free spirit he was, from city to city as if nothing mattered. Now, however, he wanted to settle down and Max wanted him out.
Perhaps if Dermot got back with Nora then Jock would leave, like a wounded puppy with his tail between his legs. At least he would have his penthouse back, and at least Dermot could go back to normal. Being with Nora had made Dermot restrained and as much as Max loved the volatile side, he didn’t have time to be picking up after him every five minutes. Not if he wanted to be a father.
‘This is the last time.’ Max said when he stepped into the kitchen and saw Dermot sipping a coffee with a wince. He looked concerned, his face lined when he turned to face him.
Max had blood all over his white shirt from carrying a dead Nick Walker, and petrol stains down the front from where he’d cut the line. His hair was slicked back with sweat and he actually felt pretty exhausted. He wanted a bath. He wanted a nice glass of whiskey and a cigarette and some silence.
‘This is the last time I help you.’ Max said and they both looked at one another, well aware that wasn’t true. ‘I don’t want Charlie to ever see me like this, okay?’
Dermot mentioned, in an uninterested tone how Lara said he could see Charlie tomorrow and suddenly he felt brighter.
‘Thanks, dearthair. I knew you’d come through for me, like I always do for you.’ He mentioned Nora was upstairs and Max nodded. ‘Do you know what you’re getting yourself into again?’ he raised an eyebrow at his brother but Dermot couldn’t seem to find the right words. Excusing himself, he didn’t give him a chance to mention Aoife. He was done for today.
Max soaked in the bath, the salts rough and welcome against his skin. The bloody clothes lay in a pile on the floor and he let himself slip beneath the water, enjoying the stillness around. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever retire all of this. The gambling, the pushing drugs, the selling of girls, but then every time he felt himself drifting away from it, it snaked back around his throat and pulled him in. It never got old, it just became background noise from time to time. He was in it for the long game, and one day he would have Charlie running by his side. A legacy.
When he broke through the surface, he pulled his phone from the side and started typing a message. He could hear voices down the hall but shrugged it off for Nora or Dermot. After a moment, Max placed his phone back down and sighed. He would see his boy tomorrow.
Lara. Thanks for letting me see my son. Max.
The next day Max was actually humming to himself as he waited for his toast to pop. The radio was on in the background, the news, spreading the story of Nick Walker’s actual demise. He had gotten away with it originally, but as Max had told them, Sullivan’s never left things unfinished. Proud at his achievement, he didn’t realise Aoife was in the room until he heard her slam a cupboard.
He turned to look at her, a confused expression on his face.
‘Can I help you, leanbh?’ he asked and she rolled her eyes at him, reminding him she was no longer a child. ‘Did you sleep here last night? Your Da has a lot to answer for…’ he mumbled, turning away to butter his toast. Was this a creche? Why was everyone here? They all said they hated him, yet none of them failed to rely on him when they needed it. ‘Trouble in paradise?’ Max asked as Aoife slammed the carton of milk down harder than necessary. She was looking at her engagement ring in one hand, a distant look on her face.
Ah, George Turner. Mark had been a nuisance, but there was something interesting about George. He had worked for Max for a hot minute before deciding he would rather save the useless cunts of London. Whatever he wanted, it obviously wasn’t working for them anymore.
‘Tell Dermot I want a word with him when he gets up, alright?’ he called to Aoife as he grabbed his jacket off the side. ‘I’ll have my mobile on me.’
He was dressed well, as always, but had felt an itch to purposely look good for her. For the brief seconds Lara saw him before no doubt slamming the door in his face. Black jeans, a white grandad-shirt buttoned down a little and a thick jacket to fight the chill. His hair was getting long now, slicked back neatly, and his face... well, there was nothing you could do about that scar.
Leaving the house, soon to no doubt be chaotic, Max completed the short drive to Lara’s house. Or rather, the Dunhams. He wondered if that arrogant prick was going to be there? What did it matter, there was nothing he could do to stop him taking his son anyway and Max knew he hated him. It made his blood boil that someone who didn’t even respect his child, had full custody.
Parking outside, Max admired the small front garden briefly. He wondered if Charlie had helped plant any of the flowers? Looking up, he could see through the main window and it seemed so quiet inside. Two steps and he was outside the front door, knocking with purpose. She deserved somewhere grander than this and Charlie should have a big garden with as much space as he wanted to run. After a moment the door was opened and a tired looking Lara greeted him.
His heart raced for a moment when he realised he hadn’t really seen her, not truly, in a long time. Between the mind games and the kidnapping, Lara hadn’t had time to humour him. Max felt dumbstruck, unable to find a word to say. Somehow she still looked radiant. She was older now, more mature – a mother, a woman. He appreciated the curve of her hips and tiny waist as she stood with her arms crossed, prepared to fight anyone and anything this morning.
Max could see her kneeling at the church, eyes wide as she read the message on the flowers how many months ago? Again, laying in the hospital after Charlie was born, her face peaceful as he left the claddagh ring on the side. Both a promise and a warning he wasn’t going anywhere.
It was like seeing her for the first time again. She was both the same and a different person; both being able to make his knees weak. He could smell her faint perfume, the lotion on her skin. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to be back at the beginning, before everything. When she was his. Lara held so much control over him and she didn’t even realise. It was why he got so angry; it was why he had tried to kill her.
‘Surprise.’ He joked and she looked unimpressed so his small smile slowly dropped. ‘Did you get my message?’ Max asked more seriously. Lara looked as if she had been up all night, her eyes red. She asked where Dermot was, dismissing his questions and annoyed that their agreement had fallen apart.
‘Dermot is… otherwise indisposed with Nora Samuels. Is Charlie ready?’
Something he had said bothered her but he wasn’t sure what. Tilting his head, Max let his eyes look her over. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, no makeup, and her wedding ring was missing. She was rubbing her thumb over where it used to settle and he dampened his bottom lip with interest. Where was Pete Dunham?
‘I know things have been… well.. I just understand why you’re not happy to see me –’ Lara cut across him with a scoff and Max let her snap at him for a moment. ‘…but..’ he carried on ‘Things are different now. Everything that happened, that's in the past. I want to make it up to you... I want to do what's best for my Son. I really care about Charlie, Lar. I really do. I care about you too, so please –' he stuck his foot over the threshold. '– please, don't shut the door on me. I have always cared about you. Always.’ He met her gaze and it genuinely made his chest tight to know she was suffering, and especially as it was nothing to do with him. Was this the excuse he needed to finally end Dunham and in turn the GSE?
For a flickering moment he wanted her to look at him without that hatred in her eyes, because truth be told, it was starting to sting.
‘When I ask right now if you’re okay, as the mother of my child, can you not argue with me, and just let me know what’s going on?’ Shaking his head at her reply, he found himself smiling. ‘You always were so stubborn.’ He mused. ‘I’ve missed it.
When Max was younger, he’d had a friend called Seamus. Well, friend was a long stretch. Their dads were acquaintances so they had no choice but to spend a lot of time together. Seamus had freckles all over his nose and eyes the shade of dark chocolate. He also had the most infuriatingly calm nature that Max could just not understand. Seamus Senior was well-known for having a constant bloody knuckle, yet his son bounced through life, supposedly unaware. That wasn’t what unsettled Max the most however, it was how he was treated by his dad. He was adored.
If they were walking together he would place his hand on his sons shoulder, a warm, reassuring touch. Playing pool and Seamus Junior would pot one fucking ball, against Max’s five and he’d get a round of applause so Max would get a thwack against his legs with the cue. And he was always fucking smiling at his dad as if he was the greatest person in the world, when he introduced him to people in the pub or town, both proud looks on their face.
Max and Dermot had never really had that relationship with their own Da and Max was already a very jealous child. He sought recognition and validation and never got it. He craved a constant response from others when young so he learnt to provoke ones from those near.
They were at the local pub. The two grown-ups were sat beneath an alcove talking, sloshing their beer, laughing. Seamus Senior walked past the two to get some fresh drinks and ruffled his son’s hair, a fond look in his eye and something in Max had just snapped. All he ever got was a slap on the back of the neck, or a blow to the face, or spit in his eye. And why? Because he didn’t play pretend? Wasn’t naïve and foolish and easily lead? The constant barrage of insults spinning in his head.
‘Why aren’t you more like young Seamus? He’s a good boy. A smart boy. Why are you so feckin’ useless?’
In a fit of frustration, a young Max took his glass and smashed it into the side of Seamus Juniors head. It crushed against his little cheek, the fractured shards cutting flesh. He fell to the floor with a whimper, a hand held to the wound. Seamus Senior and Patrick came running, grabbing Max by the scuff of his shirt and swinging him around. Swear words were slung, Max was dragged outside, down the street, the warm leather and cool buckle of a belt against his hands when he got home.
Max didn’t want that for Charlie.
He never wanted his son to feel as if he didn’t matter. That it was a competition. Even if Dermot had never meant it, there had always been a rivalry. Even now it frustrated him that no matter what shit he did, Nora would fling herself into his arms. He got away with everything. Why was Lara not like that? Well, he was glad she wasn’t, because that was fickle, but the forgiveness was pleasing. Max wanted Lara to forgive him, and she was cautious to do so, stood with her arms crossed and a look on her face that said she knew him.
Well, she didn’t. He was different now. He could tell by the way Dermot looked at him and it wasn’t just because of his new look. He wondered what Lara thought about that, though. Max tilted his head to gage her reaction. Would she find it attractive? Most women did. There was something strangely alluring about a scar, a battle wound, and even though it had tormented him for months, it was part of him now and he wasn’t going to hide anymore.
What about Lara. Had she changed? Max wasn’t sure. Besides the fact she was more explosive than ever and had finally found her voice, he believed Lara was still the same, still wanting the same things. She wanted to be wanted. She didn’t want to exist because someone relied on her, but instead because they appreciated her as a whole herself. Because they loved her. Lara had done enough of surviving for the sake of someone else. It was one of the things Max never asked of her. Anything other than to live. He didn’t need fixing, support, money or constant reassurance. He had just needed her there beside him. Only his.
He had no doubt that Pete Dunham needed this marriage constantly justifying. To be told he was loved, a good father, a good husband. That she was /sure/ about them. Max had never questioned her love, not once. Even when Lara had left him, he knew it wasn’t because she had fallen out of love with him. She had been many things all those years ago; overwhelmed, scared, and young, but never unsure or insincere about her heart. He still held a piece of it; he could feel it beating next to his when he lay down at night.
Their relationship had stilled for a while, but his with Charlie’s was just beginning to flourish. He made Max feel like the best person in the world when he smiled at him.
Did Lara think he was the best father in the world? Better than Pete? Had her love for /him/ changed? Was she not wearing the ring because it was upstairs, nestled in a jewellery box, or freshly cleaned or getting resized. Did she forget? Or had she thrown it at him from across the room, screamed that she was done because… because of what? Not because of him, surely? Not because at the back of her mind was /him/? Max Sullivan.
So many possibilities she didn’t want to share.
‘You should come in for a minute. Charlie’s getting ready.’
The name Charlie had sounded sour on his tongue until it was the name of his son and suddenly it was like honey. It was a boyish name; a cute name. It wasn’t Irish, that was for sure. It had everything that Max had felt wrong for a son, and yet… it fit. He was Charlie. Whenever Dermot mentioned the name, it made Max smile, even if he didn’t realise. Charlie Sullivan.
It was something peculiar to realise you were a father. You had someone who was a mixture of you and someone else. Your DNA is tinged with anothers to form the perfect contrast of the two because Max did see Lara in him. In the way his cheeks creased when he smiled and the excitement in his eyes when he saw him. How she had looked at Max, in the beginning. Saw Lara in the ways that weren’t obvious; subtle reminders of her beauty and fire when excitement took him over.
Lara let him step inside and it was like entering an entirely new world that smelt of her. Soft perfume, jasmine candles and washing powder. Warm wooden flooring creaking under foot, light colours on the hallway walls, littered with pictures. He followed her into the kitchen, feeling powerful and feeling excited for stepping into another mans home without his permission. Max had an urge to reach out and touch the small of her back but he didn’t. Couldn’t.
Well…. Could, but wouldn’t.
Seeing her walking away from him made him feel unusual. It was both sexual and upsetting watching her hips. When she was younger she would flip her hair over one side and glance over her shoulder at him, smiling with that look that said she knew a secret she wasn’t going to share. The one that kept you chasing to find. That look wasn’t there today and Lara didn’t turn to look at him until they were both in the kitchen.
She was distracted by something. Her anger for him wasn’t as swollen as it once was; she was too upset to play their game. Why? Her phone rang a few times and she declined it before switching her phone off with a slam on the counter. Pete? Who else. Rolling his eyes at the idiocy of the hooligan, Max let his eyes briefly roam the kitchen. Homely. The opposite to his cold marble and chrome finishes. There had been life in this home; chaotic and flustered and forced, to a point.
He was looking at her expectantly when defence flashed across her features. ‘I’m fine.’ She murmured, dampening his unspoken questions a final time. ‘Not that it’s your concern. Where are you planning on taking Charlie, and how long for?’
It had been difficult for Max to know what to do as he lay in bed that night, a thousand ideas running through his head but none worthy of his precious heir. Patrick would’ve taken him to the lakes and given him a shotgun to shoot bottles; taught him how to roll his first cigarette, down a beer, stomach a whiskey. Things that made children into men quickly and in all the wrong ways. Forcing them to grow before they’d even experienced the fleeting purity of youth. Max had been so desperate to see him he hadn’t thought of what to do when they were together.
‘I’m going to take him to London zoo. I’ve never been.’ Max replied surely after spending the night searching for somewhere. ‘You can come if you —‘
'I don’t want this to go to court, Max.’ Her voice wavered, almost catching him off guard. ‘I want us to work out something between us, something fair. Please. Charlie means everything to me and..’
Lara was sacrificing herself to him before he took it. Took the truth from her broken gaze. It wasn’t obvious, but to him it was; Max knew, he always knew. When they fought she would say he didn’t see the suffering she endured, but he always did. He just hadn’t done anything about it, and hadn’t wanted to, until now…
There were tears in her eyes when she spoke next and his breath caught unexpectedly. ‘Just don’t take him away from me. Please, Max.’
There was genuine fear in her voice, as if someone had already threatened to tear her world apart and the thought of adding to that was overwhelming. He didn’t think about it too often, but knowing Pete was by her side day in and day out made him hot with rage. Did he even realise what he had? Too engrossed in the idolatry of football stars to even see the true shining beacon before him. Next to Pete Dunham, Lara radiated, a goddess. From what he heard passed down by Dermot, Pete didn’t appreciate her. They were tense. They argued. Pete drank too much. They were surviving for the sake of the children, yet it appeared one particular child was tearing them apart. Charlie.
‘What has he done to you?’ Max asked, tone serious. He had never expected Pete to hurt her, not in a way that made him suddenly the smaller threat. Lara knew he was talking about her husband but didn’t say anything, wiping the tear from her eye with a sniff. She looked exhausted; defeated. Had she been like this after him? ‘Where is Pete?’ there was a moments silence and he could see her shoulders tense. Shaking his head, he sighed. ‘I never intended on taking Charlie away from you, Lar. Did you not realise that? You were the one keeping him from me. But you’re his mother. I want us to be a family, too. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and I see that now.’
Max hadn’t seen it when they were younger. When Lara’s period was late and she was agitated and emotional and he was terrified. He wanted a termination; he wanted freedom. The idea of family had seemed constricting, and as Pete was proving, it was; it could ruin everything, but it could also be the reason things survived. Lara’s period had arrived two weeks later and the doctor had put it down to stress. Max could breathe again.
Now, the idea of breathing the same air in a world without his son seemed impossible. It seemed a cruel concept and he knew how much it hurt to have him hidden, so no, he would never do that to Lara. ‘I only do bad things when people give me no other choice.’ He added, glancing up with an ounce of apology within his gaze. ‘Taking Charlie had been irrational, but I felt I had no other choice. Now I know I do. If you’ll let me?’
Suddenly the room was filled with light, the heavy clouds concealing stress lifted and Charlie ran towards him. A chaotic whirlwind, his shirt inside out, his hair a curly mass on his beautiful head. Max couldn’t help but grin as his son threw himself towards his legs, hugging them tight.
‘Hey, ceann beag.' Little one.
‘Max!’ Charlie said his name and his chest clenched with love. ‘Look!’ he stepped back to grab something from his pocket and revealed the dinosaur from the toy store. He still had it? Trying to hold the unusual emotion swelling in his chest, Max gave a big smile and got down to his height. ‘I still got it.’
‘What’s his name, hey?’ Max asked and took the toy for a moment, turning it over in his hands. Who knew a plastic figurine could hold so much importance. ‘Is he coming with us, then? Does he have a special place in your back pack, or is he a pocket dinosaur?’
The two chatted for a few minutes and it was refreshing how pure children were.
‘We going now?’ Charlie asked and Max shrugged his shoulders.
‘We’ll have to ask your mum, Charlie boy –’ glancing over his shoulder he went to speak to Lara when she excused herself. Something inside him knew it was because she was confused, unsettled with how her mind was reeling with the scene before her. It was a foreign concept to Max and something he had struggled to get his head around. Initially Charlie had been a way in, but now he was in Max didn’t find himself wanting to leave. ‘Why don’t you go grab your bag and a jacket and I’ll meet you by the door in a minute?’
Charlie sped off like lightning towards the stairs and Max shook his head with a gentle chuckle.
‘I wish I had as much energy as him.’ Max murmured as he leaned in the doorway to the living room.
Lara was on her knees, rubbing her face, a toy train in one hand. She kept her back to him for a moment and he folded his arms, eyes falling towards Kimmy. How tormenting it must’ve been for her, to have two children look so apparently like their fathers. A constant reminder of mistakes made. ‘Do you want to come with us?’ he found himself asking and Lara turned around, just as taken back by the offer.
The two of them together at the Zoo, children in tow. It looked right in his head. He didn’t care if Kimmy was Pete’s or not, because she still held a piece of Lara somewhere inside. Max had come to the realisation that Lara was at a point where compromise was necessary. He couldn’t get to her unless he took all of her and that included the baggage with Pete, Charlie and Kimmy.
Stepping into the room Max knelt down by Lara’s side, taking the toy from her hand and moving it through the air on an imaginary track. Kimmy was sat on her bum beside them, eyes wide with interest and she giggled at him. It was a nice sound. ‘Can you imagine if this was ours?’ Max asked and his voice came out strangely quiet. He handed the train over to Kimmy and looked down at his lap for a moment, unsure how to feel about the situation. ‘All of it? Not just Charlie.’
Turning his head to her he examined her profile. A strong jaw, and stronger eyebrows; her hair swept into a bun in a way that exposed her slender neck to him and he felt hungry. It hadn’t all been a lie. She was beautiful; he had adored Lara and yet also sadly taken advantage.
‘Seeing Dermot and Nora… they’re broken without each other. He was so relieved to see her last night and I have never had that feeling again… not since you. Still with you. Isn’t it strange, how it’s been so long and yet… feels as if it was just yesterday?’
Nora and Dermot were stupid but clearly connected. It made Max think how everything between him and Lara stopped mattering when they were together. The lies, the pain, the distrust, it all melted into nothing when she looked at him. Max could feel the world standing still when Lara looked into his eyes and it had taken losing something so precious to realise that. She gave him back his soul; she gave him purpose. Max had merely been living, floating along, his legs thrashing beneath the surface but now the stream was calm.
‘I’m sorry, Lara.’ The sincerity startled even himself and Max realised he had never truly apologised for what he had done. All he had done. 'I paid my dues for it.'
The car accident, the fire, his skin like wax and then leather as it was stitched back together. The creaminess taking over his damaged eye, followed by the nightmares. Always nightmares.
He was also aware that this was why things grew so toxic. So ravelled up in one another they forgot to give themselves to other daily activities. Repercussions lost their meaning, wrong choices were made; they stopped considering each other so much, so engrossed in appearances and sexual desires that thoughts weren’t heard.
Looking down at her lips, he could see her bottom lip slightly swollen, as if something had bitten down, sucked on the supple skin. He wanted to do that. The heat radiating off of her made him dizzy. How had he ended back here? 'Look at me.' he murmured and when she refused he reached down and touched her jaw, tilting it towards him.
Then there was a bang in the hallway and Charlie reappeared, bag on his back and grin on his face.
‘Can we go now?’ he asked with a whine and both Lara and Max stood at the same time.
‘The offer is still there.’ Max told her as Lara walked over to adjust his t-shirt, trying to busy herself. 'I'll message you when we're there. And you can reply this time.'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jul 8, 2022 13:35:09 GMT -5
It had been nearly two weeks since the truth about Max’s supposed death had come out. Nearly two weeks since Nora had placed her ring in his palm and told him it was over. Nearly two whole weeks of this overwhelming agony he just couldn’t seem to shift. Dermot’s heart had been broken, but it hadn’t shattered until the night at the Abbey. He’d lost himself out after that. Everybody knew it. Max, Nick, Jock, Bov; they’d all seen first hand what he was capable of, and he wondered what they thought of him now. Unstable? Crazy? As he bustled around the kitchen looking for a first aid kit, he was hyper aware of Nora stood just on the other side of the room. Here, with him. No Jock, no Max, no pub full of chavs. He’d had so many things he’d wanted to say to her yet now he was here, it was if his mind had been wiped and he could focus on was the fact that she was here, that she was alive, that he’d found her in time.
He asked her what happened, glancing up as she crossed the room towards him. She picked up the tub of aspirin and shook three into her hands, knocking them back with a grimace. Her hand still hung at a limp angle, her wrist a nasty mix of blue, purple and black. Had Nick done that? Gripped her so tight her small bones had shattered beneath his fist? Or had she damaged it trying to escape? A small part of him wished he hadn’t left the unit without ensuring Nick was dead, but he knew Max wouldn’t fail him. He’d done this for Dermot, so he didn’t have to. So he didn’t have to continue down this trail of darkness that seemed to be calling to him. Enticing him. He was getting tired of fighting it, but he was also tired of letting it take over and consume him.
He just wanted to go back, back to when life was sweet and good and simple. When Nora was his.
Nora turned to him, moving closer, and Dermot’s heart picked up pace. It hurt to have her this close, knowing she wasn’t his. Not anymore. He’d destroyed everything good. She studied his face, still not saying word, her bottom lip trembling slightly. Then, she leaned close, pressing her forehead against his chest as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“It’s all such a mess.” Her words were whispered as he slid his hand to the small of her back, holding her close, shutting his eyes briefly to savour the feel of her against him. It was cruel, life was cruel. How had he allowed this to happen, to spiral so far out of his control that he could do nothing but helplessly watch the destruction? And Nora was right, it was all a mess. After a moment, she looked up at him, tears swimming in her eyes and it made his heart clench so painfully that he couldn’t take a breath. She was stunning. She was beautiful. The air thickened between them, he could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end. His gaze dropped to her mouth, her soft parted lips, the way she exhaled shakily...
Dermot dipped his head as Nora rose on her tiptoes, and the kiss was brief yet so full of electricity it caught him off guard. His whole body reacted to that single kiss, his nerve-endings set alight so suddenly, the blood beginning to rush. He’d missed this. He’d missed her.
Then, the door bell rang, the two stepping apart. Nora looked terrified. She spun, scrambling to yank a knife from the block on the counter, gripping the handle in two hands. She’d gone completely white, her eyes wide and panicked. Holding up his hands, Dermot glanced at the monitor mounted on the wall. Aoife? What was she doing here? “It’s okay, it’s just Aoife. I’ll let her in.” He reached over and pressed the buzzer, but it didn’t seem to reassure Nora at all. She was gasping, breath short and sharp, and the knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Dermot quickly moved over to her, brow furrowed on concern. Tears streamed down her face and she gave him such a look of anguish that he stopped short of her. “Nora?”
“W-why did you attack him?”
For half a second, he thought she meant Bov, but there was no way she could know about that. So what did she mean? “I came to save you, Nora, I-“
“I-I saw what you did t-to him.”
The realisation hit fast and hard. Nick. Of course. Did he show her the mark? Did he punish her for it? The only reason he’d taken her in the first place was because of Dermot and what he had done, but he’d only done it because of the photograph. That one piece of indiscriminating evidence that had fucked his whole world up. “I... Nora, it’s okay,” he said stupidly. Did she think he was a monster? Nora trembled viciously beside him, and behind them, the door opened and Aoife walked in. Before Dermot could say anything else, Nora’s eyes rolled and she tilted to the left. Quickly grabbing her, Dermot lowered her to the floor. “Aoife, help me!”
“What happened?!” Aoife had only just managed to dry her tears before pulling up at the penthouse, but this gave her something else to think about and she latched onto it. Instantly in nurse-mode, she pulled off her jumper, knelt and slipped it beneath Nora’s head before rolling her onto her side.
“I-I don’t know yet. Her wrist is broken.”
“Da, what’s going on?” There was a nervous tremor in her voice that Dermot didn’t like, and he looked at her, annoyed.
“I didn’t do it. Don’t sit there and think that I even laid a finger on her because I didn’t.” He saw her cheeks burn red as she looked away, busying herself with tending to Nora’s wrist and he felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t even seen him since... “She got kidnapped. Some psycho called Nick Walker. We... he was going to kill her in three days.”
“Nick Walker?” Aoife looked confused, and as Dermot relaid the story of how they’d come to be here, he helped Aoife lift Nora onto the table. “This is insane. How the fuck did you let this happen?” Aoife flashed him a dark look and turned to grab the first aid kit. Dermot shook his head. “The man ruined my life, what was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” she hissed, cleaning the wound before she gently eased the bone back in place. Nora whimpered, but didn’t wake, and he stood by Nora’s head, gently smoothing back her hair. What the fuck had she gone through? “Maybe not cutting a fucking S into his chest.”
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
Aoife grit her jaw as she bound Nora’s wrist tight, the metal bar firmly in place. Perfect job, if she didn’t say so herself. Setting Nora’s wrist down gently, she glared at her dad. “Like what? Like you deserve? What is going on with you? You lied about uncle Max and as soon as you were found out, you just go off the radar. The next time I see you, you’ve Marked a guy and put Nora in the firing line again. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“I pasted Bov too.” He didn’t even have he gall to look ashamed about that and she shook her head.
“Great. So you’re proving everybody right.” Dermot pulled his eyes from Nora with a frown, asking her what she meant. Aoife raised an eyebrow. “That Sullivans are all the same! We’ve spent years trying to break the mould and yet...” The disappointment in her eyes was painful and Dermot looked away. He’d let her down. In all of this, he’d barely given Aoife a second thought, on how it was affecting her. Fuck, was there any part of his life he wasn’t fucking up?
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Aoife turned away, packing away the first aid kit and Dermot took a moment to really look at her. She was twenty-one now, and no longer that little girl with braids he used to carry around on his shoulders. He’d done his best for her over the years, always tried to keep her happy, especially to make up for those early years when he’d barely been around. He’d let himself slip, but this - this scene in the kitchen - was a brutal reminder of what had kept him focused to begin with; family and love. He kept to remember that. He had to do better. “Go and take Nora to bed. I’ll make us coffee.”
Nodding, Dermot picked Nora off the table and carried her in his arms to their bedroom. Was it even theirs anymore? It had been at a time, when things were still new and bright between them. When they’d still looked at each other with love in their eyes and their hearts. Two weeks truly felt like two years, and as he gently lowered her into bed, he let his eyes roam her features. The familiar angles of her face, the curve of her lips, the shape of her nose. Bringing the duvet up around her, he gently rested her wrist across her stomach, then leaned down and placed a kiss on her brow. And for the few minutes Dermot was alone, the house silent beside the clattering of a spoon against porcelain in the kitchen, he was tormented.
He’d slept with Lara last night and he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it was a mistake. But, at the time, he hadn’t expected to be here with Nora, he hadn’t expected her to lean up and meet his lips in a brief but searing kiss. Why was everything so confusing? He simply didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Nora would take him back, but he couldn’t deny a small part of him was still clinging to the maybe. Maybe she would take him back, maybe she’d been missing him, maybe...
Dermot sighed softly and moved away from the bed. Giving Nora one last glance, he headed back downstairs. “What are you doing here anyway?” Dermot asked, once he and Aoife settled at the table with their coffee. He’d noticed the bag of belongings she’d brought with her, which was still waiting where she’d dropped it by the door. Aoife looked down at her mug and watched the steam rise in soft tendrils. She gave a one-shoulder shrug.
“Just stuff.”
“What sort of stuff? Is George okay?”
“George is fine,” she snapped, then shut her eyes briefly. “He’s fine,” she said a little softer. “I just need a few days, okay?”
Dermot sat back, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re not gonna tell me why?”
“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve protected Max all these years?” She held his gaze, a challenging look in her own that reminded him all too much of her mam. He looked away and Aoife scoffed, shaking her head. “I thought not.”
“He’s my brother.”
“He’s the reason we’re all fucked in the first place, Da. I can’t even believe your back here.”
“I didn’t have much choice.” He sighed as she stood, picking up her coffee. “Aoife.”
“I’m going to bed.” She walked out without another word. Running a hand over his face, Dermot shook his head. Had George done something to hurt her? Did he need to get involved? Then he recalled the look on Aoife’s face and he doubted she wanted him to get involved with anything at the moment. He’d definitely be keeping an eye on things though. Where was George now? Draining his coffee, he got to his feet to make another one and by the time it was steaming in the cup, Max returned. His hair was slicked back, blood stained his shirt and he smelt strongly of petrol. Job well done, he supposed.
“This is the last time.” Max came to a stop, meeting Dermot’s gaze; he was anxious to know what had happened, if Nick was finally dead. “I don’t want Charlie to ever see me like this, okay?” Dermot nodded, but gave Max a curious once-over. Something had shifted in his brother and he wasn’t sure if Max had even noticed yet himself. There was a different look in his eye when it came to Charlie and maybe the boy would be what his brother needed to finally change. For the better. But, then he remembered Lara and glanced away. This was her worst nightmare and Dermot wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to feel anymore. Guilt, shame, envy; the emotions mixed like paint and saturating every cell of his body. When he spoke next, he kept his tone bored.
“Lara said you can see Charlie tomorrow.” Looking up, he caught the brightness in Max’s face and didn’t understand the way his stomach churned. This was a good thing, right? Max deserved to see his son, to have a chance at being a father, and yet...
“Thanks, dearthair. I knew you’d come through for me, like I always do for you.”
Dermot nodded, sipping his coffee to save from speaking. When he did, he thought it was best to change the subject. “Nora’s upstairs.”
“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into again?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow, and Dermot sighed.
“I....” It wasn’t easy to put all this into words and after a moment, Max turned away, excusing himself and leaving Dermot alone in the kitchen. He glanced at the clock. It was past midnight and he was shattered. Tipping the last of his coffee down the sink, he headed upstairs. Nora was still asleep, but she’d moved onto her side and there was a frown on her face, her dreams troubled. What the fuck had that arsehole done to her? For a minute, he felt angry at Jock for not protecting her, for not being there when she needed him the most. But, he knew that was his fault too. He’d been the one to throw Malachi’s name like a grenade in the pub that night, he was the reason they’d no doubt argued and Nora had left, straight into Nick Walker’s grasp.
He was glad the man was dead. But would Nora be able to recover? The only reason she was in this position was because of him and Dermot felt disgust at himself. Aoife was right; they were all suffering because he’d fucked up. Dermot touched her face softly, then moved to settle on the chair in the corner of the room. It was dark besides the glow of the alarm clock, but he found his brain was too wired to sleep, torn between two different people.
Everything that had happened with Nora had broken his heart, and he would have done anything to fix it. Had done everything he could to make it right. He’d gone after Nick, after Bov... had fought Jock in the pub. And nothing had worked, it had only made things worse. And then there was Lara. Being in her presence had felt natural and easy. She already knew these dark parts of him he tried to hide away, the parts he’d tried to keep from Nora and ultimately failed. She was ending her marriage, and while it wasn’t necessarily for him, he’d certainly been the trigger, the catalyst she’d needed to make the move. They’d both crossed a line that night - so much had happened in the past thirty-six hours that his night with Lara was starting to feel like a dream - and Dermot had no idea what damage would be caused until after.
If Nora found out what happened, would she hate him? If she’d already decided she loved Jock, would it really be so bad? When he’d walked into the Abbey and seen Nora and Jock, his hands on her waist as she sat on his lap, it was the look on their faces which had been the most jarring thing to witness. Nora had looked at him in that way at a time, eyes full of passion and love and admiration, but only for a short while. The glitter in her eyes had diminished somewhat, and at the time, he’d believed it was because of what happened on the boat, but now he realised it was because Jock left. Somewhere along the line, while Dermot was playing the hero, a spark had formed between the two of them and steadily grown, apparently even during their time apart. He didn’t want to take that happiness away from her, and he was wrong not to bring Jock with him to the storage unit.
Would she be upset if he got with Lara? Would it ruin their friendship, something so strong and solid and constant, if she was happy to stay with Jock? Could he see a future with him and Lara? Dermot thought about this for a moment. And, maybe a little too easily, he could. Coming home to Lara and the kids, the house full of warmth and laughter. Nora’s smile was always bright and obliging, but Lara had one of those smiles that bordered on a smirk. As if she was always enjoying some private joke, and there was something quite alluring about it he couldn’t put into words. She’d arch an eyebrow with that half-smirk and ask him about his day, and he’d grab her face lean in close and kiss her.
Better now you’re here.
But there was still Max. Max, who would never forgive him. Max, who would put a bullet in both their heads for the betrayal alone. How could Dermot have put her at risk like that? He’d kissed her. Like a drunken idiot, he’d put her right back on the dangerous path he was struggling to navigate. He’d been reckless, his actions getting more erratic as the weeks wore on. And still, he had the undying need to make everything right. He had to, somehow.
Dermot wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he woke with a jerk; it was already daylight; the bed was empty and the alarm clock read 8am. He’d slept for hours, stiff and uncomfortable. Movement caught his eye on the other side of the room. Rubbing his eyes, he sat forward, watching Nora slide his shirt over her arms. He made his chest ache; she always used to towel off from the shower, then slide into one of his long shirts, damp hair curling at the ends. She was still stunningly beautiful - as if that would ever change - but the memory almost felt bittersweet now. Something in the wardrobe caught her eye and he knew what it was before she turned to label to read. It was his wedding suit. The date was only a week and a half away now.
He saw her lower her head, though he couldn’t read the expression on her face until he stood and she turned. She looked so down and dejected, watching as he approached. He slowed a few spaces in front of her, afraid to do anything that might upset her more. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Do you still love me?”
Dermot tilted his head softly, though his heart was racing and his stomach was in knots. “Do you still love me after what I did to Nick?” Nora didn’t answer for a heartbeat, but then she gave a small nod, and that was all Dermot needed to know. If she still loved him, then he still had a chance, he could still fix this.
He closed the gap between them, lifting her easily into his arms as their lips met. Her thighs snaked around his waist, and he turned, slamming her back into the wall. The kiss was heated and hesitant a at the same time. Nora’s fingers worked their way through his hair, as his tongue fought hers, his hand already sliding up her thigh, beneath the shirt. But, Lara’s half-smirk came to mind, glinting blue eyes that slanted at the corners. Then, Jock, the same utterly love-struck look on his face that he’d been wearing that night at the Abbey. And Dermot knew then he couldn’t...
Nora’s hand against his chest broke the kiss and they remained there, panting heavily, foreheads pressed together. Neither spoke for a few heartbeats. Then, Nora dampened her bottom lip, letting her head rest against the wall as she told him they couldn’t do this. Dermot swallowed, but nodded. “I know. I... I know.” Gently, he set her down, and she righted the shirt, looking embarrassed. Dermot took her hand and led her back towards the bed. “I’m not going to play games with you, Nora,” he said, tucking her back into bed and moving around to the other side. He sat down beside her, Nora beneath the sheet and Dermot above it. His heart was still pounding from the kiss, but truthfully, it hadn’t felt the same. And with Lara and Jock constantly pounding at the back of his mind, it had been hard to concentrate. What the fuck was wrong with him? Here he had the perfect opportunity to win Nora back, to murmur sweet promises in her ear and drag his cousin’s name through the dirt...
But that would make him no better than Max. Max, who planted seeds of mistrust and unease and watered them at regular intervals. He prayed Charlie would help shift some of that darkness Max seemed to revel in. Dermot just wasn’t that person, he couldn’t do that to Nora, it was beyond cruel. And he couldn’t do it to Lara either.
Nora looked at him; she was running her fingers up and down her cast, a small furrow in her brow, and he knew she was preparing herself to speak. “... What happened to Malachi?”
Dermot didn’t look away, but the corners of his mouth downturned slightly. “I only said that because I knew it would cause problems. But... Listen,” he shifted a little on his side to face her. “After I... I made you all believe Max was dead, I kept thinking about some stuff. Mainly my old man. But Malachi... he kept cropping up too. He reminded me so much of my da that...” Dermot frowned, eyes dropping to her cast. “I had to do something. Knowing what he’d done to you? It fucking kept me up at night, Nora.” He could see the pain in her eyes, and maybe a little relief that she was finally getting the truth. “You were at a spa night with Lara and I got drunk. I don’t know... I’ve tried to hide so much from you, I don’t even know where to begin. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I can see....” He realised he was digressing and cleared his throat.
“I called Jock. Told him I was going to kill Malachi. I found him at a hotel, followed his car. It was that night we had the bad storm, and... well, Jock drove back to try and stop me. Malachi knew I was chasing him now. I don’t think either of us were paying attention to the road. I saw Malachi hit the other car.” It must have flipped three times before landing in the ditch. “I stopped the car and got out... the other driver was Jock.” Dermot shook his head in disbelief. “It was an accident, of course, Jock was pissed off because he’d come to stop me...” He looked up and gave Nora an intense look. “But I didn’t care. Because he deserved to die. And I’d do it again if it meant protecting you.”
He listened to what she had to say, looking down at his hands, but soon the conversation moved onto Nick, and he told her everything he knew; how Nick had been the one to take the photograph and send it to her and Jock, and how he’d tried to deal with the problem. It was here that he did look ashamed. “I lost it, Nora. These past two weeks... I don’t know. They’ve just been really fucking hard. I know I deserve it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.” Then, he gave a soft groan and shut his eyes. “... I have something else to tell you.” There was a sheepish look on his face when he looked back at her. “I beat up Bov, too. This morning, actually. He was the one that rang me... that night, you know.”
He didn’t say a word about Lara. Nora had a lot of information to process, the truth of it all, finally, and this wasn’t the right time. That was something he and Lara would have to figure out in their own time. “I’ll make you some breakfast. You must be hungry,” Dermot murmured, slipping off the bed. He picked his phone up off the armchair, giving Nora a small nod before he left the room. Unlocking his phone, his heart leapt when he saw the missed call from Lara, only twenty minutes before. Glancing behind him, Dermot slipped into the bathroom and held the phone to his ear. It rang twice, then disconnected. When he rang again, her phone had been turned off. Maybe she was with Pete?
Heading into the kitchen, he was so distracted he didn’t even realise Aoife was up until he saw her in the kitchen, flipping fried eggs. “Morning.”
“If you’re looking for Max,” she drawled, without turning to face him. “He already left.” Dermot froze, mind whirring. But he was supposed to have Charlie this morning? He wouldn’t have missed this, which only meant... oh fuck.
—-
Aoife didn't quite expect the scene she walked into; the door had beepd to allow her excess after she'd pressed the buzzer, and she'd prayed it was her dad behind that door and not her uncle. She wasn't quite ready to face Max yet. Something about him still unnerved her, and she was pretty happy to sit in the idea that he was just a ghost. Seeing him in the flesh would make it all horrifying real. And yet, she hadn't been able to think of anywhere else to go in her haste to leave. She would have been relieved to see Dermot stood in the kitchen, if it wasn't for the sight of Nora suddenly collasping. Her dad barely caught her, gently easing her to the floor. “Aoife, help me!”
“What happened?!” Dumping her bag, she rushed forward and pulled off her jumper. Balling it up, she knelt and slipped it beneath Nora's head. She looked awfully pale, and her wrist bone jutted out of the skin at a jaunty angle. This job really never ends, she thought wryly to herself as she eased Nora onto her side.
“I-I don’t know yet. Her wrist is broken.” How didn't he know? She was here in the damn penthouse? But, her dad would never hurt Nora, would he? She suddenly thought about George and the irrational way he'd acted earlier and glanced at Dermot.
“Da, what’s going on?” He looked at her, clearly annoyed at the implication.
“I didn’t do it. Don’t sit there and think that I even laid a finger on her because I didn’t.”
Flushing darkly, Aoife busied herself with tending to Nora's wrist, and after a moment, Dermot explained what he did know. A kidnapping. Nothing even surprised her anymore. The Sullivans had gained plenty of enemies over the years, it was only a matter of time before one of them struck. Now Nora had been caught in the cross-fire. Who was next? It only got worse when Dermot told her what he'd done in retaliation, and for a long minute, she could only stare at him. They continued to argue in low, hissed voices as she fixed Nora’s wrist the best she could, securing the bandages in place. It was the best she could do without being at the hospital.
When Dermot left to take Nora upstairs, Aoife cleared away and set about making two cups of strong coffee. They both needed it. Catching sight of her engagement ring, she felt her stomach clench sickeningly. Where was George now? Where had he gone? Did he realise she had left already? She was still in disbelief at what he had done. The argument she could understand, she should never have brought Luke into their home after everything that had happened, but the way he had forced himself on her, holding her wrists tight behind her back and holding her in place... What was going on with him?
She was half-glad when her dad returned, if only to keep her mind off George. But, she was still furious at him. She’d heard about this Dermot, though she’d never met him before. The violent drug-using thug who’d impregnanted her mam. Add a liar to the mix too. How had he even looked them all in the face after what he’d done? And Aoife has felt bad for him at first, terrible in fact. When it all came out and he was all lost and broken. What had he done with that? Made everything a hundred times worse by the looks. Did Jock even know she was here?
Dermot asked her what she was doing here, but she shrugged. Part of her wanting him to suffer in whatever way she could, br another part of her truly didn’t want to go into it. Because she could already feel the upset selling inside her and if she started speaking, she’d break. It wasn’t long before the conversation turned sour again, and Aoife suddenly just had enough. She stood, excusing herself and grabbing her bag. She walked out before he could say anymore, heading up to the spare bedroom. It would do for a few nights. She got undressed and climbed into bed, leaving her unfinished coffee on the side.
Her phone buzzed softly, then buzzed again. Frowning, Aoife swiped the screen, revealing two new messages. The one from George was short. Aoife. I’ll fix this. I promise. The second was from Luke. I'm sorry for leaving like that, but I thought it was best. Let me know that you're safe, please? If you need me, I'm here. Luke Winters.
Aoife swallowed back the tears threatening to burst, locked her phone and tossed it on the bedside table. Turning off the lamp, she rolled over and tried to go to sleep.
—-
She didn’t sleep well at all, her thoughts entirely fixated on what had happened that evening. Why had she invited Luke back? Had part of her wanted Luke, or anyone, to feel close to again? Had George been justified in his actions? She wished so bad that she could turn back time, as she tossed and turned beneath the sheets. When she finally did drift off, it felt as if she’d only slept five minutes before the birds were singing and the sun was waking her up through the window.
She still didn’t reply to the texts, and instead, she showered in the en suite before getting dressed, something low-key; a white tee under a black cardigan, blue jeans and boots. As she did her hair, she wandered to the large window that dominated the room and looked out. She’d never really appreciated the view of London from the penthouse until now. It overlooked the Thames and the entire city stretched out in front of it, painfully reminding her of how small and cramped her and George’s apartment was. Then, the thought of George made her heart ache and she headed downstairs to make some breakfast. Sadly, she wasn’t the first one up.
She slowed a little as she saw Max, her stomach flipping wildly, her heartbeat cranking up a notch. He had his back to her as he waited for the toast to pop, so he didn’t see her. Opening a cupboard, she pulled out a glass, then slammed it sharply. Max looked at her, brow wrinkling in confusion. “Can I help you, leanbh?”
His face. His eye. Aoife barely managed to stay composed as she rolled her eyes, at the same time his toast popped. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“Did you sleep here last night? Your Da has a lot to answer for…” He turned away, snatching his toast from the toaster and dumping it onto his plate. He began to butter them. Shaking her head, Aoife set the glass on the side, then moved to fetch the milk from the fridge. She caught sight of her engagement ring again and saw George in her mind. Maybe she should message him back, just to let him know she was okay...? “Trouble in paradise?” Aoife looked up, then down at where she’d slammed the milk carton viciously. She clenched her jaw and turned away to fill the glass. He probably didn’t care anyway, but she was glad he didn’t pry any further. The last thing she needed was one deranged Sullivan going after him. No. She was going to sort this herself. Her and George would fix this together.
“Tell Dermot I want a word with him when he gets up, alright? I’ll have my mobile on me.” She watched as he grabbed his pieces of toast, snatched his jacket from the back of the chair and headed out. Once she heard the door shut, she let out a heavy breath. Max Sullivan wasn’t a ghost anymore. He was very, very real. Dermot appeared around the time Aoife was frying her eggs, restless and unsure of what to do with herself. She didn’t know what to say to George. She’d tried to think of several ways to respond, but how? She just didn’t quite know how to put how she felt into words.
“Morning.”
“If you’re looking for Max, he already left.” Silence. Aoife looked over her shoulder. He had a far-off look in his eyes, lips parted in surprise. He swallowed.
“He has?”
“Yup.”
“Right.” He pulled out the nearest chair and sank down.
“He said to call his mobile.” She popped her eggs on her plate beside her toast. Then, she cracked some fresh ones for Nora. She’d probably be hungry.
—
Kimmy was fast asleep, on her side, blonde curls like a halo. A pink dummy lay on the mattress beside parted cherub lips, dark lashes brushing the soft curve of her cheek, side rising and falling with each breath. Her chubby fingers were wrapped around the ear of her stuffed bunny wearing a West Ham shirt. Swill had gifted it to her last Christmas and she’d been inseparable with it ever since. When she was asleep, she looked so peaceful and delicate, but when she was awake, her blue eyes shone with mischief as she barrelled around after her brother. She had eight teeth now, and four more lower molars pushing through, and not for the first time, Lara wished she could pause time. To hold everything still, exactly how it was. To keep her babies small and close to her forever.
Things were changing. Unbeknownst to the little girl, her home life was changing. Daddy gone - Lara didn’t even know where he was - and her brother’s biological father returning to his life. Lara had tried to keep it together for so long, to give Charlie and Kimmy the stable and loving life they deserved... and she’d failed. She’d destroyed everything with words that should never have been said, not in anger at least. Kimmy would be stuck between it all, helpless to do a thing but go along with it, like a ship caught in a storm. Hold on, baby, we’ll get through this.
It was hard to imagine not waking up tomorrow with Pete at her side. Saturday normally meant a slower morning, Pete at the stove cooking a fry-up, the kids already glued to the cartoons on the children’s channel as they slopped cereal over their pyjamas. They’d maybe go shopping, or spend the afternoon at the park with the lads. Charlie and Freddie would team up against Dave and Swill and practise their football skills. Had she made a mistake? Had she thrown all of this away for nothing? Swallowing back he lump in her throat, Lara gently pulled Kimmy’s door to and headed to Charlie’s room.
He was also asleep. He hadn’t said a word all day, had picked at his dinner and then taken himself off to bed before Lara even had to prompt him. She’d tried talking to him, but he’d ignored her, driving his cars across the mat more viciously than before. In the end, Lara felt relief when she’d found him asleep, still dressed, the duvet pulled up over his head. She’d fixed the bedding with tears in her eyes, shifting him into a more comfortable position.
He shouldn’t have had to hear any of that.
When she finally crawled into bed, her body was exhausted but her mind was spinning. There was so much to think about. Pete knew about Dermot, which meant it wouldn’t be long before he boys knew. Bovver would use this to gain even more leverage and she knew he would tell Nora, just to stir the pot even more. He relished in it, all of this had kicked off because of his jealousy. He just couldn’t let it lie and now they were all suffering. She knew she couldn’t entirely blame him, but he’d greased enough cogs in this chaotic machine to deserve her wrath.
What would Nora think? That she’d gone behind her back? Would she think the same as Pete? That she’d just been waiting for the right opportunity, that she’d had her eyes on Dermot all along? It wasn’t like that at all, it hadn’t been like that. The kiss had been sudden and unexpected. When she’d looked up and caught sight of the way Dermot was looking at her, something had flickered beneath her ribs, and no matter how much she’d to keep a grip on her resistance, it soon slipped away when his lips pressed against hers. Even thinking about it now gave her butterflies. Thinking about that whole night left her flushed and hot. Lara couldn’t deny it had been exciting. The sex had been intense and frantic, but at the same time, she hadn’t left feeling used; in fact, she’d been so deeply satisfied her legs had been trembling when she’d left. Dermot had been attentive and sensual, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere, and it made her blush hard thinking about it.
Her phone lit up on the side and Lara snatched for it, not exactly sure who she’d been expecting. Pete? Dermot? She’d hadn’t spoken to either since this morning, because right now, they all needed space to think.
But not Max.
She stared as his name sprang up on the screen. She’d deleted every message, every photo, every trace, yet she’d never quite been able to delete his number. Why? She’d believed he was dead, but she’d... she’d felt she had to. As if it was the last thread of her past she just couldn’t snip. And even though she knew he was alive, she wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of seeing his name appear on her screen once more. Four years was a long time.
Lara. Thanks for letting me see my son. Max.
Heart pounding against her ribs, Lara sat up, staring at the message. Her hands were trembling, and the thought of letting Charlie anywhere near that man was enough to make her want to throw up. Even as she tried to reassure herself that Dermot would be there, she couldn’t shift the panic that Max would take her boy and leave, and she would literally cease to exist if that happened. Charlie meant the world to her, he was part of her very soul, and it was a huge risk she was taking. She hoped Dermot knew that.
She didn’t reply. Locking her phone, she sat in the darkness and let the tears fall.
—
Lara woke with a jolt the next morning. She’d slept terribly. Could barely remember her dreams, yet she felt the lingering sense of foreboding that came with a night full of ominous imaginings. That’s when she could sleep. All night, she’d cried over Pete, Charlie, their argument. Her heart hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was a little past seven, and now her eyes were open, her brain came to life and gave her no chance to go back to sleep. Sickness instantly clawed at her insides, a tight feeling encompassing her chest. Pete had returned home. He hadn’t called or messaged. She needed to see him today. While Dermot took Charlie, she’d take Kimmy and find him. The Abbey would be the first place she started.
She was a little nervous to see Dermot again too. Yesterday had been hard enough, the visit brief and marred with the mention of Max and the knowledge of what she’d had to do; end things with Pete. And she still had a lot to figure out - the divorce proceedings, how they’d share Kimmy, what they would do with the house. Her mind was full and she spent a few minutes crying before she finally pulled herself out of bed.
She showered and brushed her teeth, then stood at her wardrobe and pondered what to wear. She didn’t want to dress her, because she didn’t want to look like she was rubbing anything in when she saw Pete later. But, a shallow part of her wanted to look good for Dermot. In the end, she picked out a simple dress, the top half black and the skirt a dark floral pattern. Throwing her hair into a messy bun, she left the bedroom. Peering into both bedrooms, she saw the children were both asleep, and decided to leave them sleeping for now. She needed a bit of quiet time.
It was a little past eight now and, she went downstairs, pulling out her phone to call Dermot. It rang through. He could still be sleeping, she supposed, setting her phone aside as she busied herself with making a cup of tea. She needed to find out what time he was going to pick Charlie up; at least that would give her time to find Pete. Where had he slept last night? On Bov’s couch? Swill’s? Had Terry let him stay at the pub after closing time? She bit her bottom lip, glancing at her phone, but before she could debate on whether to text him or not, Charlie padded into the kitchen. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and clambered up onto the chair. “Morning,” she smiled, and he yawned again. “Are you hungry?”
“Mhm,” came his mumbled reply, looking at something clenched in his hand.
“You need to eat quickly this morning. Uncle Dermot’s going to pick you up in a little while.” She pulled a bowl off the draining board and hunted the cupboards for the last of the cereal.
“Why?”
Lara swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Hm, you’re going to see Max again today. Do you remember him?” She glanced over her shoulder, startled to see the large grin erupting on his face. He unfurled his fist to reveal the dinosaur.
“Yeah! We go now?”
“Not yet. When Dermot gets here.” Lara was annoyed to see the smile didn’t leave his face all through breakfast, and she excused herself to get Kimmy, who was starting to grumble upstairs. Of course Charlie would think Max was so damn amazing and wonderful. Fuck Max and fuck his stupid fucking dinosaur. Lara couldn’t shift the envy if she’d tried; all he’d done was walk back in with gifts, he hadn’t been there though it all, through the endless nights with a newborn, which led into endless nights with a toddler. Lara hadn’t had a decent nights sleep in years, where was her reward? She seemed to get nothing but the crap while Max got to swan in looking like the hero, especially now Charlie believed his daddy didn’t love him.
What a fucking mess.
Charlie was upstairs getting dressed and Kimmy was throwing colourful plastic balls around the living room when there was a knock at the door. Lara felt herself sag with relief. Dermot, finally. She’d been growing more desperate to see him by the minute, desperate for another human being to talk to. She wanted to be held, to be hugged, to be soothed. Crossing to the door, she pulled it open without thinking the check the peep-hole and when she saw who it was, it was as if all the air had been sucked from her body. Max Sullivan stood on her doorstep.
For a moment, she could only stare, breath frozen in her body. His handsome face had a ragged scar running down one side, the eye now milky blue instead of brown . His hair was a little longer now, neatly combed back, and his clothes were smart; black jeans, a thick jacket over a white shirt which was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked better than she’d expected, besides the eye. Neither said anything for a minute, appraising each other across the threshold, and even though Lara’s mind had been a jumble of thoughts, it was completely blank now and she didn’t know what to say, what to do.
“Surprise.”
Lara’s eyes narrowed and Max’s smile faded. What did he expect? For her to welcome him back with open arms? The man had tried to kill her, for heavens sake, and not even once. The last time she’d seen him, beside him in the passenger seat of his car... she didn’t remember the crash, only waking up on the grassy verge in Pete’s arms. But it ha been four years ago. How had life come back full circle where she was face to face with him again? “Did you get my message?”
Lara ignored him, folding her arms across her chest. She could hear Kimmy babbling in the front room only a few feet away. “Where’s Dermot? He told me he was going to bring Charlie to you.” He knew she hadn’t wanted to see Max, so where the fuck was he? Max tilted his head and the movement was so familiar, it made it stomach lurch.
“Dermot is... otherwise indisposed with Nora Samuels. Is Charlie ready?”
Nora. Lara swallowed hard, but she couldn’t stop the annoyance flashing in her face even as she looked away. Had he gone there first thing? Or, worse... had they been with each other all night? What was going on? She tried not to jump to the worst conclusion, but it wasn’t like Dermot to have let her down with something like this. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed him. She needed the buffer between her and Max because she was terrified about what would happen once they were alone. His gaze was roaming her now, making her feel exposed and vulnerable in the dress.
“I know things have been... well... I just understand why you’re not happy to see me-“
Lara scoffed, cutting across him. “Oh, you do, do you?”
“But,” he continued insistently. “Things are different now. Everything that happened, that’s in the past. I want to make it up to you...” Could it really be that easy? How could it be so easy for him? Did the remorse, the regret, not keep him up at night? Did he not have nightmares of the terrible things that had happened and the terrible things to come? As she looked at him now, it was hard not to hate it but it was hard not to hate herself more. For getting so involved, for giving him everything she had. If he could see for one moment inside her head, maybe he would see differently, but these were things she couldn’t put into words or express, so deeply ingrained in her subconscious they were just a part of her now. “I want to do what’s best for my son. I really care about Charlie, Lar. I really do. I care about you too, so please -” Max stepped a foot over the threshold, eyes never leaving her face and Lara found she couldn’t look away. “Please, don’t shut the door on me. I have always cared about you. Always.”
Her head was spinning and her heart felt shredded in her chest. She knew he was speaking the truth there; there’s be other women, but there’d never been anyone as serious as Lara for him. Not before and not after, and there was a strange satisfaction to that fact. She was as much a part of him as he was to her, and Charlie was an accumulation of them both. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to protect Charlie from him all the same. He was just a child, a little boy.
And she still hadn’t said another word. All she could do was listen and stare and watch the way his mouth formed words and remember how she used to love to watch him speak, how his mouth created that wonderful Irish accent she’d adored so much. He still sounded the same, but a little older, deeper. And his brown eye, his brown eye was like a portal back in time. The blue didn’t feel the same, it felt foreign and strange, but the brown eye brought back feelings she’d thought were long lost. It’s why she loved Charlie’s eyes so much. Because they were Max’s.
When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “When I ask right now if you’re okay, as the mother of my child, can you not argue with me, and just let me know what’s going on?”
Lara dampened her bottom lip, giving a slight shake of her head, and she tried to hide the shakiness in her voice as she spoke. “It’s none of your business, Max.”
He shook his head, a smile gracing his lips, and she felt a jolt in her mid-section; when he smiled, it reminded her of why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place. Her pulse picked up speed and she felt a sweat break out. What was wrong with her? “You always were so stubborn. I’ve missed it.”
Exhaling, Lara stepped aside. She couldn’t get swept back in now. She had to remain focused. “You should come in for a minute. Charlie’s still getting ready.” Max stepped into the hall, looking around, before she led him through into the kitchen. Her phone was lit up on the side. Lara moved over to it, seeing Dermot’s name and feeling a surge of irritation. She declined the call. When he called again moments later, she picked up her phone, turned it off and slammed it on the side. She turned back to Max, forcing herself to look him in the face. “I’m fine. Not that it’s your concern. Where are you planning on taking Charlie, and how long for?”
She didn’t want to give away her anxiety over this matter, but she knew he could read it in her eyes. He could read everything about her, every flicker of emotion, every thought. He had written the Book of Lara after all. “I don’t want this to go to court, Max. I want us to work out something between us, something fair. Please. Charlie means everything to me and...” She blinked away the tears, though her voice wavered. “Just don’t take him away from me. Please, Max.”
She listened to Max’s reply, but before she could respond, Charlie burst into the room. He’d managed his trousers but his t-shirt was inside out and back to front. He caught sight of Max and his entire face lit up. Charging over, he collided with Max’s thigh and squeezed tightly. “Max! Look!” Reeling back, he pushed his hand into his pocket and freed the little plastic dinosaur, holding it up with a proud grin. “I still got it. We going now?”
Lara stared at the scene in front of her, sinking back against the counter. Charlie was already hooked. The delighted grin, the bright spark in his eye, but even worse than that... Max looked equally as adoring. Kneeling down, chatting to Charlie as they both pondered over the dinosaur. Father and son, how it should always have been. Did Charlie know it, deep down, that this was his real family, his real place in the world? It was as if she’d stepped into another reality, where she’d never met Pete, and here she lived, just her and Max and Charlie...
Kimmy gave a grumpy wail in the other room, jolting Lara back into this reality. A little dazed, she moved away from the two of them. “Excuse me.” In the front room, Kimmy was trying to reach a wooden train which had rolled under the sofa, and Lara reached down to help her pull it out. Sitting back on her knees, she quickly wiped away the tears that were threatening to spill. What the hell did Lara even want anymore?!
—-
George looked exhausted. There were bags beneath the bags beneath his eyes and his face more lined, causing him to look much older than he actually was. As they sat in Jock’s front room, drinking whiskey with ice out of tumblers, he sat back in his armchair and listened to the younger man talk. He liked George. He liked George a lot. During his time away, they’d kept in contact, even if it was just George messaging him that everything was okay. And he was quite fond of the pup, wanted him to succeed and go far in ways Jock had never been able to. When George had first been training as a paramedic, it was Jock who would encourage him to keep at it, even when things were tough and he wanted to throw in the towel. Jock’s own Da had always pushed him, supported and encouraged him, and to give a little of that back had felt good.
“I just can’t seem to get anything right.”
George was miserable. A little drunk. He stared down into the amber depths and swirled the glass so the ice tinkled. Jock tilted his head a little, watching him. He was no older than his mid-twenties, but looked as if he had the entire world on his shoulders. And Jock understood that. Relationships were hard, it was all about give and take, finding the right balance. Add the stress of careers and family and life’s general dramas... it wasn’t easy and Jock felt for him.
But thinking about relationships made him think about Nora, something he was ashamedly trying to block out. His fingers itched for his phone, but it was on loud and there’d been no ping of a message or buzz of a call. What was Dermot doing? Had he found her? Was she safe? And if she was, where were they now? Jock knocked back his whiskey with a grimace, then leaned forward to refill it from the bottle on the table. “Things might seem fucked now, kid, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Aoife loves you too much. And before ya start protesting, I’ve seen that look on her face. On both your faces. It’s revolting.” He flashed a grin. “Like two lovesick puppies, even now. Plus, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other at the pub.” Before the whole night went to hell, of course. Jock sat back, dampening his bottom lip and tasting the amber nectar. “I wouldn’t even worry about this jumped up cunt. Aoife isn’t stupid. She’s a Sullivan, after all.” Or did that just make them more stupid? Ah, who knew.
“Does Nora care about the drink and the drugs?”
The question surprised Jock. His features turned thoughtful as he pondered it, George sinking back into his chair opposite. Honestly, it was a bit of both. She’d seen him coked off his head, riled and angry, yet she’d never looked at him with a pitiful yet patronising expression and told him how bad it was for him. She’d never tried to guilt him over it, just accepted him for who he was. He barely touched the shit nowadays. Rehab had had its positives, but that wasn’t what had helped him stop and gain control. That had been Nora. It had all been Nora. She’d accepted him and in turn, he’d wanted to prove he was better. Could be better. “She cares,” he said eventually. “Even if she doesn’t say it. When you know someone, you know... you know?”
“Do you remember the first time you met me, and I did that line of coke and...” He gave a soft chuckle, and Jock was glad to see a bit of light in his eyes. “I was such a people-pleasing wanker, I don’t know why you entertained me.”
They both laughed. Jock shook his head, still grinning. “I entertained you because Dermot did. And you weren’t all that bad; just a little green behind the gills, is all. You proved yourself, Pup, and sometimes, that’s all that matters.” Their chuckles trailed off, until all that broke the silence was a refilling of glasses, the ice growing smaller and smaller.
“But, does she? Because... I know it isn’t the same but, ever since I started working at the hospital I’ve been taking caffeine tablets. Dissolving them in my water, my coffee; crushing them up and adding them to my toast if I need to. Anything to keep me going.”
Ah. George was looking at his hands as he spoke, shoulders hunched ever so slightly. Jock had a feeling he’d never admitted this to anybody before, but it also explained why his life seemed to be falling down around him. He probably had no reason to worry about this Winters twat at all, yet the pills were making him wired, playing with his mind... Jock knew that feeling all too well.
“When I don’t take them I feel like my body might give way – I feel brittle, you know? I get the sweats, too. Real bad. The first time I tried to wean myself off them I told Aoife I had the flu, and I lasted a day before I just had to have them again. I don’t know why. I know I could’ve managed the transition if I’d tried harder, but I didn’t want to.”
“It’s not always that easy,” Jock reassured him. “But,” he added, then sighed and sat forward, placing his half-filled glass on the coffee table. “Let me save you six months of Rehab; it’s all in your head, Pup. And that’s what makes it so fucking hard. You’re fighting yourself, you’re fighting your own mind, and nobody else can do the battle for you. It has to be you. You have to find that fire and hold onto it, no matter what...” He gave a soft sigh. “What happened? At home?” He knew something had happened. He knew George wasn’t here, confessing to his inner demons, over a bit of untoward jealously to some smarmy wanker.
“I took more than my usual dose today and I got really wound up. My body was screaming for sleep, but I couldn’t… I had so much to do at work, and I wanted to come home to Aoife and well…” He flushed a little. “...you know, I didn’t want to... disappoint, so then I also had a couple of drinks before I left and I just flew off the handle. I hurt her and I hate myself for it.”
Physically or emotionally? Then, he felt bad for even thinking George would ever raise a hand to Aoife. As much as Jock didn’t believe in fairytales, theirs was literally a match made in heaven. They complimented each other in ways they probably couldn’t even fathom. George looked frustrated for a moment, fists clenched.
“I just keep thinking she’s going to leave me. Why wouldn’t she? I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be my dad, that I’m just a different version of him instead. Still fucked up and selfish and fucking insecure.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Jock retorted, picking up his glass and draining it. He refilled again; it was going down a little too easily. “You’re nothing like that old cunt and you know it. You think your old man would ever sit there, upset, knowing how much of a mess he had made and wondering how he could fix it? Would he have sat there feeling guilty? Would he fuck. You might have come from his balls, but you aren’t your Da and you never will be. Okay? Just remember that.”
George flashed him a look so full of sadness that he actually did look like a kicked puppy. “Sorry. I must sound like an idiot. I must sound like a pup more than ever, huh?”
“Don’t fret. You’re young. You’re bound to fuck up once or twice. It’s part of being human.” George finished his drink, setting it down. Jock glanced at the clock at the same time as him; he doubted he’d be seeing Dermot tonight, it was so late, and he sent a quick prayer that Nora was okay. While he was sat here. Doing nothing.
Fuck, he hated it.
“Where is Nora?” As if he’d sensed his thoughts, George asked the question Jock had been hoping he wouldn’t. He picked up his own glass and finished it, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Do you get worried that she’ll go back to him? To Dermot? I’m not saying she will, but… I’ve spent my whole life never feeling good enough, and it seems unfair to make Aoife have to be with someone who is only half there. Half finished. Does that make sense?”
“Are any of us really whole?” Jock shot back, levelling him with a heavy stare. “We all have a bit of the devil in us, George. We’re all suffering, even in ways others can’t see. You either let it take over, or you fight it and you keep fucking fighting it until you win. And am I worried about Dermot? No.” He shook his head firmly. “Not in the slightest. Because I know that Nora loves me. And when you love somebody, when you have something so pure that it fucking hurts? You don’t give that up. You fight for it, you keep fighting and fixing, and you do it for them.” Jock dampened his bottom lip and glanced away. “I hate what happened between Nora and Dermot, and I hate that I was the cause of it. But would I change things? No fucking way. I love her, and she loves me, and ... well, I hope nothing ever changes that.”
Then he grimaced and glanced at the now-empty whiskey bottle. “And I’m getting philosophical. Fuck that. Time for bed.”
George stood, and Jock hoped their conversation had given him some perspective. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked, grabbing his jacket. He smiled as Jock heaved himself to his feet. “I’m sorry for acting like a brat. I’ll get over myself. I just need to fix some things first, that’s all.”
“Ach, don’t be sorry. And sure. You know you’re welcome here anytime.” Oddly, it made him miss those early days when they were all under the same roof and there was always something going on. Noisy and chaotic and fun. He watched as George walked off, pausing only to glance at Jock over his shoulder.
“I don’t think you have to worry about Nora, by the way. You’re one of the good guys.”
Jock smiled, even if it felt wrong. Was he one of the good guys? Sometimes, it didn’t feel that way at all.
—-
Bovver took a sharp breath and winced as he sank down onto the stool at the bar. The last twenty-four hours had been pretty unbearable; getting his injuries sorted hadn’t been an easy ride, and every breath stung like a bitch. Some of the swelling had left his face, but the bruises and grazes were even worse in the daylight. Good, he thought savagely to himself as Terry approached. He wanted his boys riled and raging for blood. The Sullivans wouldn’t know what hit them.
And Bovver was going to deal with Dermot all by himself. That lanky Irish prick was dead.
“What the fuck ‘appened to you?” Terry raised an eyebrow and grabbed a pint glass from beneath the bar. He filled it, froth swirling in the beer like an underwater tornado. Bov shrugged, taking the offered glass and sipping it.
“I’ll fill you in when the lads get ‘ere.”
“You look like fuckin’ shit, mate.”
“Cheers. Get me a double vodka and fuck off for a bit, yeah?” Bov curled his top lip, scowling slightly. “I’ve got a fuckin’ headache.”
Muttering beneath his breath, Terry served the drink, then moved off to deal with a customer at the other end of the bar. Running a hand over his face and feeling every ache and burn, Bov sighed and took a moment to compose himself. He knew he was asking a lot from the boys today. This was bigger than anything they’d ever dealt before, but at the same time, he couldn’t see them not succeeding. They were in their prime, at the top of their game... or had been, Bov thought sourly. Until Pete had left and everything had kind of turned to shit.
He had some apologises to make. He had to make it up to them big time.
The first to arrive were Ned and Ike, followed shortly after by Dave. Bov tried to stand and greet him, but Dave waved a hand and told him to sit the fuck down. Bov flashed him a grateful smile; Dave had been the first to see him in all his beaten glory, and he’d been good about it. He’d told Bovver the things he needed to hear; the truth. And somehow, as Bov had laid in the hospital bed in the early hours, the painkillers barely doing their job, he’d thought about what Dave had said and taken strength from it.
He wasn’t going to let them down again.
They shared another round of beers, curtesy, as always, of Dave, and waited for Swill to show up. Ryan had arrived by that point, leg out the cast and looking more than happy about it. Bovver had checked his phone all morning, but there’d been no reply off Pete. His stomach had sunk a little. They’d had fall outs before, but nothing like this... and to be honest, it hurt Bov. Pete was like a brother, was a brother to him. To think that they’d allowed the Sullivans to drive this wedge between them, break the bond, and shatter all those years of friendship, was deeply saddening. And Bovver was determined to do whatever he could to fix that.
“Where the fuck is that bellend?” Bov muttered, jabbing his home button for the thirtieth time, his screen lighting up. Dave grinned.
“He’s probably passed out in his own vomit somewhere. You know ‘im.”
And then, finally, the doors opened and Swill walked in. To Bovver’s utter surprise, Pete followed him, and he was holding little Kimmy in his arms. “Bruv?” Bov felt he needed to stand now, show his respect, and forced himself to his feet despite the fact he could only hunch over. “Did... did you get my message?” He searched Pete’s face, anxious to know why he was here, if he knew what Dermot had done... “Are you all right?”
—-
“I’m going to take him to London zoo. I’ve never been.” As Lara sat on her knees on the living room floor, she hated how easy it was to see it all in her head. Max and Charlie walking hand in hand , following the paths to the various enclosures. Pete and Lara had taken him when she was pregnant with Kimmy, and he’d loved every minute of it. Max would probably buy Charlie ice cream, and they’d probably sit together on the benches, surrounded by the calling of parrots and other exotic birds. And Charlie would look at Max with those bright adoring eyes and Max would look at Charlie with the same expression of love she’d just seen in the kitchen.
It was hard seeing that look on Max’s face again. How long had it actually been since she’d seen it? It was the look that he used to wear back in the beginning, when he’d take her hand and look her up and down and tell her how beautiful she was. And it didn’t bother her because she was jealous, but because Max truly loving and accepting Charlie would have so much more impact on her son’s life than continuing her relationship with Pete. It would have always been strained and fractured, and the longer it had gone on, the more damage that would have been done.
But Lara didn’t know if she should be elated or terrified. One thing seemed cemented into reality and that was the fact that she’d have to learn to live with Max. Again. In some ways, it amazed her. There were so many times he should have died. The explosion at the club, the fight at the warehouse - what if Pete had shot him and not Mark? - the car crash, and then the infamous boat massacre, where two members of the O’Neill family lost their lives.
Max had been dead to her. Truly dead to her for three long, sweet years, but had they really been as sweet as she’d thought at the time? The nightmares weren’t nice, the arguments with Pete, the building resentment and what ifs? And here, now... Was Max going to make it worse or better? She had no idea and the unpredictability scared her. Who knew what the future held for them now.
“What has he done to you?. Where is Pete?”
“Nothing... he’s out.”
Lara hadn’t known how to answer those questions when Max had asked, the intensity of his look enough to take her breath away. As if he’d been concerned, worried about her. But why would he be? She’d wiped away a stray tear, trying desperately to hold it together, refusing to break down. Not in front of Max. It would be too humiliating to give him the knowledge that she’d done just as he’d assumed. She’d failed without him. She’d destroyed her marriage, she’d slept with Dermot... the thought of Dermot made her stomach tight and knotted; was that turning out to be a big mistake? Lara remained silent, until Max sighed and shook his head, but thankfully changed the subject. He must have noticed she wasn’t wearing her ring. She folded her arms and tried to hide it.
“I never intended on taking Charlie away from you, Lar. Did you not realise that? You were the one keeping him from me. But you’re his mother. I want us to be a family, too. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and I see that now.”
“I thought you were dead, Max,” she muttered. “Forgive me for living my life.” Her words had dripped with sarcasm, and he’d spoken of how he only did bad things to people who gave him no other choice... had she done that? All those awful things he’d done... had it been because of her? For not being enough? Would she ever be enough for anyone? And frankly, seeing Charlie with Max worried her; what if her son loved him more? What if he got older and blamed her for keeping them apart, when that hadn’t been her intention at all? And what would Pete say when he found out Max had been here, that he’d spent the day with Charlie...
She’d fled the kitchen, unable to think, and sitting here now with Kimmy babbling playfully beside her, it all just felt like a bad dream.
“Do you want to come with us?”
Max’s voice sounded behind her and Lara turned, a little startled at his offer. He was leaning in the doorway, arms folded, and she saw his eyes shift to Kimmy. What did he think of her? Another man’s child? Lara remembered when Max had first found out she was pregnant with Charlie, staring down at the scan in his hand. His words still clear to this day. If it’s his, it drowns. Would he have done it? Back then, yes, she believed he truly had the capability, but now?
Then, she fiercely reminded herself that she didn’t know this Max. This resurrected man, this man who’d returned from the grave; he could be just the same as before, he could be worse. She had to remember that. She couldn’t trust him, and she hoped he appreciated that letting Charlie go with him was one of the hardest things she’d done. “I have a few things I need to do,” she murmured, looking away. “Thanks for the invite though.” She felt him rather than heard him move, and a moment later, he sank down beside her. And suddenly, all she was aware of was how close he was, how warm his fingers were as they brushed her hand to retrieve the small train. She caught his scent, so familiar that it made her heart physically ache. He gently moved the train through the air and Kimmy giggled, blue eyes fixed to the small toy. Kicking her chubby legs, she bum shuffled a little closer, then held out her hands. Max handed the train to her and she promptly rammed it into her mouth.
“Can you imagine if this was ours? All of it? Not just Charlie.”
Lara went still, as if the very breath had been taken from her body. She’d longed for a family for so long, something of her very own to love and to nurture... if he had said this all those years ago, if he’d been who she’d needed him to be... but he hadn’t. For a long time, she’d believed he was everything, she believed she couldn’t survive without him, but she had. She’d survived the knife attack, not once but twice. She’d found her feet, she’d fought so hard for everything she had now, and what had she risked it for? A night of throwing caution to the wind and potentially destroying every relationship she’d formed after Max? Nora, Pete, Swill and Dave... these were her friendships, her people, who she’d found and grown with and laughed with and lost with. They had been the first real thing in her life that had had nothing to do with Max at all. Why had she chucked all that away?
She could feel Max’s eyes burning into the side of her face, but she didn’t dare look over. If she didn’t, maybe all of this wouldn’t be real. Maybe she’d wake up and Pete would be beside her, and they’d get ready for Swill’s birthday at the Abbey... and Lara would do so many things differently.
“Seeing Dermot and Nora… they’re broken without each other. He was so relieved to see her last night and I have never had that feeling again… not since you.”
The words ensnared her heart and tightened like wire, and the pain was incredible. A lump worked its way up her throat and wedged itself there, and her next breath came out like a shiver. Lara was suddenly unable to even perform basic functions, like breathe and she swore her heart had stopped beating. If she hadn’t have still heard Max speaking, she’d have believed she’d died right there. And Lara knew Max, as well as he knew her. He was goading her or taunting her, he wasn’t trying to plant some seed. If he knew about her and Dermot, she would know he knew. His quiet voice now spoke of an inner calmness and that was enough to let her know that he was still in the dark. Which, in turn, meant everything he’d said about Dermot so far was true. He was still broken over Nora, he hadn’t turned up today because he was with her. The night before had been nothing to Dermot, merely s way of channeling his frustrations. She’d let another Sullivan ruin her entire life.
And Lara had told Pete. She suddenly wanted to be sick.
“Still with you. Isn’t it strange, how it’s been so long and yet… feels as if it was just yesterday?”
She nodded, a small jerk of her head, unable to do little else. Kimmy tossed the train and crawled off towards the upended toy box in search of something else to chew. And then it happened. Something that had never ever happened before. Max apologised.
“I’m sorry, Lara.”
She nearly snapped her neck as she turned to look at him, and even Max looked surprised at what had come out his mouth. But it was genuine. Sincere and real and ... Max had never apologised to her, not even once. All through those years, through all the euphoric times and the downright terrible, even after trying to kill her, even after trying to take everything from her. She looked away as he tried to meet her eye, hands clasped tightly together.
“I paid my dues for it.”
The disfigurement must have been soul-destroying for the man who believed looks were everything. Max was handsome, ridiculously so, but everything about his nature was as seductive as a predator and he knew how to use it. Always dressed impeccably... he still was, but there was a definite change in him now. To have injured his face so badly must have been a real blow. “Now we both have scars,” she said softly, resisting the urge to reach and touch her throat. “The worst ones are the ones we can’t see.” The ones that were deeply etched into her heart, into her very soul. Scars that would never leave her.
“Look at me.”
Lara resisted, her eyes shutting briefly as her stomach turned over. A simple command, his voice like velvet. His fingers slipped beneath her chin and the touch was soft and familiar and strangely erotic. He tilted her chin and Lara allowed herself to look at him, to meet his eyes and not flinch away. There was a different look in his eye, an emotion that spoke volumes. Remorse. Max was remorseful? She truly felt like her head was spinning and Max was looking at her mouth and -
A bang broke them apart and Charlie appeared in the doorway. Bag on his back, he grinned excitedly, his eyes full of excitement as he demanded they go. Max and Lara both got to their feet; cheeks hot and a sticky flush rising upwards, she approached Charlie to fix his shirt. She just couldn’t look at Max, not now. Even if he had changed, it didn’t mean she wanted that life again. She didn’t even know what she wanted. She just needed to breath, she needed time to think... just a little silence.
“The offer is still there.”
Max approached as she gave Charlie a gentle push into the hall, his parents following him through. His parents. It was a weird thought. She and Pete had been Charlie’s parents, but this was different because it was his actual real biological parents here in the same room. Had she fallen into some alternate reality in her sleep? Lara simply couldn’t explain her life right now. “I think Charlie would prefer to have you all to himself,” Lara said, with the barest hint of a smile. “He really likes you. So don’t fuck it up.”
Lara opened the door and Charlie snatched Max by the hand and began to pull impatiently. Max met her eye and she had that odd heart-stopping sensation once again. “I'll message you when we're there. And you can reply this time.”
She bit back the retort she would have spat long ago and instead nodded, leaning in the doorway as she watched Max settle Charlie in the back of his car; he’d even bought a car seat, and the absurdity of Max Sullivan buying anything of the sort really did bring a smile to her face. She was quick to hide it when Max shut the door and looked at her. He nodded, then moved to the driver’s side and got in. Lara felt a strange mixture of emotions as she watched the car pull away; relief that he was gone and she could breathe and think, a longing for Charlie that was always there when they were apart, and regret. For all the things she’d ever done wrong.
And then, the timing unbelievable, she saw Pete’s car jolt to a stop on the drive. He jumped out while the engine was still growling. Lara took one look at his furious face and knew.
He’d seen Max.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jul 13, 2022 17:03:54 GMT -5
They bridged the gap between one another as if they were magnets. Nora loved Dermot, he was safe, he was comfortable, he had saved her. Not Jock. That had been something difficult to process. Dermot had come to her aid with Max in tow, defusing the situation as if it were just something minor. So she felt like she should love him more. That she owed him for always being there. Then again, being a good person didn’t constantly justify reward. Especially if you were the ones to blame for the situation forming and Dermot had been.
Dermot had hurt Nick Walker badly, and why? Because he had exposed his lies. But would he have had to lie if it wasn’t for Max? You could spiral endlessly with where something began and who was to blame, but in the end all that mattered was that it was over now.
Sometimes it wasn’t even the one who had caused the fire that had to put it out. She didn’t doubt that had been the case for a lot of Dermot’s life. He did deserve to be appreciated, and as he kissed her, his touch hot on her thighs, Nora knew she could never give him enough.
Nora could count on both hands how many times he had been there for her, but then also how many times he had hurt her. Dermot could do the same. No one was perfect, but Jock had never hurt her. Never out of malice or spite, or injustice for his own circumstances. He would perhaps be cautious to accept it, but Jock was the good one. Jock was honest and open and she had neglected that pureness, believing she didn’t deserve it.
Pressing her hands against Dermot’s chest, Nora pulled away and the two stopped, breathless. Their foreheads pressed together and for a moment there was a mutual understanding. It was bittersweet – that this was their goodbye. Leaning her head against the wall, she took a heavy breath. It had been so easy to hate him when he had betrayed her, when Dermot had left with his shame heavy on his shoulders. Now he had repaid for that damage, tenfold and it was hard to want to leave.
It would be harder to hurt Jock, she knew. She loved him, could feel him attached to her very soul. ‘We can’t.’ Nora whispered and Dermot nodded. ‘I know.’ Dermot replied, his voice just as low. ‘I… I know.’
He placed her back down on the ground and awkwardness rose up her neck as Nora adjusted the shirt. His shirt. It had been impulsive and irrational and both of them were merely desperate for affection after such a violent experience.
‘I’m not going to play games with you, Nora.’
Dermot helped her get back into bed and purposely tucked her beneath the bedding and he on top. This was how it was going to be from now on, and it was peculiar that after four years they were just going to be friends. Perhaps they had always been just friends, and the sex had just been a benefit, a distraction from what was really going on.
Nora had always had different feelings for Jock, even after she’d first met him and he’d been rough and rude, it had ignited something inside of her. It felt foolish to have taken the long way to get there, but given all the turmoil, she wouldn’t have done it differently. Both sat with their thoughts for a few minutes and she wondered what was on Dermot’s mind.
Did he feel bad about what had happened to Nick? Or was he satisfied? Surely some part of him must’ve enjoyed it, and done it before. You didn’t hurt someone like that randomly. Even with his outbursts Nora had ignored what he was capable of; when he fought with Bovver, it hadn’t even registered how violent Dermot could become. Had she purposely ignored the signs?
Turning to look at him, she let her fingers run along the cast on her wrist, trying to find the words. What did she want to know? She was ready to know everything. If this wasn’t the time, then it would never come.
‘…. What happened to Malachi?’ This had been the reason she’d left Jock, gotten drunk, kidnapped… In denial that perhaps the man she truly loved was a cold-blooded killer too. Strangely Dermot didn’t look away, but she knew it was difficult for him. He was his cousin after all.
‘I only said that because I knew it would cause problems. But… listen.’ Dermot turned to face her and she felt her chest tighten. Her mind had only just stopped reeling from the current circumstances and she felt a little light headed and sick. ‘After I… I made you believe Max was dead, I kept thinking about some stuff. Mainly my old man. But Malachi… he kept cropping up too.’
Nora remembered hearing the stories about Patrick and it was difficult to imagine a young, defenceless Dermot being abused by someone that was supposed to love him. It had been refreshing to see how kind and loving he was to Aoife given his past; the trauma had merely transformed into something else, almost always encouraged to grow when Max was around.
It was impossible to not be somewhat infected by the darkness of your youth; it was an important time, when you grew, learnt what the world was like and how to treat others. Dermot could’ve become cruel, instead he grew split. There were to sides to him like a shiny fifty-pence coin. Max on the other hand was as dark as coal, no alternative, just destruction, leaving his scolding mark on anyone who came near.
‘I had to do something.’
Nora wasn’t sure what to say. Had Dermot done something? Why had Jock not said, if that was the case? Why had anyone had to do anything? It was her mistake, her past.
‘Knowing what he’d done to you? It fucking kept me up at night, Nora.’
‘Dermot…’ her heart went out at the thought of her mistakes tormenting him.
‘You were at a spa night with Lara and I got drunk… I don’t know. I’ve tried to hide so much from you, I don’t even know where to begin. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I can see…’
And Nora believed him. Dermot always believed he was doing the right thing. No hidden meaning, no awareness of the mistakes made until it was too late. All Dermot ever saw was the end goal: peace. Forgiveness. Safety for those that he loved. There was no thought for the path it took to get there.
‘I called Jock. Told him I was going to kill Malachi. I found him at a hotel, followed his car…’
The scene was playing in her head as if she was there. She could still remember the look on Malachi’s face when Dermot had come up to him at the hospital, eyes wide. He’d been gripping her arm hard, close to her face and the world had slowed when she heard Dermot’s voice; her saviour. It was strange because of the two, Malachi looked the obviously malicious type, smartly dressed and arrogant and yet Dermot was the one everyone really feared. He was tall, quiet, composed; mysterious. Nora had been intrigued by that the first time she had met him. An open book, a thousand pages long.
‘Jock drove back to try and stop me.’
Malachi was in the hotel, no doubt he had a hunch of someone following him. He’d grab his keys, jump in his expensive car and drive off, too fast as always. It was raining, hammering on the windscreen like bullets. He was cocky. No one could touch him – no one ever really had apart from Bovver.
‘Malachi knew I was chasing him now. I don’t think either of us were paying attention to the road. I saw Malachi hit the other car.’
Nora swallowed, confused by the story now. If Dermot was driving the car, then he hadn’t been the one to kill him? Everything Dermot had said in the Abbey had been a lie? A distraction to ruin their relationship and they had let it. Unless…
‘I stopped the car and got out… the other driver was Jock. It was an accident, of course. Jock was pissed off because he’d come to stop me…’
Nora didn’t realise she was crying until a tear dropped onto the duvet. It rippled and rolled over a fold in the material and she sniffed, rubbing her eyes. What must that have felt like? For Jock, he had taken a life without intent. For Malachi, his life snatched in seconds because of a few stupid mistakes he had made in the past. Ones Nora believed she had provoked him into making and forgiven him for now. That didn’t mean he deserved to die. She had laid awake the day she found out, sobbing into the arms of Dermot and he had acted as if he didn’t know.
He had comforted her, supposedly blind to the circumstances and Nora had swallowed back the inclination that he was involved. Why would she want to begin that path?
‘I’d do it again, if it meant protecting you.’
For a few minutes Nora couldn’t seem to speak. Her chest felt heavy and she rubbed at it with a sigh. She felt hot, uncomfortable. That was it. It had been an accident, all along. The objective had been there, but the world had had other ideas. Circumstance was a funny thing. Actions years past had imprinted on that very moment to bring it to fruition. She had been angry at Jock for a mistake
‘You didn’t have to do anything.’ Nora finally managed, throat dry. ‘Neither of you did.’
How must it have felt to take a life? Nora still couldn’t understand that the woman from the storage facility was dead. That had been different, though. That had been violent and full on, whereas a car accident was quick. Had it been quick? Had he died instantly? Or did they leave him there within a mesh of metal and oil and he’d slowly bled out, crying for help, unheard, unassisted…
‘I can’t believe Jock never told me.’ Nora dampened her bottom lip, trying not to make it about her. To not take away the power it had held over him. ‘I don’t want him to think he can’t tell me things, like you never could. I don’t want lies anymore. It doesn’t work… for anyone. What you both had to carry… on top of everything else, I… I… I’m sorry you felt you had to do that.’
Nora wanted to reach out and touch his hand but she couldn’t seem to. She was both angry and upset. None of this had been necessary. Three days ago she had left Jock in the hospital, battered and bruised and believed him to be a murderer and a liar.
‘You shouldn’t have hurt Jock. He didn’t deserve it.’ She sighed, knowing that was fully true. ‘He loves you like a brother, Dermot.’
‘I lost it, Nora. These past two weeks… I don’t know. They’ve just been really fucking hard. I know I deserve it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.’
‘Thank you for telling me.’ Nora gave a small smile and finally reached out to touch his hand, squeezing it lightly. ‘Things will get better. I’m… I’m sorry for everything too.’
‘I have something else to tell you.’
Nora saw the uncertain look on Dermot’s face and wasn’t sure what to expect. ‘It’s a day of truth’s isn’t it.’
‘I beat up Bov, too.’
‘Dermot!’
‘This morning actually. He was the one that rang me… that night, you know.’
‘Did you get it all out of your system now?’ Nora snapped and then gave a teasing look. ‘For gods sake, Dermot.’ Shaking her head, she couldn’t blame him. Bovver had been nothing but infuriating for the last year or so, but that was no excuse. ‘As long as he’s still alive, I guess. Right? He’s the least of my concerns right now but you don’t have to worry about him like Malachi, okay?’
Bovver had been the least of her concerns for a while, until recently. It had been disappointing to hear he had been the one to call Dermot, ruining what they had because he was still miserable. Did she still have some bridges to build with him, or was it best to just burn them all together? They both deserved to be happy, and she didn’t stop him when he’d met Emily. That didn’t mean he deserved to be killed, however. ‘You can’t just go around hurting people and especially not for me.’
Dermot got up then and Nora sighed, pulling the duvet up to her chest. All of this information was swirling inside her head and she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Part of her believed it would bubble up like vomit if she moved.
‘I’ll make you some breakfast. You must be hungry.’
It wasn’t until he said it that Nora realised she hadn’t eaten anything apart from that sandwich in almost four days. Nodding her head, she watched him leave before laying back. It seemed ridiculous that life was to go back to normal now after those revelations. Nick was dead by Max’s hand… ‘so you don’t have to.’ Max had said. Saving Dermot of the turmoil of murder. Why? Did he know about Malachi, or did he genuinely just care for his brother?
Now she was more confused.
Perhaps she had just been naïve as a child, but death seem rife in her life now when it hadn’t then and there was no escaping it. The world was big and bad, and the only person she wanted to face it with wasn’t here. She needed to ring Jock, tell him she was okay, ask him if he was okay. Climbing out of bed, she felt as if she’d been hit by a truck and padded into the ensuite. Stripping off Dermot’s shirt for the last time she stepped into the shower, keeping her cast outside, and let the hot water scold her skin.
She felt dirty and sore. Bruises on her knees and wrists, a lump on the back of her head where Nick had knocked her unconscious. Scrubbing the grime from her hair she lathered up to the point no skin was visible beneath the bubbles. It smelt like him; chestnuts and pine, a green shower gel she’d almost forgotten the scent of. Now it came back to her like a fond memory and she smiled but not in a way that made her heart ache any longer.
Wrapping herself in a soft towel she looked through Dermot’s wardrobe, and at the very back saw an outfit she hadn’t worn in years. A white dress with a blue print, like the one you would see on old bone china with soft, ruffled sleeves. Slipping it on she dried her hair and tucked it behind her ears. There was no makeup here, but she wasn’t really feeling like playing dress up today. She ached, she was tired and she wanted to see Jock.
When she came down into the kitchen she caught the smell of food before she saw it and smiled. It reminded her of when they all lived in the penthouse together and Aoife and George would make breakfast on the weekends.
‘Hey.’ She smiled weakly at the two of them. Dermot was sat at the island, a momentary look of concern on his face before he turned to her. He was so foolishly handsome it made her sigh. Moving towards Aoife who was cooking, she put her arms around her middle and hugged her briefly. ‘Thank you for yesterday.’ She waved her cast wrist and then gave a nervous look. ‘I’m sorry for passing out. I never was one for pain.’
Taking a seat at the island opposite Dermot she looked at him but he seemed somewhere else. ‘Can I borrow your phone?’ she asked. ‘The man… he… Nick destroyed mine. I just want Jock to know I’m okay.’
Taking his phone she input Jock’s number, memorised from years past, and waited as it rung. She wondered what he was doing. If he was still in the hospital, or if he was somewhere else, not actually missing her. The sound of his voice on the other end made all her doubt disappear. He didn’t sound too impressed to be hearing from Dermot, however, tone agitated.
‘It’s me, you big eejit.’ Nora smiled, her best Irish-accent thick and there was a long pause on the other end. She then heard a big sigh of relief, but no words. ‘Are you okay? I’m okay – Hey -- I’m really okay, Jock.’ She gave a gentle laugh. ‘I’ll be home soon.’ Jock asked to talk to Dermot so, brow furrowed she held it out for him. ‘He wants to speak to you.’
She could hear his booming voice from where she sat, when next thing the phone was passed back and Dermot declared he was taking her home after breakfast.
‘I’ve made a mess, haven’t I?.’ Nora admitted as the call died and she placed it back on the table. ‘Is he mad? Do you forgive him? If you can forgive me, you can do the same for Jock. This is all my fault, Dermot. I’m the one who played games… plus he’s your family.’ It sounded strange because Nora would’ve been family in a matter of weeks. Then what would’ve happened?
They ate breakfast listening to the faint music of the radio and it was very apparent everyone had something on their mind. Looking at Aoife, Nora could see a small bruise on her face which Dermot had apparently failed to notice. She raised an eyebrow across the table at her but Aoife shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. Boy troubles. Even if she wasn’t going to be family, Nora still cared deeply for Aoife. She had practically watched her grow into a woman over the last few years, and they’d become attached. Admittedly Nora could’ve done a better job at being attentive, so would start now.
‘I just wanted to chat to Aoife before we go.’ Nora murmured as Dermot pushed away from the table. Waiting for him to leave, Aoife began to clear the table when Nora put a hand on her arm, forcing the plates out of her grip. ‘Hey.’ She smiled and both girls have a small, awkward laugh. ‘I’m so sorry that I ruined everything last night. You obviously needed some comfort from your dad and I… got in the way, as usual.’
Aoife had seemingly flourished overnight. Nora could see Dermot in her, but more than anything Susie. It was almost shocking for a moment but Nora blinked away the past and tried to regain focus on the present.
‘I know things have changed but… I still want you to know you can talk to me. About anything. I’m not your future mother-in-law anymore which I’m sorry for, so bloody sorry, but I’m not going to say a word to your dad. Wouldn’t have either way. Your secrets are safe with me.’
Aoife spoke for a moment, said something about George and Nora frowned. ‘You two have had a tough time.’ She sighed. ‘You work too hard and love isn’t the easiest of things. People lie when they say it is. It tests you. It’s a continuous battle, but it’s worth it… for the right person. You just need to be sure George is the right person, for you, and I’m not going to tell you what I think. That’s your decision, and we stand by you no matter what you do.’
Dermot stood in the doorway jingling the car keys and Nora glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘Okay.’ Turning back to Aoife she pulled her close, hugging her tighter than she ever had before. ‘I’ll say hello to him. He’s with Jock. He’s a little wounded, but he knows to stay away until you’re ready. So just let him know when you’re ready, alright?’
If she stopped to think about the events over the past days, Nora could feel her heart racing. She knew Nick couldn’t hurt her anymore but part of her wouldn’t believe it; she hadn’t seen him die, she had just seen Max with a gun and Max was prone to lying.
‘Is he definitely… gone?’ Nora asked as she slid into the passenger seat. Dermot looked at her, momentarily confused and she sighed. ‘Nick... Did Max… is he gone?’ She asked again and nodded in response.
Even if he was, there was still danger around every corner in this world and there was nothing she could do about it. All the same she clicked the lock down on her door and gave a nervous glance towards Dermot.
Bits of the night had kept coming back to her. She could strangely recall being inside a trunk, her eyes flickering open for a second and seeing nothing but darkness and the rough felt of a boot liner; the rumbling bass from the radio, the jolt as he drove over a pothole. She could smell the storage facility, a mixture of damp and then warm blood. Squeezing her eyes shut Nora fidgeted with the radio as Dermot drove her back to Jock’s.
‘Will you come inside?’ Nora turned to look at Dermot, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. Sometimes she could see a glimmer of Jock in him, only briefly, in the crease of his eye when he smiled or frowned. He had frowned a lot lately. When they pulled up outside, Nora put her hand out to stop him getting out the car.
‘Dermot…’ he looked at her and she gave a sad smile. ‘Will we still be in each others life?’ It was something she hadn’t stopped to consider in the midst of it all, having taken him for granted. ‘I want you to be happy, but I also want to be part of your life too. Is that possible?’
They had both been on their way to grab their things when Isla had passed them on the stairs. Swill grinned and her cheeks flushed, her pristine blouse from the night before now creased and crinkled.
‘Where d’ya think you’re going’?’ Swill asked with a smirk.
Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Isla spoke. ‘I thought you’d left. I was going to leave this at reception so you could collect your things –’
‘Boys meetings, that’s all.’ Swill reassured her.
Carrying on a few steps ahead, Pete allowed them time to talk and felt a small pang of jealousy for the excitement they had in their new relationship. He shouldn’t be too bitter, Swill rarely had anything serious and especially not with someone so smart.
Normally he would go for the small, bubbly blondes that laughed at his jokes and fluttered their eyelids and nodded in agreement. Isla was different; she was academic and feisty, and Pete just knew when the lads found out they wouldn’t be able to believe it. He deserved someone good though, they all did. In the beginning the idea of women had been absurd, a distraction, a mistake, yet if manifested correctly, it worked in their favour. Dave was happy as ever, and he seemed to be the only one still on his game. Bovver and Pete… different stories and different choices.
Rubbing his eyes, Pete sighed and suddenly felt the heaviness of it all slip back onto his shoulders.
It was difficult not to think about Lara, even when he felt so much anger stirring. So many years he had spent trying to put her first, think solely of Lara and the children and not the GSE, and yet now she wanted it the other way round. On the verge of suicide she had forced him to surrender what he loved, and now he realised it was all for pity? Didn’t she see that staying with someone for that reason alone was more cruel than leaving them at all?
Swill had agreed that Pete could stay with him until he got everything sorted, so he was going to collect some of his things and then leave. He didn’t want to talk to Lara, didn’t want to even see her… Squeezing his eyes shut he sat on the edge of the bed and could only see her. Her smile, distorted quickly into the hateful glare she’d had on her first last night. The disgust and the relief for truly stating how she felt had been agonising for him to witness. Pete had never told Lara how he felt, not really, not in full. Small sharp snippets of his anger were blurted mid argument, but never like that… he had been unprepared, and still felt dizzy from it all.
Walking into the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face, locked the door and swung his bag over his shoulder. Just as he stepped outside, Pete heard a creak on the landing and turned to see Swill staring at him.
‘You ready?’ he asked and Pete raised an eyebrow, car keys dangling in his hand.
‘I’m heading ‘ome to get some stuff first, mate.’
‘You don’t think I’d let you go alone, d’ya?’ Swill clapped Pete on the back as the two headed down the stairs. ‘In, out, straight to the Abbey.’
If only it was that easy, Pete thought with a grimace as they both got into the car. The drive to the house was thankfully filled with Swill sharing all the details of his and Islas morning rendezvous and Pete shook his head.
‘I was gone for ten fuckin’ minutes.’ He laughed and Swill winked, turning up the radio.
As they turned up the road to his house, Pete felt sad to know that this was no longer his. He couldn’t take the house and wasn’t sure if he even wanted it. All he knew was he wanted the children to have a stable environment and all they had ever known was here. The memories would no doubt suffocate him alone inside the four walls if Lara left. It would be better to stay with her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to see Kimmy.
When Kimmy was mentioned in passing, Swill got back onto the subject of being a godfather again. He was listening off reasons on his fingers why he was the perfect suiter for the job, and cited Dave and Alice as his references.
‘… Freddie think’s I’m fuckin’ amazin’—’
The sound filtered into white noise for a second as another car drove past alongside. An expensive car, the windows down, music floating out. The driver turned their head to look at him as they passed and Pete felt hot anger creeping up his neck. Max Sullivan flashed a smirk, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the door. He had looked normal, the same as he’d known him in his nightmares until he caught sight of his scarred eye. In the back, strapped into his car-seat was a smiling Charlie; he was holding a dinosaur and spinning it through the air, cheeks puffed as he imitated its roar. It took all of Pete’s strength not to swerve the car, and Swill had to grab the steering wheel to keep them straight.
‘Bruv?’
‘For fuck sake.’ Pete snarled. ‘Is she takin’ the piss?’
Pulling up outside the house, Pete didn’t waste a second before jumping out and slamming his door. Lara was still stood on the steps having waved goodbye to Max and filling the gap up the path, Pete grabbed her wrist before she could turn away.
‘I’m gone for one night!’ He hissed. ‘What the fuck are you thinkin’? Did he come the second my back was turned? Did he make it easy too?’ Feeling Swill behind him, Pete dropped his hold and Lara and clenched his jaw. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve just come to get my things. Is now a good time, or is the other Sullivan cunt coming round any second now?’ Shouldering past her he headed straight for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
In the doorway, Swill was glaring at Lara as if she were a complete stranger. ‘You sure you’re makin’ the right choice?’ he raised an eyebrow before following after Pete.
‘He really likes you, so don’t fuck it up.’
Lara’s voice was ringing in the back of his head as he pulled away from the curb and Max smiled. Did it bother her, that Charlie loved him so much? More than her? /No/, a little boy could never love anyone more than his mother. It made a pang inside his chest he had never really let live before. How different would his life had been if his mother had been as strong as Lara? That didn’t matter now, because he was still where he was. Max was a father and he was taking his son to the fucking zoo!
And then the universe decided to reward him twice in one day as Pete’s Dunham’s car pulled along side his, the cunt’s gaze incredulous as they passed and Max couldn’t deny the smirk lifting at his lips. He had looked mad; there was very obviously trouble in their paradise but why, he wasn’t yet sure. Had Pete done something? Most likely Lara had grown tired of the childlike hooligan and given him an ultimatum he hadn’t liked; or, he’d fucked someone else. Somehow he didn’t see Lara capable of something so vindictive as to be the perpetrator of their undoing. How wrong he would soon discover himself to be. ‘Are you excited?’ Max called, glancing in the rear-view mirror as his son wriggled in his seat, toy at the ready.
‘Will there be dinosaurs?’ he asked and met his fathers eye.
‘No there won’t be any dinosaurs, but there’ll be something even cooler!’
‘Nothing is better than dinosaurs!’
‘Oh yeah?’ Max replied, turning the corner. ‘What about the King of the Jungle?’
Charlie screwed up his face in thought. ‘What’s that?’
‘The lion, Charlie. The lion is in charge of everything and no one gets in his way.’
No one was going to get in his way of a perfect family, either. Especially not Pete Dunham. It was very apparent Lara was broken hearted, but she held more anger and embarrassment to it now, not looking to return to her marriage. Why would she want that life anymore with someone who couldn’t control it? Max could control everything. He was running numerous businesses; drugs, money, women, and still finding time to fix Dermot’s problems and eliminate Nick Walker in the process, all whilst being the best dad Charlie had ever known. It was easy. Some people just made being victorious look hard.
Seeing him interacting with her son would surely have Lara change her ways. He could already see the flicker in her eye as she questioned it all, disbelief at something so wonderful having once been so fragile. An unreachable goal they had now accomplished. All she had to do was come back to him.
Max knew he was fickle. Not with his love, but his decisiveness to nurture or to injure her. He was constantly torn about what to do, because she knew just how to make him furious. Even Dermot with his whiney love stories didn’t irk him as much as she did. That stood for something.
They got to the zoo and after paying for the tickets, Max plucked a map from the wall and passed it to Charlie.
‘You’re in charge, mac.’ Max smiled, the map bigger than his head.
‘What does mac mean?’
‘It means son, in Irish.’
‘What’s Irish?’
‘It’s in my blood. It’s who I am, Charlie.’
‘What about me.’ His lip trembled, suddenly concerned. ‘Am I Irish?’
Scooping him up, Max let him rest against his hip, turning his small face to look at him.
‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘I am Irish and you’ he put his finger to Charlie’s chest ‘are part of me.’
There were children littered everywhere, some with hats and big bags, others on their father’s shoulders. A school trip was pressed into one corner by the entrance, all of them chattering a thousand different words in unison, the teacher looking flustered. Once upon a time this scene would’ve made his skin crawl, but now Max had other priorities.
‘What do you want to see first?’ he asked and Charlie looked down at the map, overwhelmed with choice. ‘Why don’t you close your eyes and point anywhere and we’ll go there.’
Charlie gave a nod and scrunched his eyes shut, blindly pointing in the centre of the map where the tiger enclosure was. Together they wound around the numerous pens and pathways, slipping into the darkened reptile enclosure and the bright, exotic bird sanctuary. Max found his face sore from the amount he was smiling but couldn’t seem to stop. Charlie moved from his hip, to holding his hand and dragging Max along, as fast as his little legs could carry him, to now sitting on his shoulders.
‘Wow.’ Charlie grinned, tipping his head back and looking up at the netting above them. Lemurs ran across, their stripped tails dangling and swinging. No doubt he could see the world from up there and Max felt as if he had his world on his very shoulders. ‘What animals do they have in Irish?’ he asked and Max laughed.
‘In Ireland we have deer and foxes and so many beautiful horses. All of them just running wild in the woods. Would you like me to take you some day?’
Charlie nodded so much Max could feel him shaking above him and gripped onto his legs to ensure he didn’t slide off. ‘Can Mummy come?’
‘Sure.’
‘What about daddy?’
Max’s heart jolted for a moment and he stopped, jaw clenched. ‘I’m your daddy, Charlie.’
‘What about my other daddy, who lives at home?’
Taking Charlie off his shoulders, Max placed him down and got to his level, trying to control the rage suddenly brewing in his stomach. ‘He’s just a friend of mummy’s, okay? He was looking after you whilst I was away. But me and Mummy, we’re your parents. We made you and I’m never going away again.’
Charlie looked at him with confusion in his face and Max realised he had never thought about this conversation. Never took time to realise that Lara had spent Charlie’s whole life making him believe Pete Dunham was his father. It stung; he was pissed off.
‘You're my Daddy?’ Charlie asked slowly and Max nodded.
‘Is that okay?’
Just like that Charlie nodded and a bird above them squawked and his interest was taken elsewhere. Grabbing Max’s hand he pulled him in another direction and the conversation died, but not the uncertainty in his stomach. Charlie loved him, he reminded himself as they headed to a new enclosure. Charlie couldn’t wait to spend time with him, and he was only young, he would come to realise soon. Things with children were always changing, and they were always distracted by something new. Max would just have to make sure Lara could never push him out again.
They headed into one of the gift shops and Max let Charlie race around, grabbing at whatever he wanted. He half expected at least five different toys, but he settled on just one after much deliberation and held it up to Max. It was a two lion toys stuck together, their arms wrapped around each other with Velcro paws.
‘That’s all you want?’
‘Yep.’ Charlie padded over to the till and Max followed, a hand on top of his head to steer him around the crowds.
When they got outside Charlie instantly started to rip at the packaging and Max tugged him over to the bench as he struggled. They sat close to one another, father and son. ‘Let me.’ He laughed at his determination. Ripping off the cardboard, Max handed Charlie the conjoined animals, listening to the loud rip of Velcro as Charlie separated them.
‘One for you.’ He announced, passing one to Max. ‘And one for me.’
Max looked down at the toy lion, soft fur and a bushy mane and felt as if he had never been given such a precious gift.
'You didn't have to do that.'
'You said they were your favourite.' Charlie shrugged.
Looking down at him as he played with his toy, Max felt himself get emotional and coughed, turning away. It was strange, how the little things were the things that got you. Max both hated and loved how much Charlie was changing him, but if anyone saw him crying over a fucking stuffed toy, he would never let them –
‘Hey.’
Turning his head, Max looked over to see Lara heading towards them and a smile was on his face before he could wipe it away.
Lara had been at the school gates one day, blowing bubbles with some electric pink gum and scuffing her shoe in the dirt. She looked so innocent, eyes glancing left and right every few moments, waiting for something. Waiting for him. Albeit the youthful features, Lara appeared mature, a don’t-mess-with-me look that somehow also begged you to play. Did she know she did that? Max had thought so, for a while, until he realised how truly naive and innocent she was, unaware of the powers she had over others.
It was good for a while, until everyone began to notice her.
Stood behind a large oak tree, Max dragged on his cigarette and watched as one of the boys from the sixth-form approached her. His hair was floppy over one side of his face, a spray of acne on his chin, shirt sleeves rolled up showing surprisingly toned forearms for a teenager. He leaned on the wall besides her, trying hard to look as if he wasn’t trying hard at all. He was telling a joke, and Lara smiled. A smile that lit up her perfect face, tilted her cheekbones high so her eyes crinkled with laughter.
Max hated that someone else had made her look so content.
Flicking his cigarette on the floor he filled the short distance between them and came to stand behind the boy, a greater deal taller so he cast a shadow on Lara’s face. She was smiling at him for a moment before it dropped and she crossed her arms, only just aware she had done something to annoy him. The boy turned to him, without an inch of fear on his face until Max grabbed his collar and shoved him roughly.
It was difficult, being so in love with someone that if anyone so much as smiled at them, you felt territorial. You felt angry. Max would, now rather than then, admit he had been obsessed. He wanted his thing to be his. No one was allowed to look at or appreciate his things unless he said so.
As Lara stood across from them, Max wondered how many people had glanced at her appreciatively on her way through the zoo. Wondered when Pete Dunham had laid eyes on her for the first time, and if all the other West Ham cunts had done and thought the same. Hated himself for letting them all take advantage of her and dismantle her life. Their life. The one they had had, before she’d gotten overwhelmed and he had gotten… violent.
‘Hey.’ Lara’s voice carried to them and Max could see she wasn’t the same as she once was, and it was on no account his fault. She was timid, apprehensive… nervous. To see him?
Pete Dunham had somehow married her and loved her and it had made her feel less beautiful.
‘Mummy!’ Charlie raced over to Lara, hugging her with all his force before thrusting his toy in her face. Max couldn’t help but smile because seeing Charlie happy was making her smile too. ‘Look what me and Max got.’
‘Are you having fun?’ Lara asked, handing back the toy.
Charlie nodded ‘Yeah!’
‘I don’t know where he get all his energy from.’ Max said as Charlie squealed with excitement for ice cream and headed off towards the kiosk. He glanced at Lara as they walked and for a while she was adamant to only look at Charlie. He was a few steps ahead of them, interest peaking at every opportunity.
‘You’ve really made his day.’ Lara said, finally turning to look at him and Max relished in it. Took the time to take her in fully. She didn’t look prepared to be here, she had no bag, she seemed very unsure what to do with herself without a child strapped to her so settled for folding her arms. A defensive stature that Max hoped to change.
‘He’s really made my day, too.’ Max admitted. Charlie somehow managed to make every day seem special and unique, even if they were doing some basic, something every day and unexciting. He could just sit in a room with his son and they would find something fun. Charlie was making Max appreciate all the little things he had once thought insignificant. The things Lara had always been craving and he’d denied her.
‘Where have you been?’ the tone suddenly changed and Max raised an eyebrow.
‘Away.’ Max replied simply and he could see more questions rising to her tongue.
‘All these years. Why… Why now? What changed?’
‘A lot has changed, Lara. A lot has also stayed the same…’ He hadn’t expected her to be so civil so hadn’t really thought of what to say.
Whilst he had been away, Max had thought of all the ways to torture her for putting him through this, and yet now he felt an urge to tell the truth. He wasn’t a man to live in the past, however, only when it came to her. It was why he was so adamant that Dermot’s business with Walker had been finished; no loose ends, no reminders of what was. Always moving forward was safest, yet with Lara, Max was still living the life from ten years ago. She was his one habit he couldn’t quite break, a memory he couldn’t keep himself from visiting.
‘So much has happened that you don’t even know. I think you can see for yourself that some drastic things took place…’ he gestured to his right eye with a sigh. ‘No doubt the same can be said for you. But can we not spend the day talking about those who have done us wrong, and instead enjoy what could be the best day for us yet.’ Lara nodded and Max stopped for a moment, letting Charlie race to the ice cream stand, looking at all the sickening choices on the wooden board. ‘How about we go to dinner –’
Looking down, Max felt Charlie tugging on his hand, stealing the offer from his mouth.
‘Can I have chocolate and banana pleeease? And a chocolate stick?’
Dampening his bottom lip, Max let his eyes linger on Lara before he turned away and let himself get pulled to the stand.
‘I’m sure we can manage that.’ Max chuckled as Lara came to join them. ‘One scoop of chocolate and banana please, with your biggest flake.’ He ordered a mint ice cream for himself and asked Lara what she wanted. Soon all three of them had ice creams as they headed back to the final part of the park, the Aquarium. ‘Is that good?’ Max looked down at Charlie who had chocolate smudges on his cheeks, his smile wide. He nodded vehemently.
Lara warned Charlie that it was going to get dark as they entered the Aquarium. It had cold stone walls and dim lighting. They walked across a rickety wooden bridge, Charlie holding onto Max’s hand and in the dark, Lara stumbled and reached out to Max for support. Her hand on his shoulder was soft and warm and he felt the tension between the two of them rise.
‘Steady.’ He whispered.
At the entrance were giant snakes in tanks, yellow and pink lighting shining down on them in all their scaled glory. Beneath the bridge they had just walked were crocodiles, circling with their big eyes hungry. An eerie silence surrounded them, everyone’s voices hushed, the sound of trickling water behind them, a man-made waterfall carved into the stone.
Charlie pressed his face against a glass built into the wall, peering desperately between the moss and wood inside, when suddenly he jolted back with a squeal. A tarantula with thick, hairy legs and beady red eyes came scurrying towards them, its pincers sniffing the air. Then came the fish, the massive tanks before them reaching the ceiling. It was strangely calming. For all purposes Max should associate water with the boat and his near death experience, yet it merely calmed him.
Water made him think of Lara stood beneath a cascading shower head, or the two of them walking along the beach, dipping their sandy toes into the cool ocean as it lapped at their ankles. The sea gave limitless possibilities; the sea had saved him, resurrected him as a new man. When Dermot had sent him away on that boat, Max had been different, vindictive, and cold and yet now new life had been breathed into him. New purpose.
He had travelled to New York, Ireland, Canada… the opportunities out there were endless, but something had pulled him back. Someone.
Max had been waning with his inability to recapture Lara, yet had he known all he’d needed was patience, it would have made things a lot easier. Who would’ve known they’d end up here?
They stopped by one of the tanks and Charlie smiled widely as he ran around to the other side, following the angel fish with his finger and examining all the little creatures scurrying along the bottom. It was practically empty now and as Lara came to stand beside him, Max felt as if they were the only three people in the world. Soon he would have to admit they were his world.
Their fingers brushed lightly and in the silence he heard Lara’s breath catch as she moved her hand away. Why had she done that? Max yearned for her to be closer again, the faint scent of her perfume making him nostalgic. It had always been Lara; no matter how much anger and hatred consumed him, or how harsh his words and hands were upon her, it was merely because he had always loved her. Loved her more than anything in existence; loved her first, and last, and always. The only person Max Sullivan had ever truly loved, until Charlie had come along.
Seeing Lara in his son’s eyes made his stomach clench, desperate for something he had long denied. A family. A security. Life had original been about power and money and control, and he had judged Dermot for his puppy infatuations in women and children, but now he understood. Max wouldn’t let his interest in his family distract him from his original goals, however. He wouldn’t become soft, he would merely open up another facet to his being.
‘Go to dinner with me.’ Max whispered, keeping his gaze ahead, watching a particularly luminous fish flit one side to the other. ‘Tell me all the things I’ve missed.’
Hours ago, Max had been stood with the cool metal of a gun in his hand and now he was reaching for Lara, the same adrenaline coursing through him. Would she find this side of him appealing, or misleading, and potentially ensnaring? ‘But if Dunham ever laid a hand on you…’ turning his head to her, Max felt his jaw clench. ‘You want to know where I’ve been? I’ve been watching you. Watching my son, and when I couldn’t, I asked Dermot every day how you were. That you were safe.’ He turned his whole body now, the two of them so close his breath was hot against her neck. ‘I might be many things Lara, but I’m not heartless. I’m fair. You of all people should know that, because you’ve been holding mine all these years.’
‘Max!’ Charlie called out his name and Max pulled himself away sharply. His son appeared, beckoning for him to come at look at something in one of the far away tanks. Max followed, throwing a small glance back at Lara. ‘A dinosaur!’
‘A dinosaur?’ Max chuckled, looking down at the giant turtle, its hard shell covered in lumps and bumps. ‘Good job, Charlie. Well spotted.’
Once they broke out into the daylight again, Charlie blinked desperately at the sun and Max ran a hand through his hair with a yawn. Looking down at his watch, he frowned. He needed to go see the man from the storage facility shortly, but couldn’t seem to leave. On que, Charlie gave a massive yawn too, throwing himself sleepily against Lara’s legs; rubbing his eyes with one fist, he held the lion in the other.
‘I’m sleepy.’ Charlie sighed as Lara scooped him up.
‘I’ve got to get going.’ Max said as they all made their way to the exit. Lara nodded in agreement and Max followed them to the car, watching as she buckled in /their/ son and shut the door. When she turned to him, he was close, and pressed against her gently. ‘Take me up on my offer. Dermot can take Charlie. I’ll meet you at this restaurant in Soho at 6, okay? I’ll text you the address.’ He searched Lara’s eyes, blind to how she truly felt. If she didn’t want Pete anymore, what was to stop her wanting him? ‘I’ve a long way to go, I know’ He dipped his head, a sad look washing his features. ‘But at least give me a chance, if not for me, then for Charlie’s sake?’
They said their goodbyes and Max jumped in his own car, sitting with his hands on the steering wheel for a few moments. He wanted to know the truth, and wasn’t sure if Lara would be willing to give it to him. Not about Pete Dunham anyway. Pulling out his phone, Max dialled a number and listened to it ring.
‘Yes, Boss?’ Luke answered and Max rolled his eyes, but couldn’t deny the smirk on his face. Cocky. ‘I want you to do me a favour.’
‘Anything.’
If it wasn’t for Luke, Max wouldn’t have had half the information on Nick Walker that he had. He was intelligent and sly for his age. ‘I want you to find out some intel on Pete Dunham for me.’
‘Pete Dunham?’ Luke repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. ‘The Major of the GSE?’ he had heard of him from Hatcher and knew all too well how he was the one to blame for his uncles demise.
‘I thought some cunt called Bovver was in charge now?’
‘No.’ Luke shook his head, dragging on his cigarette. ‘Things are changing every day down there. Dunham’s back and word is, he’s angry.’
Max smirked like a Cheshire cat. ‘Perfect.’
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jul 25, 2022 8:28:25 GMT -5
“You didn’t have to do anything. Neither of you did.”
Dermot couldn’t argue with her, but that didn’t make it any easier. Because in his eyes, he’d had no choice. It had become somewhat of an obsession to rid the world of the scumbag, Malachi Jensen, and even if it hadn’t been by his hand, it had been done. He couldn’t have felt guilty for it, even if he’d tried. The only guilt he felt was from how Nora found out; he didn’t think he’d ever forget the expression in her face that night at the pub. So shocked and confused and hurt. She hadn’t deserved that and neither had Jock, and it made Dermot feel like he wasn’t too far from being just like Max. The apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree.
“I can’t believe Jock never told me. I don’t want him to think he can’t tell me things, like you never could.”
Those words shouldn’t have stung so much but they did. Her need for honesty, the truth, no matter how painful... The truth gave you closure, it gave you a foundation to work off. And when that foundation was made of lies, it was shaky and brittle, and it had finally collapsed in on their relationship. He would never call Nora his woman again. She would never be his again, and as raw as that wound felt, it was the open and honest truth, and a solid foundation he could build his life on. Because he had to do better. He felt it in his heart.
“I don’t want lies anymore. It doesn’t work… for anyone. What you both had to carry… on top of everything else, I… I… I’m sorry you felt you had to do that.”
Dermot nodded, looking away for a moment. “... If I could take everything back, I would. If I turn back time, I’d never make those mistakes again. And I’m so fucking sorry you got caught in the crossfire, Nora.” He could almost feel her tension as she battled her feelings, and tried to figure out which direction they should go. He could still taste her on his lips, his tongue, and part of him wanted to savour it and hold it forever and another part of him felt like pure shite. Everything he’d done these past few weeks he’d figured he was doing for Nora, for them, when in reality, it had been his own selfish pride, his own anger fuelling his decisions in the worst possible way. He’d pulled Lara into it as well, then disrespected her by kissing Nora. Dermot was all the things he’d vowed he’d never be.
“You shouldn’t have hurt Jock. He didn’t deserve it.” Nora gave a wistful sigh, still without looking at him. Her eyes were fixed to the cast on her wrist. “He loves you like a brother, Dermot.”
She may as well have slugged him in the chest. His heart gave a painful clench and he swallowed hard, fighting against the tide of emotion rapidly rising. Jock was a brother to him too, none of this should ever have happened. Their bond had been unbreakable, solid, and the one true constant in Dermot’s life, and now he wasn’t even sure there was any of to fix it, to reconcile what they once had. Finally, Nora reached over and touched his hand, her fingertips cool against his hot skin. She gave it a light squeeze and Dermot smiled sadly.
“Thank you for telling me. Things will get better. I’m… I’m sorry for everything too.” Well, it was now or never. Dermot confessed to beating Bovver that morning, and Nora scolded him, shock flashing in her eyes before resignation set in; she couldn’t deny Bov hadn’t been asking for it. He was lucky Dermot restrained himself for so long. Finally, she spoke, sounding less annoyed and more disgruntled. “Did you get it all out of your system now? ... For gods sake, Dermot. As long as he’s still alive, I guess. Right? He’s the least of my concerns right now but you don’t have to worry about him like Malachi, okay?”
Dermot nodded. He had a feeling Bovver might behave a little more favourably from now on, but only time would tell. The cunt was off the rails anyway and falling rapidly downhill... maybe Dermot’s beating will have knocked some sense into him.
“You can’t just go around hurting people and especially not for me.”
“I know,” he muttered, feeling more and more like a scolded schoolboy as the minutes past. Sighing, he pulled himself from the bed and offered to make breakfast. Downstairs, he was in for a worse surprise, when Aoife informed him hat Max had already left, and Lara refused to answer anymore of his calls. He’d couldn’t eat - not that Aoife served him anything - and when Nora came down half an hour later, she was freshly showered and looking a little better. The colour had returned, though she still had shadows beneath her eyes. She was wearing a beautiful white blue trimmed with blue, something she had worn in their earlier days, but for the first time, he barely took it in. His mind was fixed on Lara. Was she angry he hadn’t turned up? Should he head over there? He sent her a message. He left before I woke. Are you okay? X It didn’t deliver.
Aoife turned in surprise when Nora’s arms slid around her middle, but the smile on her face was relieved and genuine. Nora apologised for passing out, but Aoife just shook her head, tilting it to the side in a gesture very familiar to her father’s. “Don’t apologise. It was the least I could do for you. I’m just happy you can still wriggle your fingers.” She began to fill two plates - one for Nora and one for herself - noticing her Da’s mind was elsewhere. This kind of surprised her. Weren’t he and Nora back together? She’d kind of assumed that might have been the case, as they settled around the table opposite him with their breakfast plates.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Dermot was pulled out of his revere by Nora’s voice and he turned to find her looking at him expectantly. “The man… he… Nick destroyed mine. I just want Jock to know I’m okay.” He swiped off his messages and handed it to her.
Nibbling his thumbnail, Dermot watched as she typed in his number and lifted the phone as it connected. This was weird. He knew he’d have to get used to this, Nora and Jock as a couple, but he wasn’t quite sure how. Not so long ago, Nora Samuels had been his everything, and frankly, he didn’t know how to act, what to say. He suddenly wanted to get out of here. He wanted to see Lara.
—
Once again, Jock didn’t sleep. He tried, but after an hour or so of tossing and turning, he’d headed back downstairs. The whiskies flowed too easily. And the more time passed, the more miserable he became. He’d heard no news. Dermot hadn’t ever seen fit to give him anything. Why had he even let him know? To rub it in? To make him suffer?
George was still sleeping when he woke, so he went downstairs and made himself toast, then chased it down with a coffee topped with whisky. Today, he was taking back control. He was Jock Sullivan, for fuck sake, he wasn’t one to sit back and watch the action. But, it seemed fate had other plans, and for the first time, the Gods were beaming down on him. His phone began to buzz, and Jock snatched it up so fast he nearly dropped it. Dermot’s name flashed on the screen and he swiped to answer without hesitation. That feckin’ bastard. “Where the fuck are you? You didn’t pick me up.”
“It’s me, you big eejit.”
Nora. Her attempt at an Irish accent was the best one yet, and Jock felt himself sag with relief. She was alive, she was okay. She sounded okay. He sighed heavily and sank down onto the armchair, pressing a hand to his eyes. A barrage of emotions overwhelmed him, merging with the relief, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.
“Are you okay? I’m okay –”
“I swear to God if you’re hurt-“
“Hey -- I’m really okay, Jock. I’ll be home soon.”
Her laugh was soft, gentle. God, he needed to see her, hold her... “Let me talk to Dermot.” In the kitchen, Dermot looked down at his hands, fixedly looking at every line and crease. He remembered that fondness in her voice; when they’d speak to each other on the phone for hours. He hadn’t missed the ease and speed in which she’d typed in Jock’s number either; how many times had the pair chatted behind his back when Jock was supposedly away? The urge to escape got stronger. Aoife cleared her throat softly, but he didn’t look at her.
“He wants to speak to you.” Nora handed the phone back to him, and Dermot took it, shifting a little in his chair. Jock was shouting before the phone had even reached his ear.
“What the fuck are you playing at?! Why the fuck didn’t you come and get me? Didja have fun playing the fuckin’ hero? Did it make you feel better? You’re such a fuckin’ cunt, Dermot. Fuck yourself, why don’t ya? When I see you, I’m gonna break your fuckin’ nose and that’s a promise.”
“... You done? I’ll bring her home after breakfast,” Dermot replied when he managed to get a word in. Jock was fuming, but he had every right to be. And Dermot didn’t want to fight anymore. “We’ll be an hour tops.”
“Make sure you are,” Jock snarled back before the line went dead. Dermot slid his phone away. Aoife was looking at her plate, picking at her uneaten bacon, but Nora was looking at him, a small crease drawing her brows together.
“I’ve made a mess, haven’t I? Is he mad? Do you forgive him? If you can forgive me, you can do the same for Jock. This is all my fault, Dermot. I’m the one who played games… plus he’s your family.”
There was so much Dermot wanted to ask her. If he hadn’t lied, or if his lie hadn’t been found out, would they have still been together? Or would this break-up have happened anyway? When her feelings for Jock got too strong, when she realised she was wasting years not following her heart? Had it always been destined to end like this, no matter how much Dermot had tried to make it work? But then his gaze shifted to Aoife, then back to Nora, and he knew now wasn’t the right now to ask. But, soon, he would have to. For his own peace, he needed to know. “He’s mad at me, not you,” he reassured her, pushing away from the table. He moved to make another coffee without answering her question about forgiveness. Did he forgive Jock? Maybe. But he felt the real question was whether Jock would be able to forgive him.
He recalled, what felt like a lifetime ago now, standing in Lara’s kitchen as she made them coffee. The way her lips had felt against his cheek, small peppered kisses all the way to the corner of his mouth. He wished he’d turned his head and kissed her properly. He wished he’d reassured her more, been more confident in his decision to be with her. She’d been so convicted in her decision and it had scared him a little, but he was tired of sitting on the fence and trying to be everything for everyone. He’d take Nora home, to where she truly belonged, and then Dermot would try and find Lara. Make her up to her and let her know that he was irrevocably hers. No matter what.
At the table, Aoife found she couldn’t really eat. She noticed Nora glance at her and looked up with a tired half-smile. How had everything gone so wrong for them? Last month, they’d been loving life and planning a wedding and everything had been good, and now? Now, by some perverse turn of events, they were all back in Max’s fucking penthouse as if nothing had ever changed at all. It was so ridiculous, she could have laughed. She noticed Nora’s gaze catch the bruise on her jaw and when she raised an eyebrow, Aoife just gave a light shrug and shook her head. What else could she say when she was starting to lose faith in every male in her life?
As breakfast came to an end, Dermot began to make moves to leave. Nora caught his eye as he slipped his jacket off the back of his chair. “just wanted to chat to Aoife before we go.” He left them to it, and as Aoife began to clear the table, Nora put a hand on her arm and set the plates back down. “Hey,” she said and they both gave an awkward laugh. And already Aoife could feel the prickle of tears. She hadn’t said a word about what had happened last night and part of her was desperate to spill, to find that sisterly support in Nora she needed. “I’m so sorry that I ruined everything last night. You obviously needed some comfort from your dad and I… got in the way, as usual.”
“No, Nora, please don’t think that.” Aoife gave a soft sigh, pushing a hand through her dark hair. “Dad... he isn’t himself at the moment. I wasn’t going to say anything anyway, I just needed some space to ... think about things.” A flush coloured her cheeks. “I was actually really relieved to see you there. I’ve missed you, Nora. So much.”
“I know things have changed but… I still want you to know you can talk to me. About anything. I’m not your future mother-in-law anymore which I’m sorry for, so bloody sorry, but I’m not going to say a word to your dad. Wouldn’t have either way. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Aoife swallowed back the lump in her throat and glanced at the kitchen door, but Dermot was still shuffling around in the front room somewhere. “Me and George had an argument last night. And it got a little ... heated. He just hasn’t been the same recently. I can’t explain it.” She wondered where he was now. At work? She’d already called in before breakfast to say she wouldn’t be coming in; the last thing she wanted was to come across him in the corridor as he delivered a patient. No. It was easier to give them both space to breathe. Nora frowned, quiet for a moment as she thought it over.
“You two have had a tough time. You work too hard and love isn’t the easiest of things. People lie when they say it is. It tests you. It’s a continuous battle, but it’s worth it… for the right person. You just need to be sure George is the right person, for you, and I’m not going to tell you what I think. That’s your decision, and we stand by you no matter what you do.”
Tears brimmed in Aoife’s eyes and she reached out to squeeze Nora’s hand. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Before she could say anymore though, Dermot appeared in the doorway, car keys jingling. Nora glanced at him, then moved close to hug Aoife tightly.
“I’ll say hello to him. He’s with Jock. He’s a little wounded, but he knows to stay away until you’re ready. So just let him know when you’re ready, alright?”
Aoife nodded, watching as Nora left the kitchen, the front door shutting a few moments later as they left. She sank down onto her chair and pressed her face into her hands. George was at Jock’s. That was a good thing, she hoped. Jock would talk some sense into him and set him straight. They’d get past this. She hoped so anyway.
—-
“Is he definitely... gone?”
They were getting into the car when Nora spoke, voice wavering a little in her uncertain. Glancing at her, Dermot saw the panic in her eyes and frowned, a little slow to catch up. Nora sighed and pulled her seatbelt on with her good hand.
“Nick... Did Max… is he gone?”
“He’s gone,” Dermot reassured her firmly, turning on the ignition; the car purred into life beneath them. Still, that didn’t stop Nora pressing down the door lock and sealing them inside. His heart sank a little for her. Despite her breezier attitude this morning, she was still dealing with those mental warnings that danger was still around. He understood that and he didn’t blame her for it. To distract herself, Nora began to fiddle with the radio, as Dermot left the penthouse and made his way towards Jock’s. Truthfully, he was anxious to see his cousin again. Last night had been a foul move in Dermot’s part and they both knew it.
“Are you happy with him?” He said after a few minutes of silence, broken only by snitches of music on the radio. “If I hadn’t... if I hadn’t lied, would things still have turned out the same?” He glanced over at her, brow puckered. “I need to know. For my own peace of mind. Would we have always ended this way?”
He listened to her speak, and it was both painful and freeing. To know whatever he had done wouldn’t have made a difference hurt, but it also gave him another perspective. He would never have been enough for Nora, and not in ways that were either of their fault. Nora had different needs to what he could provide for. That was logical and realistic and something he could hold onto.
“Will you come inside?”
They’d arrived at Jock’s, Dermot pulling up on the drive, and she turned in her seat to face him. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, nerves and apprehension buzzing through his veins and roaring in his ears. This suddenly felt final. When Nora had ended things the night the photograph was seen, it hadn’t felt real. Neither had it even when he’d seen them in the Abbey. And even last night, carrying her from the storage unit... there’d still been something worth fighting for. But now, in this very moment, sat outside Jock’s house, Dermot knew it was the real end. And that made him incredibly sad for what had once been. He couldn’t look at her for a moment, but finally he forced himself to exhale and went to get out the car. Nora stopped him, an equally sad smile on her face when he looked at her.
“Dermot... Will we still be in each other’s life? I want you to be happy, but I also want to be part of your life too. Is that possible?”
Slowly, Dermot nodded. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be a whole lot easier than not seeing her at all. At never seeing Jock... She had been right about one thing today and that was that Jock was family. They were fucking brothers and he couldn’t allow this to ruin them. “I’ll always be here for you, Nora. Both of you. I promise.” He reached up, touching her face for what he knew was the last time. Her skin was warm against his palm and she settled her cheek against his briefly. He smiled softly, then let her go, turning to get out the car.
The door was already opening when they approached. Jock appeared, George not far behind him, and Dermot attempted a smile, even though it felt awkward and wrong. “She’s safe. I’m sor-“
Jock strode to meet him, fist coiling back and smashing Dermot straight in the face. Dermot staggered back, hands reaching to greet the hot rush of blood from his nose. “That’s for not fuckin’ picking me up, you cunt.” Rubbing his knuckles, he looked at Nora with a deeply apologetic look. “Sorry, milseán, but he’s been fuckin’ asking for that. Are you okay? What happened to your wrist?” He glared at Dermot. “Is he dead?”
Dermot nodded. His head and nose ached savagely with each beat of his heart, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stem the bleeding. To be honest, he’d expected worse; Jock was showing some true restraint. “Max dealt with it.”
“Good for fuckin’ him.” Jock’s fists were still clenched and Dermot wondered how much longer his restraint would last. He glanced at Nora before looking back at Jock.
“I should have come. I know. But I’ve told Nora the truth. About Malachi. I should never have done that and -“
“You think I want to stand here and listen to your bullshit apologies?” Jock hissed, stepping forward, and both Nora and George moved to stop him. “Get the fuck out of here, Dermot.”
Dermot shook his head at Nora, who seemed about to protest, then Jock a nod. Then, he looked at George, giving him a once-over. He still didn’t know why Aoife had turned up at Max’s, but if George was here, it couldn’t be good. Giving Nora one last look, Dermot turned and headed back to his car. Once he was on the road again, he tried Lara’s number, but her phone was still off.
—-
Jock watched Dermot disappear, the anger ebbing slightly. His knuckles stung from the punch, but it had barely put a dint in satisfying his bloodlust. The only thing that helped shift that anger was the relief that Nora was alive. “George, go and pour some drinks,” Jock said, letting the younger man leave as he and Nora slowly headed inside.
“Nora, please talk to me. I’m so fuckin’ sorry I wasn’t there, Dermot was supposed to collect me and I had no idea where you were.” He stopped in the doorway, taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to look at him as he searched her eyes desperately. “I just need to know what you’re thinking. Please.”
—-
Lara was a bundle of nerves as she watched Pete jump out the car, Swill following a moment later. She stood, frozen, on the doorstep as he stormed over, and she could see the fury burning in his eyes. A moment before he reached her, she went to turn away, fear clenching her heart, but he was faster. Snatching her wrist tight, Pete pulled her back towards him, and she recoiled a little at the anger in his face. She could smell the stale alcohol roiling off him in pungent waves and wondered if he’d slept in the pub last night.
“I’m gone for one night! What the fuck are you thinkin’? Did he come the second my back was turned? Did he make it easy too?”
“No! Pete, it wasn’t like that, it isn’t like that-“ Swill came up behind him and Pete harshly cut her off, though he released his grip on her wrist.
“Don’t worry, I’ve just come to get my things. Is now a good time, or is the other Sullivan cunt coming round any second now?”
Embarrassment and shame bloomed inside her, face growing hot as an uncomfortable weight settled around her. All the boys probably knew, of course Pete will have told them. “Pete-“ Again, he ignored her, shouldering past her and stalking into the house. He went straight upstairs, and she found herself glancing at Swill. He was staring right at her as if she was nobody, slowly chewing his gum, his lip curled. Lara felt her chest compress and her throat close instantly. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Swill’s eyes narrowed.
“You sure you’re makin’ the right choice?”
Kimmy started to whine in the front room, and Lara turned away without answering him. Moving towards her daughter, she scooped her up, trying to hold herself together as she listened to Pete stomp around upstairs. She’d made a huge mistake. Why had she done that? Pacing the room, she did her best to settle Kimmy, only pausing when she heard Pete return. He barged into the front room, dropping his bag when he caught sight of Kimmy. He held out his arms as he approached and Lara offered her over without a word. “I- I was hoping we could talk. Alone. Sort something out-“
“Listen to me, Lara,” Pete hissed, stepping forward, Kimmy nestled in his arm. “I don’t want to speak to ya. I don’t even want to fuckin’ see ya.” As he spoke,aria took a step back, unable to stop the tears from welling now. She’d hoped he’d at least let her apologise, for everything she’d said, even though she’d known it would never be enough... and then he told her he was taking Kimmy for the day, turning to snatch her changing bag from beside the sofa.
“W-When will you be back?” She asked, following him through to the hall, her eyes fixed on Kimmy’s face; her blonde curls bounced with each step he took, and she winced at his snapped reply that it didn’t matter because she was safe with him. Her father. He left the house first, the changing bag and his hold-all hanging from one hand, and Swill paused to give her one last dirty look. “Get the fuck or if my house, Swill!” She spat, slamming the door loudly on him once he stepped over the threshold. Turning the lock, Lara sank down with a sob, the whole house eerily silent and empty. Both her children gone, her family split. All of her worst nightmares had come true and it was all her fault.
Lara wasn’t sure how long she laid on the floor crying but when she finally picked herself off the floor, she felt sick, her throat ached, and her head throbbed savagely. How was she supposed to fix this? No matter his flaws, Pete had no way deserved what she’d said to him last night, what she’d actually done. She’d betrayed him, she’d trampled over their vows as if they were nothing and than she cruelly taunted him over it. For years, she’d been the abused and while she may not have physically hurt Pete, she knew she’d damned well emotionally ruined him. He had given up so much and yet it hadn’t been enough. Why hadn’t it been enough?
Self-disgust and hatred stewed inside her as Lara trailed, numb, into the living room and turned off the cartoon on the TV. Kimmy’s toys still lay scattered on the rug. Where was he even planning on taking her? Back to the Abbey? With any luck, it would be Steve’s, but Lara had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case after their latest fallout. The Dunhams were stubborn, prideful and hard-headed at the best of times and these fallouts could go on for weeks. And that’s what worried her the most. What if Pete refused to speak to her again? What if she never got the chance to try and fix this?
Lara could feel herself hyperventilating a little and forced herself to sit on the sofa and focus on her breathing. She’d wanted to leave Pete, as horrible as that was to admit, but not under these circumstances. Not like this. After a few minute, she managed to compose herself enough to go upstairs. In the bathroom, she splashed her face with water, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. And not for the first time, she wished desperately that she could turn back time. She’d thrown everything away for Dermot and for what? For him to go back to Nora, his life completely unchanged and unaffected...
Fifteen minutes later and Lara was in the car, making her way to the zoo. She hadn’t quite known for sure where she was heading when she’d first set off, she’d just known she couldn’t be in the house. Not without the children there. Kimmy and Pete would most likely be away most of the day and she didn’t hold much hope of reconcile tonight. She couldn’t talk to Nora either; she had no idea if she knew and she couldn’t make herself to speak to her while pretending nothing had happened, it was wrong. She had literally nobody else...
Until Max’s offer came to mind and she changed direction, too tired to fight it. She felt like shit. Her eyes were sore from crying, but she wanted to see Charlie badly. She needed a tiny bit of her normality back. And maybe a part of her wanted to see Max again too, now the shock of seeing him again for the first time had worn off... It had been like no time had passed at all, Charlie being the only indication of any separation. It had been easy to fall back into conversation with Max. She’d been scared, but not terrified for herself as she’d imagined. Charlie was her only concern; his heart so pure and innocent that she’d never forgive herself if somebody did something to shatter it. Both her children were her life and Lara might have been selfish in some regards, but not when it came to them. Every decision, every sacrifice she had made had been for them. Because she wanted them to have everything she hadn’t, she never wanted to see them struggle.
That was why she hadn’t fought Max. She’d let him take Charlie because Charlie deserved that at least. To know his roots, to know exactly who he was as a person. It was the right thing to do. By the time she reached the zoo, it was packed, and it took Lara a little while to find a parking spot. On the way in, she spotted Max’s car; still empty, car seat in the back. She paused for a moment, feeling strangely relieved. She hadn’t even considered the fact he might not have been here and the fact that he was brought a strange sense of happiness. Maybe he had changed. Maybe, for once, things could be different.
After a little wandering, her ticket in hand, Lara spotted the two familiar curly heads outside the gift shop. She saw Max first, a smile on his face as he sat on a bench; Charlie was seated beside him, and they were both holding identical cuddly lions. She slowed a little on her approach, catching the end of their conversation.
“You didn't have to do that.”
“You said they were your favourite.”
Max looked away with a slight cough, but not before Lara saw the emotion in his face and the slight hint of something deep in his eyes. It was something she’d never seen on his face before and it struck her core unexpectedly.
“Hey,” she blurted out, closing the distance between them. Max looked up and the smile that brightened his face made her stomach clench, and not in a bad way. She felt suddenly ridiculous, standing there. She hadn’t even grabbed her bag before she’d come and had paid for her ticket using change out the car. And she felt strange without Kimmy on her hip or in her pushchair. Consciously, she ran her fingers through her hair and tried to think of a reason she was there. Charlie gave her a moment’s reprieve.
“Mummy!” Sliding off the bench, he laughed himself at her legs and hugged her tight, before holding up the lion. “Look what me and Max got!”
“That’s nice.” She gave her son a warm smile, inspecting the lion at his insistence, before handing it back. “Are you having fun?”
“Yeah!”
Max suggested ice cream, so they stood and made their way in the direction of the kiosk. Charlie ran a little ahead, stopping every few minutes to look at some enclosure or another, his lion tucked firmly beneath his arm. Lara had her arms folded as she walked beside Max, a little unsure now she was actually here. Seeing the happiness on Charlie’s face was definitely a positive though. “You’ve really made his day,” she said, pulling his eyes from her son to finally look at Max properly. She tried to ignore the emotions that warred when she looked at him. “Where have you been?” She asked suddenly, unable to help herself. “All these years? Why... why now? What changed?”
When they reached the kiosk, Charlie was bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet and they broke off their conversation as he tugged on Max’s hand. “Can I have chocolate and banana pleeease? And a chocolate stick?”
—-
The penthouse fell into silence once Dermot and Nora left. Pouring herself a fresh coffee, Aoife pulled out her phone and looked at it for the first time that moring. There were no more messages, but she hadn't expected any. She knew George, he'd give her the space she needed to think. Did he regret what he'd done? Or did he think he'd done the right thing? Proven his point? Or had Aoife proven his point by inviting Luke back in the first place?
Struggling with the guilt that threatened to overwhelm her, Aoife picked up her coffee and carried it through into the front room; two walls were made entirely from glass, overlooking London and giving a great view of the city from this vantage point. She looked out, eyes finding the familiar landmarks. She couldn't see it properly from here, but her eyes lingered on the area she knew the hospital sat. Was George there now? He still had to work. Had he eaten? Slept? Worry gnawed at her insides and she unlocked her phone again as she moved to sit down. Going to her inbox, she saw the two most recent messages. Opening Luke's, she read it again, a soft sigh escaping.
I'm sorry for leaving like that, but I thought it was best. Let me know that you're safe, please? If you need me, I'm here. Luke Winters.
Curling her legs beneath her, Aoife sipped her coffee before setting the mug down on the table beside her. It was better if she put some distance between her and Luke now. She needed to focus on her relationship, on fixing whatever had gone wrong. Last night could have gone completely differently, she'd been balancing on that fine line, and both she and Luke had known it. George had been justified in his actions and she had a lot to make up for. Seriously, what had she been thinking? She'd allowed herself to get carried away and she'd nearly lost her relationship for it. And Aoife loved George, with every fibre of her soul. When she thought of the future, he was in every scene. She wanted to walk down that aisle as soon as they could afford to, she wanted to raise his babies and put a smile on his face every day for the rest of his life. And she was going to do everything to show George she meant it.
Hi, all good here! Please don't worry. Aoife hesitated. She wasn't even sure what to put. She didn't want to offend Luke, but she had to make sure they kept it strictly professional, strictly about his dad. That's why he'd come to her, after all. I hope there's no hard feelings, but I think it's better if we don't meet up again. I'm still more than willing to give you any advice about your dad though. Message me whenever you're struggling. All the best, Aoife.
Award for the most awkward message ever goes to... Aoife rolled her eyes as she sent the message, trying to ignore the sudden churning in her stomach. Then, she deleted his message and moved to the one from George.
Aoife. I’ll fix this. I promise.
Sitting up, Aoife downed a bit of coffee before calling him. She waited for the call to connect. It rang through. She tried again, and after a few rings, he answered. He sounded breathless and she could hear voices in the background and the clang of lockers. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm blared; it was the alarm at the reception desk to indicate an in-coming trauma, and it was as familiar to her as her own alarm. He was definitely at work.
“Hey, I... I was hoping to chat with you, but I can call you back if you’re busy?” George insisted he had time and she shifted the phone to her other ear. Her hands were trembling a little, her heart beating erratically against her ribs. “I wanted to apologise, for last night. I should never have invited Luke back. I... I don’t know why I did, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I want you to know there is nothing going on between us. I love you, George. I love you. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I don’t. I’m sorry for making you feel like you... like you had to do that.”
—-
"Away... A lot has changed, Lara. A lot has also stayed the same…" Max trailed off, seeming to struggle a little with what he wanted to say, and that in itself surprised Lara. He'd always been so confident, arrogantly so, and convicted in what he believed was right that to see him considering his words now made her pause. "So much has happened that you don’t even know. I think you can see for yourself that some drastic things took place..."
Max gestured to his eye and Lara only just managed to bite back the questions. How had it happened? For some reason, it didn't even detract from how handsome he was. In fact, it made him look even more alluring and she couldn't quite explain why. And that made her feel utterly ridiculous. None of this changed the past. None of this changed what he'd done.
"No doubt the same can be said for you. But can we not spend the day talking about those who have done us wrong, and instead enjoy what could be the best day for us yet." Lara nodded, a small crease in her brow, swallowing back the tsunami of questions that wanted to spill. "How about we go to dinner -"" Lara's eyes shot to his and her stomach lurched, but thankfully, Charlie saved her from answering as he bounded over and begged for ice cream.
Max's eyes lingered on hers though, one blue and the other ever so dark and exactly how it should be. Lara tried to ignore the fact she had butterflies as he turned away, allowing Charlie to pull him off. Dinner? With Max? There were a thousand reasons why that was a bad idea, but at the same time, she was a parent, and she owed it to Charlie to keep a healthy and open communication with his father. But what would Pete say? If he saw them now, she could easily pass it off for what it was, but dinner with Max was an entirely different thing. It felt like a betrayal and she'd already betrayed him once.
Lara moved closer, plastering a fake smile as Charlie turned to beam at her. He was handing onto the edge of the counter, as the tender served up the cones. Max asked what she wanted, a genuine question, a genuine smile on his face. It was hard to concentrate because it was disconcerting; this was reality she'd dreamt about for years, as a late-teen and well into her early-twenties. She'd longed to be a mother and do family things with Max, like zoo trips and picnics and holidays at the seaside.
Instead, she'd been dragged into a life that seemed so far away now it was more like an old nightmare, lingering at the edges of her memory. She'd made a life for herself, she was a mother now, and everything she'd ever wanted when she was young was standing right in front of her. One with a smile on his face, one eyebrow raised as he waited for her to answer, and the other currently licking dripping chocolate sauce from the side of his cone. A few minutes later, she was clutching a strawberry ice cream, still in that surreal bubble as they made their way towards the Aquarium.
“Is that good?” Max’s voice broke her from her revere and she glanced down to see Charlie grinning widely, chocolate smeared on his cheeks. The adoration in her son’s eyes was hard to stomach. She could only see he was entirely infatuated by Max, whether that be because they looked the same, or whether Max had a “cool” eye, or a hundred things, but whatever the reason, it made Lara feel uneasy. As if she was intruding on them, when she’d been the one to raise him all these years. She wasn’t even sure how to act.
“Watch your step, Charlie,” she warned him. “It’s about to get dark.” They ventured inside, the cold stone walls enclosing them, the smell of saltwater hitting her nose. The muffled voices and the sound of trickling water was an instant soother and she let out a sigh, rolling her shoulders. They stepped onto the rickety bridge, the rope slick and damp as they slowly made their way across. Lara stumbled a little, grabbing Max’s shoulder without thinking, and when she looked up, he was looking right at her. The intensity made her stomach roil.
“Steady.” His whisper made the hairs on her arm stand on end, and she nodded as she let her hand drop, looking away, an awkward flush in her cheeks. Hopefully he couldn’t tell in the darkness. That mere action had her aware of how long it had been since she’d actually touched Max. It felt strange to be touching a man who’d she’d considered dead. Charlie hurried ahead to press his nose against the fronts of the snake tanks, and Lara was glad to move away from the crocodile-infested water beneath the bridge.
Charlie’s squeal drew their attention to the large tarantula stalking its enclosure, and he seemed quite happy to move onto the fish. His eyes were huge as he raced to the nearest one, full of coral reefs and small darting colourful fish. Another spanned most of the wall, sharks gliding past with glinting cold eyes. People were murmuring in amazement and somewhere aware, a young child was gasping and laughing. Charlie weaves between legs, palms splayed against the thick glass as he peered in. Lara had moved to watch some fat angel fish glide by. Her son reappeared at her feet, then disappeared as he followed the fish around to the other side. She could see his small form distorted in the glass.
The crowds filtered out, but they lingered, happy and content. As happy as Lara could be in this moment, she guessed, when her entire world was burning down around her. Charlie was happy. That was the main thing. He’d taken Pete’s words personally and had been inconsolable all night. Seeing how happy he was now... that’s all that mattered. At least the smile was back on his face.
Lara moved along, not realising she’d gotten close to Max until she drew level with him. They were both looking at the sharks now and the sting-rays that glided like acrobats in the water. Accidentally, her fingers brushed his and her breath caught as she quickly pulled away. His fingers had been hot and she’d felt the rush of electricity run up her arm like a current. Had he felt the same? Was he playing her right now? With the mind games, like he used to? Or was she looking too deeply into it? Expecting the worst when she didn’t need to? Keeping her eyes fixed to the tank, she fiddled with the empty space where her wedding ring was supposed to be.
“Go to dinner with me.” Max’s love whisper sent a shiver down her spine and she glanced at him; he was looking ahead, eyes following the path of a brightly-coloured fish. “Tell me all the things I’ve missed.”
Lara looked away, eyes tracing the coral-studded floor of the tank; huge red crabs scuffled amongst the rocks. How had her life come to this? The sad reality was Max Sullivan was literally the only thing she had left. She had to be strong for her children, but who did she have to turn to? She felt a sudden and vicious longing for her mum; to be held and soothed and told everything was going to be all right.
“But if Dunham ever laid a hand on you…” She saw him look at her from the corner of his eye and her heart picked up speed. He may have hurt her, but it had been nothing compared to the hell Max had put her through. She didn’t know what to say, but luckily, he didn’t seem to want an answer. “You want to know where I’ve been? I’ve been watching you. Watching my son, and when I couldn’t, I asked Dermot every day how you were. That you were safe.” Lara believed it too. Of course Dermot would have kept an eye on things, trying to appease all parties at once.
Max turned to face her fully, his body pressed close against hers, and she could feel his warmth, his solidness, and a part of her wanted to sink into it. She caught the scent of his aftershave and it was so familiar it was like falling into the past. Her heart ached and she shut her eyes when she felt his cool breath against her throat. “I might be many things Lara, but I’m not heartless. I’m fair. You of all people should know that, because you’ve been holding mine all these years.”
“Max!” She’d murmured his name, but Charlie’s simultaneous shout drowned it out. Max pulled away and the sudden distant between them was dizzying; she felt an engulfing chill and rubbed her forearms. Charlie was pointing out a turtle in a tank, declaring it to be a dinosaur, but Lara’s head was spinning too much to even focus on the exchange, on the joy in Charlie’s face. Did Max still love her? She’d never considered that during all of this... after the way things had ended, she’d assumed he hated her. Had assumed he’d returned with the intent of snatching Charlie away from her forever, but this... all of this now? It was making her doubt her convictions, doubt everything she’d come to conclude as fact so far.
If Max still loved her, did he want them to be a family? Was that his aim here?
When they left the Aquarium, Lara felt like she could finally take a breath. She still hadn’t answered his question, but she knew he wouldn’t accept no for an answer. She didn’t want dinner. She wanted space to think and her brain didn’t seem to be working in his presence. In the car park, Charlie yawned, leaning heavily against her legs, still clutching his lion. In a tired mumble, he announced he was sleepy, and Lara turned to pick him up.
“I’ve got to get going,” Max said, and Lara didn’t know if she felt relieved or disappointed. She nodded.
“Thanks for taking him out,” she replied, then wondered if that was something she was supposed to thank him for. He was Charlie’s father, after all. He followed them to her car and watched as she buckled Charlie in. His eyes were already drooping as he fiddled with the ear of the lion. Stepping back, Lara shut the door, turning to find Max close. His body pressed gently against hers, her back against the car door, gaze fixed to his. He had been right in one regard. No matter what happened, they always seemed to find one another again, like magnets drawn through time and space.
“Take me up on my offer. Dermot can take Charlie. I’ll meet you at this restaurant in Soho at 6, okay? I’ll text you the address.”
Her heart had dipped at the mention of Dermot. Max may have been all pleasantries now, but when he found out what they did... Max searched her eyes and she nodded, slow but certainly. Then, he dipped his head, that look of remorse crossing his face again.
“I’ve a long way to go, I know. But at least give me a chance, if not for me, then for Charlie’s sake?”
“Six is fine,” she found herself saying, voice hollow, as if she was listening to herself from far away. “I’ll meet you there.” They said their goodbyes, and Lara climbed into her car and locked the doors, watching his retreating figure. Then, she pulled away and left the Aquarium, Charlie snoozing in the back. She felt sick. Tears welled and the lump grew so large in her throat it was hard to breathe. She didn’t know what to do for the best. She didn’t know what the right thing was anymore. Once again, she was hit by that cursing loneliness and all she wanted was Nora. It was selfish of her, she knew, but Nora would have calmed her down, advised her, told her how it was. Dinner with Max. What the fuck had she agreed to?
Lara somehow managed to keep it together on the drive home. When would Pete be home? What would he say if he found out she was having dinner with Max? What if he told Max himself what had happened between her and Dermot? When she finally reached her house, she saw the car and the figure leaning against it and her whole body tensed. Dermot. He was leaning against his bonnet, legs stretched out, eyes on her as she pulled her car to a stop beside his. She cut the engine, but didn’t move for a moment, eyes flickering to the rear view mirror; Charlie was still fast asleep. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Lara forced herself to breathe steadily.
Her hands were trembling, as were her knees, and she was scared they wouldn’t support her when she got out the car. This was it. This was where he told her he was back with Nora, that she’d destroyed her marriage for nothing. He was probably here to make sure she swore secrecy, to protect his own back. She couldn’t even feel angry anymore. She just felt sad and disappointed and fucking lonely, and she wanted to settle Charlie in bed and pour herself a big fucking glass of wine.
Lara got out, shutting the door gently behind her. Dermot straightened, already closing the distance towards her, but she held up her hand and shook her head, unable to look at him. “Don’t. I don’t need to hear it, okay? I understand. You’re back with her. You love Nora, you’ll always love Nora and what we did was stupid-“
“Wait, what?” Dermot’s words came out confused and breathless. “What are you talking about? I’m not back with Nora.” Surprised, Lara looked up, meeting his gaze. God, he looked so confused it was endearing, brow creased as he gave a frantic shake of his head. Her mind could barely keep up with the turn of events at this point and she was beginning to feel a little dazed.
“You’re not?”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jul 28, 2022 6:39:02 GMT -5
‘Are you happy with him?’
It felt almost cruel to say yes so eagerly so Nora didn’t say anything.
‘If I hadn’t… if I hadn’t lied, would things have turned out the same?’ Dermot turned to her, a sad expression crossing his brow and she felt the weight of all his hurt on her shoulders. ‘I need to know. For my own peace of mind. Would we have always ended this way?’
Nora couldn’t predict the future, but she knew one thing was for sure, they would always have come to this conclusion. ‘We never would have done it differently, even if we’d been given the chance, so why worry about that?’ she asked. ‘You would always do for Max what you have done and I… I…’ she hesitated for a moment, chewing her lip. ‘I think I’ve always loved Jock, but I thought you were more in need of it at the time. Does that make sense? The firs time I saw you, I knew you would be important to me, but in a different way. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. Without you… I wouldn’t know Jock. But I don’t regret what we had. I’m thankful for it.’
They pulled up to the house and Dermot promised to always be there for her, for them and as his hand cupped her face she sank into it for what would be the last time. Revelled in the warmth of his palm, the scent of his cologne, the soft look in his somehow always sad eyes.
Getting out of the car, Nora saw the front door to the house was already ajar and Jock and George came rushing out. Her eyes settled on George first, his shy, embarrassed demeanour, looking for Aoife but usure if he was ready to face her.
‘She’s safe.’ Dermot started and Nora turned her gaze to Jock, seeing the anger on his face. ‘I’m sor-‘
Jock punched him square in the face, sending him stumbling back a little, droplets of blood staining his fresh shirt.
‘Jock!’ Nora squealed, pulse suddenly racing. Weren’t they done with all the games? Standing by the car she wanted to reach out to Dermot but couldn’t seem to move, didn’t want to give Jock more reason to be wound up. Wrapping her arms around her chest she wanted nothing more than to be inside, where it was safe.
‘Sorry, misleán, but he’s been fuckin’ asking for that.’ Jock diverted his attention to her and Nora swallowed. Had he? ‘Are you okay?’ he looked towards the bandage and she hid it behind her other arm. ‘What happened to your wrist?’ she managed a breathless ‘I’m fine’ before he turned back to Dermot. ‘Is he dead?’
In the heat of it all, Nora had forgotten about Nick and bile rise up her throat. She pressed her back against the car, heart hammering. Aware of the bigger picture they were still spitting at one another, playing games, throwing glares for past mistakes. It had seemed so civil in the car, but now they were here she felt foolish. Dermot and Jock spoke for a moment and Nora could see George staring at her. She gave a small smile and he returned it.
‘I shouldn’t have come, I know. But I’ve told Nora the truth. About Malachi.’ Dermot was looking at her now but she was watching Jock, unsure how he would react.
‘Jock –’
‘I should never have done that and –’
‘You think I want to stand here and listen to your bullshit apologies?’ Jock stepped forward so Nora stepped between the two of them, George coming down the steps to grab Jock’s arm, holding him back.
‘Get the fuck out of here, Dermot.’
‘No –’ Nora tried but the look Dermot flashed her a look that pleaded otherwise. ‘Dermot…’ he turned to leave and she felt heavy with sickness. They were supposed to forgive one another. It was supposed to be alright. Swallowing, she turned back to see George releasing his hold on Jock.
‘George, go and pour us some drinks.’ Jock said and George nodded, thankful for a distraction.
Dermot had looked at him in a way he hadn’t liked. What had Aoife said? In the end, he deserved whatever came his way but he wanted a chance to rectify it all first. He didn’t like being the bad man, the one who made the wrong choices and hurt those he loved. Seeing Dermot and Jock fighting, their once harmonising friendship ruined had made him see that everyone was imperfect. It was saddening to see good things ruined so easily. He had fought Luke in the same way, and for much less of a crime.
For all he knew, nothing had happened. No, nothing /had/ happened. He was presumptuous. Dermot had walked away with a bloody nose and a harsh word and that was all. George still wanted to pummel Luke’s face in and he hated himself for it. Busying himself making drinks, he wondered what Nora knew, if Aoife was okay and why wasn’t she replying to his messages.
‘Stop pitying yourself, George.’ He murmured as he flicked on the kettle.
Nora and Jock walked through the doorway and it seemed as if years had passed since she’d been here. How many days ago had she and Jock been living their own fantasy under this roof? Now all she could think of was the cold metal of the storage facility and she wrinkled her nose at the recollection. She hadn’t said anything yet. Words seemed impossible in the unusual situation.
‘Nora, please talk to me.’ Jock stopped, turning to take her hand and she looked down at his large palm enclosed her own. ‘…Dermot was supposed to collect me and I had no idea where you were.’ He gripped her shoulders, desperate for some form of connection and Nora felt briefly sad. ‘I just need to know what you’re thinking.’ A beat. ‘Please.’
Throwing her arms around him, Nora sunk into the embrace, burying her head in his shirt. He smelt like burnt whiskey or a warm bonfire. He smelt like the home she had been running all these years to find. Gripping him tight, she felt tears prick her eyes as he held her back just as strongly. Right now it didn’t matter that he had punched Dermot, it just mattered that they were all safe. They had all begun to take their lives for granted since the boat, and since her time with Nick Walker, Nora wouldn’t do that again.
Pulling back, she wiped her eyes hastily and tilted her head to meet his gaze. They kissed softly.
‘It’s okay. I’ll explain everything.’ Nora finally managed as Jock lead her into the kitchen. George had made them all coffees with a slip of Baileys.
‘It’s nine in the morning.’ He flashed Jock a look who disapproved of the beverage choice. ‘Is.. Is Aoife okay?’ George raised an eyebrow expectantly at Nora who nodded. ‘I’ll be in the other room.’ Excusing himself, he went to sit in the lounge and stared out the window with a heavy sigh. Things needed to change.
In the kitchen, Nora pulled a chair up to the island and sipped her drink. It was strange to think this was where it had all started, or at least where the landslide had begun, backed with years full of unspoken feelings. On this very island they’d betrayed Dermot and she hated herself for it. He was wounded and alone and she needed Jock to fix things.
‘He’s hurting.’ Nora murmured, looking over her cup at Jock. ‘Before you interrupt me, I know he deserves it. But we did things wrong too.’ Glancing at her wrist she sighed. ‘I’m not mad at him for this. I made a mistake and put myself in that position. I let him… I let Nick do this because I wasn’t thinking straight. I was drunk. I was drunk because I was upset, because I hurt Dermot so he hurt me. I broke my own wrist trying to get away from Nick, whilst… whilst he was murdering someone else.’ Nora swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘It should’ve been me…’ running a hand through her hair she took a shaky breath.
‘I can’t stop seeing her face… I didn’t even know her name... So I think of you and Malachi and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how you kept it to yourself. I’m sorry someone else died because of me.’ Tears stinging her eyes, Nora buried her face in her hands.
She hadn’t been the one to kill Charlotte, but it had felt like it was her fault. The weight of that, burdening Jock on top of everything else had been unkind. And Malachi… if it hadn’t been for her, would he have been on that road that night? Would Dermot had drunk and gone out and crashed into someone else? Would Jock even have come back? Chest heaving, Nora pulled Jock close as he came to comfort here.
‘I’m sorry.’ She managed, shoulders shaking. There was a bang behind them as the door slammed and Nora tensed, turning her head to the hallway. George had just left with a huff. ‘Can we go back to bed?’ Nora asked with a sniff. ‘Just for a bit.’
George couldn’t stay where he was for a moment longer. He felt wound up and useless. He didn’t want to waste more time waiting for Aoife. Did she need to be left alone with her thoughts? With Luke no doubt hounding her inbox with his so called help. She was with Dermot and part of him didn’t want to go there just yet. Didn’t want the scolding from the father-in-law. Instead he headed for the hospital.
George was going to quit his job.
It wasn’t the first time he had thought about it, but the first time he was going to follow through. In the beginning when it had been tough, they’d been understaffed, underpaid, he’d written his notice but left it in his locker in a sealed envelope. Part of the reason he hadn’t quit was because he felt he owed them. The world. Now when he thought of them George wasn’t sure who to consider. It had been to make up for his mistakes; to save those who had nobody to save them. Yet now, his them was simply a her and it was Aoife.
The other reason his stomach was in knots as he headed to the managers office. George didn’t want her to be disappointed in him. Being a quitter wasn’t a luxury he had ever been allowed as a child and the guilt weighed heavy. They needed to pay rent, they needed to survive and George didn’t have another option waiting for him. He was risking everything they had to save everything they had. It was a fucking mess.
‘Only weaklings quit.’ Mark’s voice was in the back of his head and George pinched his eyes shut to block it out. ‘Are you a fuckin’ weakling, son?’
It had taken a long time to realise that George in fact did not owe the entire world for other peoples mistakes and admitted his own did not make him weak. Everyone was imperfect, and if a man said he was otherwise, he was a liar. His dad had been a liar. George didn’t want to end up like that; stuck in a loveless, lifeless marriage, one of them buried in a sport and the other on the other side of the continent, slathered in sun cream.
George wanted love, and they had had love -- had love, still. Sometimes it just got buried like a shiny stone beneath a bucket of coal and you had to dig and dig to bring it back to the surface. Time made you forget, it made you lazy, it could make you cold. They were both stuck in such a monotonous routine that they hadn’t stopped to consider one another until someone new had come along. George was not going to let that momentary distraction in the form of Luke Winter’s take his future wife.
He felt his phone ringing and glanced down, seeing her name. Swallowing, his palms suddenly felt hot and he couldn’t bring himself to answer. What if it was something bad? What if she was done? The call died and George felt his heart thumping dangerously. A few moments later and Aoife rang again. He answered just as a loud alarm went off in the background and he covered one ear, turning away.
‘Aoife?’
‘Hey…’ the second he heard her beautiful lilt George felt at peace. ‘I… I was hoping to chat with you, but I can call you back if you’re busy?’
‘It’s fine.’ George replied, bit rushed. ‘I mean, I want to speak to you. Are you okay?’
‘I wanted to apologise for last night.’
Oh, that should’ve been his job.
‘I should never have invited Luke back. I… I don’t know why I did. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I want you to know there is nothing going on between us. I love you, George.’ His heart sang at the purity in her voice. ‘I love you. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I don’t. I’m sorry for making you feel like you… like you had to do that.’
George swallowed. Ecstatic Aoife still loved him, but that feeling dampened by the fact she thought it was all her fault. ‘I love you so much.’ He managed, clearing his throat as emotion threatened to close it. ‘I didn’t know it was possible to find everything I’d ever needed in one person and I’m sorry for not telling you that more. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do. I think I just find it so difficult because… well, you make everything seem so easy, and for me it’s always been hard.’ Running a hand over his face he sighed. ‘I will fix it. I said I will and I promise I will. What I did last night… the way…’ glancing away he couldn’t seem to find the words. How he had touched her had left scolds on his palms. ‘Aoife I don’t deserve you, and I don’t deserve your apology. I was out of order. I was fucking disgusting, and I can never forgive myself for it but it’ll never happen again. I can learn from it, to do better.’
‘Turner, what are you doing here? Didn’t I send you home only a few hours ago?’
George looked up to see the manager staring at him from across the reception desk. He was gathering some notes from one of the nurses, a stethoscope swinging around his neck and bags beneath his eyes. Andrew was mid-forties, a silver fox charm in his white hair and beard.
‘Aoife, I’ve got to go.’ George sighed, wanting nothing more than to ask her where she was and run there to scoop her up like a prize. ‘I love you so much. Everything will be better soon, I promise. I’ll ring you later.’
Hanging up the phone George held the envelope forward and Andrew’s face dropped.
‘Can we have a word in private?’ George asked and the two of them headed into his office.
It was easier than he had expected it. Andrew had been understanding, although of course he was. He had recently gone through a divorce due to the amount of hours he worked and was starting to regret it. ‘I miss her.’ He’d said fondly, her picture still on his desk. They spoke about other options available at the hospital; working the front desk, cleaning, even working at the café, but George shook his head.
‘I want a clean break.’ He said surely. ‘I can’t be surrounded by all this trauma and be the one simply pouring the coffee.’
‘Everyone has a roll to play.’ Andrew had said but George remained adamant in his dismissal of the place. ‘You played yours well, you know?’
George laughed as both off them stood up. They had been talking for about half an hour, about life and all the little things in between. Andrew had asked about his wedding and George realised they hadn’t even set a plan into motion.
‘Next on the list.’ He’d murmured and they’d shaken hands, made a swap of keys after he’d cleared out his locker. Leaving the changing rooms with a small bag of belongings, George stopped and turned to say goodbye to Andrew. The older man put out his hand and they shook firmly.
‘What does Aoife think of this by the way?’
‘She doesn’t know.’ He replied and Andrew raised a concerned eyebrow. ‘It’s for the best, otherwise I’d never do it.’ Turning to leave there was a strange weight lifted, surged with the great unknown. It was both overwhelming and exciting what was to come next.
‘George –’ he had been half way down the corridor when Andrew had called his name. ‘George….’ He filled the gap between them, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he strode. ‘Do you… do you need any help?’ he pulled out his wallet and George suddenly felt embarrassed.
‘I don’t know, do I look like I do?’ George asked defensively and Andrew raised his hands in apology.
‘N-No.’ he stumbled and then chewed his lip. ‘Well. Yeah, a little bit.’ He decided and George knew his face was starting to sweat as his body thirsted for the caffeine tablets. They’d all been crunched up and thrown in the bin that morning and he was starting to feel the withdrawal creep in. ‘But as a friend, I want to help –’
‘Andrew –’
‘Let me help.’ Andrew stuffed a wad of money into his palm, closing it and pushing George back before he could refuse it. ‘Please. Fix whatever you have going on, and just don’t end up like me, okay?’
Watching Andrew walk away, George glanced down the numerous twenty pound notes in his palm and put them in his pocket. This wasn’t how he had expected today to go. With a sigh, he turned and went to say his goodbyes to those he new in the hospital. Some good friendships had been made through the long nights and difficult times. It wasn’t easy to leave but it was easier to go knowing it would make things better.
George was walking through one of the wards when he heard low hushed voices opposite in one of the private rooms. No doubt it was someone complaining about the service they had received, but then George heard a voice he recognised and his ears pricked in interest.
‘I need you both to shut your mouths and open your ears.’
‘Good to see you too.’ Luke murmured under his breath and George’s back stiffened.
‘Something big is kicking off and there’s somebody I need to find. Rosa Croft. I want you to bring her to me. I don’t care how.’
Outside, George let the name Rosa roll in his mind and he realised he had heard it before. She was one of Jock’s friends, she had gone out with Aoife on that girls night all those months ago. Why was Luke involved with that? Was she in trouble? There hadn’t been anything said on her recently, yet even if there had George didn’t doubt he’d have forgotten by now. It was difficult trying to retain everything going on around him that sometimes he just had to focus on one day at a time.
‘I know your background, Winters. I know every address you’ve lived at, I know every petty little arsehole crime you’ve ever done. I understand you’re quite familiar with the dregs of London. Find her.’
George felt his pulse quickening as their conversation came to an end. His cheeks felt hot with discomfort. This proved that George hadn’t been wrong in his belief that Luke was still trying to fool them all. Whatever he was involved in, Aoife wasn’t going to be dragged into the midst of it. He was deceiving dirt and always had been. Anger rising, George went to turn away when he moved too quick and felt himself colliding into a nurse with a metal tray. The tray of bandages and bedpans went flying with a hefty clatter into the air and onto the floor. He cursed under his breath.
What crimes had this man been talking about? Had they been recent?
‘Hey!’ the nurse squealed, furrowing her brow in frustration before she saw who it was. ‘Oh, hey, George. Are you okay?’ she smiled.
George needed to tell Aoife, now.
‘Yeah.’ Helping scoop up the items off the floor, he shoved them back into her hands, his eyes flickering towards the door every few seconds. ‘I’ve got to go --
‘Turner?’ Luke appeared in the doorway, a smarmy eyebrow raised and the look on his face made George want to pummel him all over again. He had a dark bruise on the bridge of his nose and under his left eye; that gave him some sense of satisfaction. A moment later and Brian Shaw appeared.
George didn’t know who this man was, but knew enough to know he spelled trouble. The only way to handle this was to dive in head first; he could play Luke at his own game and stamp him out, stop him being able to manipulate or infest anyone else’s life. And he had a right to protect his family and Jock was family and Rosa a friend of his, and it appeared she needed saving.
‘Winters.’
—————————- Max hadn’t liked the resistance Lara had had. There had been a hesitation with her acceptance of dinner, and he didn’t know if it was nerves or something more. She was overwhelmed, he told himself. She was most likely getting divorced, and the feelings reignited at seeing Max again had caught her off guard. Truth be told, he knew he loved her, but the wave of longing inside him had been overpowering. Sometimes you forgot how much someone meant to you, especially when they’d been gone for so long.
There had never been a night that Max hadn’t considered her. Sometimes it was a fleeting dip into nostalgia as he felt the crispness of his shirt and imagined it draping off her body as she stood in the doorway, a teasing smile on her face. A momentary feeling, like static in the tips of his fingers. Other times it was more, like when he was being ridden by brunette and felt dissatisfied and bored.
As much as he thought Dermot was a spiralling mess, destined for destruction if he wasn’t realigned, he was thankful he had helped with this. With keeping his family afloat. Because that was what they were. They were Max’s family and he would forever be grateful for the updates, the photographs, the stories of how Charlie had scored a goal against some muggy West Ham cunt during five-aside.
If Dermot hadn’t been here the whole time, being the protective eye Max couldn’t, then who knew where they would be now. Would Lara have left? Would Charlie had been less accepting of him when he’d returned? Perhaps Lara wouldn’t even trust Max with his own son if she didn’t trust Dermot. The thought made him briefly uncomfortable and as he got back in his car, Max swallowed the bitterness.
The problem with Dermot was he never knew when someone was getting too close. He was naïve, in that sense. A woman could be sat on his lap before he’d see the signs. It was a wonder he had gotten so far with Nora. But Dermot wasn’t Lara’s type, he thought as he pulled off and headed back to the penthouse. He was both too soppy and volatile, in a way that Max wasn’t. At least you knew the darkness that slithered inside of him was regular and expected, which coiled and sprang sporadically within his brother.
He also didn’t like that perhaps Dermot believed Max now owed him for this. That now he potentially owed him a favour for the small gestures he had done. Letting him and Nora stay in his penthouse had been enough of a reward for them, and Max Sullivan didn’t owe anyone anything. Need he even mention Nick Walker? If anything, Dermot would always be in his shadow, always in debt and always providing whatever Max wanted when he called.
It had never really been a cause for concern in the past that Dermot could ever be a threat, so as soon as the thought entered his head, it dissipated. Max felt strange, he wasn’t thinking right. Somehow things had fallen more into place than he’d expected and now he wasn’t sure what to do. Lara had turned him down, and yet come to find him. Why? She felt strangely reassured and protected in his presence. She liked the attention, the way he looked at her as if he could slam her against the wall and kiss or kill in a matter of seconds.
Pulling into the garage, Max sit for a moment and just listened to the engine purr. He could see Dermot wasn’t here, so hopefully neither was Nora or his arrogant offspring. Something about Aoife mad Max nervous. Perhaps it was the fractions of Suzie he could see inside her, or the potential to have the same darkness as her father. She had a mouth on her and didn’t seem afraid of anyone or anything. Maybe one day she would pick a fight with the wrong person and learn her lesson.
It was also strange how much she had grown. Max could remember her being small with rosy, freckled cheeks, clinging to Dermot’s leg as they spoke in a back garden in Ireland. She was hiding behind Dermot, glancing every now and then at Max who flashed a glare. Aoife could’ve been no more than five with big, round eyes narrowing uncertainly at him. Max couldn’t remember what was being said, but him and Dermot were arguing, voices getting raised when Aoife came and shoved him in the stomach.
‘Stop it!’ Ferocity in such young eyes had caught him for a moment and Max swallowed.
Gathering his composure, he’d raised his gaze to Dermot and looked less than impressed. ‘Sort out your leanbh.’ Max had hissed, still feeling the hot glare from Aoife on his face. She was stood between them, as if diffusing two bulls. He went to push her away but she shoved at him again, trying to push him back.
‘Stop. Fighting!’ She demanded and Max had to laugh in disbelief.
Charlie didn’t have that same fire, yet. Not that it mattered. There was a difference between confidence and arrogance, and being a spoilt daddys-girl had made Aoife believe she was invincible. She also used the name Sullivan as if it were her shield to wield, yet came running home to Dermot at the slightest inconvenience. Would Charlie be like that when he was older? Max was finding it difficult to settle in the in-between. He wanted his son to be loved and assertive, but he didn’t want him to depend on anyone, yet… he wanted someone to depend on him. Max wanted to be wanted; it was his biggest character flaw.
Brain stinging from all the unsure contradictions, he pinched the bridge of his nose and got out the car.
He would meet Lara tonight and they’d take it from there. There was no point worrying about the future, when this time last year Max hadn’t really cared about future. He lived to survive, he didn’t live with the thought of a wife and child in mind. There had never been anyone else to consider and then was alien and made his stomach flip in all the wrong ways. Picturing Lara leaning into him, the darkness of the aquarium encasing them, he desperately wished he’d had kissed her then.
Heading inside, Max relished in the silence. There was no one making toast or boiling the kettle, or using all the hot water. For a brief moment it suddenly seemed too quiet. Charlie always wanted to point something out, or he was humming or giggling, running and grabbing his hand. Now there was a dull static in his ears and he blinked away the unusual sensation.
Max wondered if this man would show.
What had he even been thinking, inviting him here? It had made sense in the heat of it all, but now it was just another person he was adding to his list who could potentially betray him. Then again, it couldn’t hurt to have a few extra hands, especially now Max had a son to raise, right? Pouring himself a drink, Max glanced down at his watch and flicked on the news.
He hadn’t really had five minutes to see what had been circulating from last nights events. It hadn’t been his best work, but it had done the job. There was no way to trace what had happened, and the police only ever wanted things closed, not ongoing. They might have raised concern for the girl, but people like her were always turning up dead, especially in London. A runaway, a prostitute, a drugged up abused wife; there were lost souls littered everywhere, and not every one of them could be saved.
Again, Max wondered if Lara had made headlines when he’d left her for dead. She could’ve told them about him; she knew everything. There was only one person in the world that new everything about Max Sullivan, and it wasn’t Dermot. There were just some things that love could squeeze out of you. But she hadn’t. Was that because no one would listen, or because she still loved him? It wasn’t because she was afraid of him. If she was, surely she would never have had the courage to leave in the first place.
Who knew what the reason was, but she had saved him and his secrets.
Switching off the news, Max wandered around for a few moments before heading to one of the spare rooms. Leaning in the doorway, he looked at the king size bed, the built in shelving and wooden floors. A neutral guest room. In his hand he was holding the lion Charlie had given him and went to place it on the bed, nestled between the pillows. This would be his sons room now.
A beep behind him indicated someone was near the property and Max moved back into the kitchen, glancing down at the security camera. From where Benji stood, Max couldn’t yet see Tristan and buzzed him inside. He wasn’t the usual type that Max would work with, and that wasn’t him being prejudice; he was, in all honesty, too common.
If you wanted to attract a certain class of people, you had to also /be/ that class. He could scrub up though, Max thought; everyone had the possibility to improve, all you needed was a little money. Take Winters; Max could remember him being all scruff and Fred Perry and now his suits were clean cut and precise. It made the difference.
Pouring himself a fresh drink, Max leaned against the counter as he heard the elevator ding. As the doors opened, Max felt himself swell with power. This strange man no doubt had confidence, but Max knew he made him uneasy. He always made people feel unsure, and he revelled in it.
‘Welcome.’ Max greeted, raising his glass.
‘I uh… thought about what you said.’ He started and Max raised an eyebrow, something catching his eye at his side. ‘This is Charlotte’s kid. Tristan.’
For a second Max didn’t know what to say. The old him would’ve forced them out without a word, but now he felt different. He couldn’t help but see things different. Tristan looked a little older than Charlie, eyes full of bewilderment and still slightly red from crying earlier. He stood behind Benji in the same way Aoife had to Dermot. They saw someone as their protector.
‘Charlotte?’ Max asked, brow furrowed before he understood. ‘…Oh.’ Running a hand over his face, he placed his drink down and stepped forward. It hadn’t really occurred to him that a child had been involved. The woman on the news, whose blood Nick had been covered in before Max had pierced a bullet through his brain. Swallowing, he found himself approaching Tristan.
‘Hey.’ He towered over him and Tristan slunk back, hiding behind Benji’s legs. ‘Me and…’ Max glanced at Benji, realising he didn’t even know his name. When he confirmed it, Max nodded. ‘… Me and Benji need to speak in private, if that’s alright with you?’
If you would’ve told Max two years ago that he would be in this position, he’d say you were mad. He couldn’t help but see Charlie in him and this new side of him twanged with the urge to protect. That didn’t make him any less capable of murder, and he would remind any of that if they dared to question his sudden morals.
‘I’ve got a son about your age.’ Max got down onto his haunches, reaching into his back pocket.
Benji jumped into protect mode then, as if concerned Max was going to pull a gun and he raised one of his hands in surrender, the other pulling a bag of sweets from his back pocket.
‘This is twice I’ve surrendered to you now.’ Max murmured, throwing a glance at Benji. ‘It won’t happen a third time.’ Eyes flickering back to Tristan, he held the sweets out as an offering. ‘I got these for my son, but you can have them if you like.’
Tristan looked hesitant and Max sighed, bringing himself back up to his full height. ‘I’ll be in the lounge, when you’re ready. Tristan can stay in here.’ He handed the sweets to Benji before moving into the lounge. He was kind, but his patience easily wore thin and he didn’t want to suddenly look soft. Shooting Walker in the head had been a good way to gain authority, but that could easily disappear.
Grabbing a glass off the drinks cabinet, Max poured Benji a drink and placed it on the side. Whilst he and Tristan spoke, he looked out of the window at the world below. Now this man was suddenly a parent, and bringing a child to place like this, he must’ve been desperate. So his family were unsupportive, or non existent. Or was the child his? No, too white. Chewing his lip, Max sipped his port with a sigh.
When Benji finally joined him, Max looked over his shoulder. ‘Shut the door.’ He ordered and then nodded at the other glass. ‘That’s for you. Sit with me.’ Max made his way over to one of the armchairs. ‘I was serious when I offered this invite to you, but this isn’t a creche.’ Pausing, he swirled his drink. ‘So you know who I am. I have a son, I get it. But foremost I have always been a business man. As you know from last nights events… I don’t hesitate with what I do. Do you think you could do that too?’
As Benji sat opposite him, Max took a moment to take in his appearance. He was strong, broad, but his fashion made him look like some street corner drug dealer and Max wondered if that was all he was. ‘I have plenty of pushers, I’m not looking to add another mule to my herd.’ He murmured. ‘Tell me what you know, what you’re capable of. I’m guessing you sell pills to kids, but you know you’re worth more than that. You love your family and when I say familyI mean whoever the fuck it is you work with because no doubt that’s all you have left. You think you owe them, you can’t betray them because of everything they’ve done for you, but your palms are itching and you’re restless. I can help with that.’
Max looked expectantly at Benji and let him tell his story. About Lucien and Charlotte, about his youth and petty theft and computer skills. Everything and anything to make him appear useful.
‘You probably had all intents to settle down once you met Charlotte, huh?’ Max flashed a somewhat apologetic look. ‘I won’t humour you and say I’m sorry, because I’m not—‘ Benji snapped something but Max carried on ‘—and I never will be. I’m not sympathetic, and I know we’re not looking to be friends. What I did wasn’t for you, it was just personal, okay? You don’t owe me and I don’t owe you, I’m just looking for a partnership.’ He raised his glass. ‘What do you say?’
Benji still had his guard up at the mention of Charlotte and Max felt his jaw tense. ‘— I have one rule.’ He cut across. ‘You don’t disrespect me. Do you understand? I’m not here to help you get vengeance, but I will do one thing for you…’ He paused for a moment, finishing his drink, letting the question hover above them. ‘The funeral, for the girl — for Charlotte.’ He corrected himself when Benji said her name. ‘I’ll pay for it, for everything. The boy doesn’t deserve to say goodbye any other way. Then I’m done with the favours. You work for me, but only me.’ Placing his glass down he leaned forward. ‘If you want to keep working with this little pal Lucien, then go ahead and forget my name. Otherwise you need to tell him Max Sullivan is in town and wants to take his business. It’s your choice.’
It was simple. Max wanted Benji, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Benji however was as loyal as a dog and wouldn’t leave what he knew, so an ultimatum was given. As much as Max didn’t care for street dealings, it would be good to have a hand in a few more pies. He had a feeling Lucien wouldn’t be so humble, but then Max wouldn’t always play so nice. Someone always has to be on top and if just so happened to always be him.
‘Do you want another drink?’ Max asked, looking at Benji’s empty glass. ‘You look ciaptha by her, you know. Haunted. The girl she saved is my dearthairs fiancé. The world is shit, I know that’s no consolation but i thought you should know.’
They spoke for a few minutes more when there was a knock at the door and Tristan appeared, looking on the verge of tears. Had he been listening? Looking over at him, Max frowned. ‘We’re done now.’ He murmured, pulling himself up. Tristan was looking at him with great uncertainty and Max realised not every child found his features appealing. Pointing at his face, he gave a small chuckle. ‘I’m one of the good guys.’ He reassured Tristan. ‘Trust me.’
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jul 31, 2022 7:23:26 GMT -5
“You’re not?”
Lara was looking at him with genuine confusion. For a moment, Dermot could only stare at her; it was almost startling how aware he was of her now he was back in her presence. The way her hair fell, her slightly-defensive stance, the way she tilted her chin. The readiness for a fight in her eyes. Truthfully, he hadn’t known where else to come. Hadn’t wanted to be anywhere else. He hadn’t wanted to go back to the penthouse and deal with Aoife’s bad mood, and he doubted he’d be winning any father of the year awards because of it.
He’d cleaned himself up after leaving Jock’s, hating the expression on Nora’s face; pity and anguish. And the fury and disgust on Jock’s face had been terrible... still, Dermot hadn’t expected everything to just fall back into place. He’d have to work harder to fix the bond between them because neither had the moral high ground now. It was a case of stubborn Sullivan pride, but Dermot knew he could fix it. Things would get better. They had to.
We never would have done it differently, even if we’d been given the chance, so why worry about that? You would always do for Max what you have done and I… I… I think I’ve always loved Jock, but I thought you were more in need of it at the time. Does that make sense?
It did make sense, even if it shouldn’t have. Max had been his life for so long that he didn’t think he could ever turn his back on his brother, not truly. And by the sounds of it, the attraction between Nora and Jock had been there from the start. At least they’d had the decency of trying to smother the sparks. If it had been as inevitable as it seemed, then Dermot felt a little easier about moving on. He wasn’t some lovestruck teen, after all. He could recover from this. As long as Nora was happy, that was the main thing.
The first time I saw you, I knew you would be important to me, but in a different way. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. Without you… I wouldn’t know Jock. But I don’t regret what we had. I’m thankful for it.
He had held those words close to his heart as he’d driven to Lara’s. Lara, who was the only person he was desperate to see right now. He needed her to know how he truly felt, even if it was sudden. A little seed that had always been nestled between them suddenly coming into bloom. And he wanted to apologise for not being quicker this morning, for not being here for her like he should have been. And looking at her now, the startled confusion in her eyes... he wanted nothing more than to take her face into his hands and kiss her mouth until her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen. She looked beautiful; the ends of her hair catching the breeze, lips parted slightly, the dress hugging her figure perfectly.
“You’re not with Nora? But, I thought - Max said...” Lara narrowed her eyes and the action made her look even more breath-taking. “You were with her last night. And this morning.”
Dermot sighed softly, but his eyes never left hers. “I was with Nora last night. I...” He glanced away, dampening his bottom lip. She deserved to know the truth. “Nora was kidnapped.“ He filled her in, leaving out a few of the unnecessary details, about what had occurred at the storage unit with Nick. Lara looked horrified and he reassured her Nora was safe. “I took her back to the penthouse, but we didn’t spend the night together, I promise you. Max assumed wrong.” His features softened a little; Lara still looked disbelieving, arms now folded over her chest. “We spoke, that’s all. About where we wanted to go from here. She wants Jock. She loves him, and... I think I’m okay with that, Lara. Actually... I know I am.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Dermot tilted his head and glanced back at the house. “Can we talk inside?” He attempted a smile. “I didn’t quite envisage this conversation on the driveway.” His smile widened a little when she rolled her eyes, but to his relief, she turned to get Charlie out the back. He stirred a little, then carried on sleeping, slumped against her shoulder as she carried him to the door. Dermot gently took the keys from her hand when she struggled to find the right one, unlocking and pushing open the door, then stepping aside to let her go first. Shutting the door behind them, he followed her into the hall.
“I’ll put Charlie to bed. Can you make the drinks?” Lara asked over her shoulder, before heading upstairs with her sleeping son. Dermot watched them go before heading into the kitchen to make coffee. When Lara returned five minutes later, he’d just finished making the drinks, and he turned to set hers on the table. He looked at her, trying to judge her mood. She was angry with him, that much he could tell. He wondered where Pete and Kimmy were too, then mentally scolded himself for not paying attention to that sooner. A quick glance told him she wasn’t wearing her ring. His stomach churned but she was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to talk.
“I didn’t give you a solid commitment yesterday, Lara, and that was wrong of me,” he began, a little hesitantly. “But, I realised something, when I was with Nora... It felt a little like I was betraying you. I care a lot about you, I always have done. Actually, I love you, Lara Smith. I should have been here this morning. D-Did you go out with Max and Charlie?” He listened as she told them about that morning, and Max’s offer to go with them. She trailed off a little when she mentioned Pete returning home and Dermot could feel the weight of the unsaid words. He leaned back against the counter, watching her.
“What happened between you and Pete?” He asked softly. By the sounds of it, he hadn’t even been here last night. Lara began to explain about the argument, about what Pete had said about Charlie being a mistake, and how she’d told him about Dermot in retaliation. So, it was just as serious for her as it was for Dermot. Her marriage was over and now he would do everything to help her pick up the pieces. It was a little difficult to know how he was feeling; no regret at all, but hearing about her day with Max had sparked a little envy in him, and the thought of Pete calling Charlie her biggest mistake... that infuriated him. Charlie was a blessing, a bright light amongst all the darkness in the world.
Lara looked upset. Pushing away from the counter, Dermot approached her and drew her close. Running his fingers through her hair, he slid his free hand beneath her jaw and angled her face to his. “It won’t be easy, but we can get through this, together. I’m not going to leave your side, Lara, not again. Last night was the last time. You don’t have to do all of this alone.” He searched her eyes, fingers gently trailing her throat before he shook his head softly. “I mean it when I say I love you. You can trust me, okay? I know... I know I don’t have a great track record right now, but please believe me when I say you are my priority right now. You, Charlie and Kimmy.”
She shifted, murmuring something, her hands reaching to slip around his neck as she leaned up into the kiss. Their mouths met, her lips parting beneath his, and Dermot groaned softly, hand falling to the small of her back. They kissed for a few moments, before she gently pulled away, catching his eye. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Dermot listened as she explained about Max invitation to dinner, and he frowned, glancing away. Of course. If Max believed things were over between her and Pete, he’d see no reason why she wouldn’t go back to him. It had always been Max and Lara, always. Why would he think any different?
“Go to dinner. I’ll take Charlie back to the house.” His eyes flickered to hers; they both knew he didn’t mean the penthouse, but the house he’d taken her back to that night. He’d have to buy some toys, some food, but there were still a few hours to go before she left. She nodded, telling him she would meet him there after. “Lara... humour Max for now. Please. After we’ve calmed things with Pete, then we can figure out what we’re going to do about Max. If... if this is what you want to do.” Because he did. He wanted to be with Lara no matter what came their way, and he prayed she felt the same.
When she answered, he kissed her again, desperate to feel her against him once more. But, he knew this wasn’t the time or the place and with a reluctant groan, he pulled away. “I’ll be back at half five to pick up Charlie. If Pete comes back, or if anything happens, call me. I’ll be right here.” She glanced guiltily towards where her phone lay turned off on the side, but he just smiled and pulled her in for one last kiss. “I won’t be long.”
——
It had been an endless and agonising night for both Benji and Tristan. They’d stopped at Benji’s so he could gather a bag of belongings, and then headed back to Charlotte’s. They'd eaten take-away in the front room, the children's channel on the TV so they could both avoid the news. Benji had risked a peek while Tristan had taken a toilet break and it was the main story of the night; repeated helicopter images of the storage unit and the smoldering remains of Charlotte's car. He'd turned it off as soon as he'd heard the toilet flush upstairs, but his mind had been reeling and he hadn't been able to eat anything else afterwards.
Not that either of them had eaten much. Tristan had chewed the ends of about two chips, then left it abandoned on the coffee table. He wasn't talking much. Benji didn't feel like talking either. It wasn't as if he could say anything he hadn’t already said, comfort him anymore than he was. Tristan needed time to adjust.
Charlotte wasn't here and nothing was going to change that.
When it grew late, Benji took him to bed. Tucked him in and murmured goodnight. He wasn't sure if Tristan was feigning sleep or not, but he didn't reply, and Benji knocked off the light before he left. Entering Charlotte's room, he looked around. Would it be wrong to sleep in here? It smelt like her perfume, which stood in a decanter on her vanity table. He’d taken the pregnancy test out the bathroom earlier and put it in her bedside drawer. He moved to slide the drawer open, staring at it. Another life. A life nobody but Charlotte had known about. Tristan’s future brother or sister snatched away by a fucking maniac. Benji shut the drawer.
The bed didn’t feel right, so Benji gathered her duvet and pillow and laid it out on the floor. Laying down in the darkened room, he shut his eyes and inhaled her scent. It was as if she was here now, her essence, her spirit around him. Tears came and he didn’t stop them. I’m gonna do good by Tristan, I swear. I’ll never break my promise.
The pain was unbearably deep and it was almost scary how intensely they’d connected in the extremely short time they’d known each other. Because Benji felt as if he’d known her forever. He couldn’t even remember life without her in it. And it fucking hurt and he hated himself for failing her. For failing Tristan when he hadn’t been there to protect his mother. He wished he’d been killed, he would have died for her, he would have taken those knives wounds if it meant she could have escaped.
For hours, he tortured himself over the what ifs. He should have finished Nick when he had the chance, way before it got to that point. The moment he’d seen the cunt lay a hand on Charlotte, that first day they met... he should have ended him right there. Why hadn’t he? Charlotte might have hated him and seen him as a brutal stranger, but it would have been worth losing the brief relationship if it meant she’d have lived. Tristan would have come home from school today and Charlotte would have made dinner as he did his homework at the table. It would have been normal. It should have been normal.
Tristan’s nightmares started not long after midnight. Benji must have fallen asleep at some point, but he woke with a jolt at the sound of shouting and scrambled to his feet. Rushing into Tristan’s room, he flicked on the lamp to see he was writhing, but still asleep. “Don’t hurt my mummy! Leave her alone!” The words leaving his mouth tore Benji’s heart afresh and he swallowed back the surging emotion and sank down on the edge of the bed. He grabbed the boy’s arms to still him.
“Triss, wake up, man. It’s just a nightmare. Triss.” He watched Tristan wake, confused as he looked around. His gaze settled on Benji and he saw the realisation hit before his face crumpled and he began to sob. Benji pulled him up and hugged him tight and promised him everything was going to be okay, though he wasn’t even sure how. How would this ever be okay? This went on through the night. Tristan woke twice more and by the early hours, Benji gave up on sleep and went downstairs. He made them toast and they sat, watching the endless stream of cartoons and saying nothing at all.
Around mid-morning, Tristan fell asleep, head lolling against the arm of the sofa. He was wearing an oversized red hoody, which was pulled up over his head. Benji left him to sleep and left to make another coffee. The black business card Max had given to him was still on the side and Benji picked it up as he waited for the kettle to boil. The address was only a half an hour drive from here, but then he frowned and tossed it down. He seriously wasn’t contemplating this shit, was he? The Sullivans were big fucking business and, maybe a week ago, he would have been more than willing for a chance to rub shoulders with the Top Boys of London, but things had changed. He had Tristan to think about. He came first over everything.
Turning away, Benji made his coffee, then headed upstairs to take a quick shower. It was clear to him that however long Nick had been on the scene, he hadn’t been a member of this house. Everything was set up for her and Tristan. From his frog-shaped soap dispenser on the sink to her vast array of different hygiene products and fancy soaps to the two toothbrush holders on the windowsill; one small and blue, the other long and purple... no man had lived in this house. And he wasn’t egotistical enough to get satisfaction at the fact of being the first man to live here... it was more a sense of sadness. Nick had burst into her life and ended it in the most disturbing way. He’d used her for his own gain, with no regard to the life she was living, and the life she was also supporting. Clearly, Tristan had been her world. And heart-breakingly, she was Tristan’s.
He showered, using her pomegranate body wash, fingers lingering on the bottles as the water cascaded on him. Knowing she was the last to touch them, to use them. He sighed, then turned and shut the water off. Once he’d dried and dressed, he sat on the edge of Charlotte’s bed and rang Lucien. He told him everything; how he’d met Charlotte and Nick, how he’d gotten Reggie to track them, and what had conspired that night. “Fam, I’m taking a break. Get some of the mandem to cover my end.”
“How long for, cuz?” Lucien sighed, but he didn’t argue, and Benji felt grateful for it. If anything, he knew he could rely on Lucien; they were closer than brothers and had been ever since they were in nappies.
“I don’t know, man. I have some shit to deal with. Social and shit, y’know. I gotta look clean, fam.”
“Aight, man, I got you covered.”
After, Benji headed downstairs. Tristan was awake, remote in hand, eyes fixed to the TV. Benji glanced at the screen, his stomach dropping; he was watching the lunchtime news. “...was stabbed seven times at a storage facility-“
“Tristan, what are you doing?” Benji strode forward, snatching the remote control. He pointed it at the TV just as a photo of Charlotte flashed onto the screen. His breath caught and he faltered; she was smiling at the camera, no beaming, and she looked so beautiful, the shock of it hit him like a sledgehammer. She had her arm wrapped around a child with a blurred face, a child he knew to be Tristan. Neither of them said anything; neither of them could take their eyes off Charlotte.
“... And in other news, a dog with a taste for jellied eels!”
Benji turned off the TV and lowered the remote. The silence was deafening. Blinking back tears, Benji gave a hard sniff and forced composure, before turning to face him. “You shouldn’t be watchin’ the news.”
“He stabbed her? Why did he do that?” Tristan looked up at him, and though there were tears in his eyes, his jaw was tightly clenched as he battled an inner anger.
“I don’t know.”
“But, why? What did Mummy do? Why does he hate us?”
“I don’t know, Tristan!” Benji knew he shouldn’t have snapped as Tristan flinched, but his blood was roaring in his ears and he didn’t know. He didn’t fucking know. Tristan flung himself out the chair, furiously wiping his face.
“I hate you!” He turned and ran from the room.
“Tristan!” Following quickly, Benji managed to snag his arm before he reached the stairs. He pulled the boy around, kneeling down and grabbing his shoulders. Tears streaked his own cheeks, he couldn’t hold it back. Seeing Charlotte’s face had really brought the reality home and knowing Tristan knew the facts... “Listen to me. There’s bad fuckin’ people in this world and they do terrible shit. Absolutely awful things to people who don’t deserve it. Your mum didn’t deserve this, Triss. I don’t know why Nick killed her, I don’t know and I’m sorry.” Swallowing hard, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Some people are fucked up and there’s no answer for it.”
“He’s going to come and kill me too,” Tristan whispered, voice ragged, and Benji fixed him with a firm gaze.
“No. He’s dead. He ain’t comin’ back, I promised you that.”
His lower lip wobbled. “How do you know that?”
Benji took him by the shoulders, looking intently at him. “Because I watched him die. I made sure of it. Do you understand what that means?” Tristan said nothing for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“You killed him.”
Benji tilted his head. “... A friend did. But, he can never hurt anyone again and that’s all that matters. But, we can’t tell anyone, aight? We have to keep this between us. Because we trust each other and trust is important.” Again, the boy nodded. “Good. Now go and get dressed. I think we should go out for a bit.”
“... I’m glad he’s dead.” Tristan had turned away, but Benji caught the whispered words, and he straightened slowly as Tristan made his way up the stairs. He hoped he hadn’t made this any worse than it already was. He went into the kitchen, finding his now-cold coffee and the Sullivan business card. Benji picked it up again and toyed with it. He checked his watch, then glanced towards the doorway.
“Oh, fuck it,” he murmured and prayed he wasn’t making the wrong choice.
—-
Max Sullivan’s penthouse was something to behold. The underground car park was filled with luxurious cars and both Benji and Tristan failed to take their eyes off each one as they passed towards the elevator. Max had buzzed them in and Benji felt a prickle of apprehension as they stepped into the lift and ascended upwards. Tristan looked at him and Benji offered him a small smile. “When we’re done here, we’ll ‘ave McDonalds for dinner, yeah?”
When the doors slid open, Max was already waiting for them. Relaxed, a glass to hand. Benji gestured for Tristan to follow and stepped inside, glancing about. “I uh... thought about what you said.” He hesitated, then looked down at Tristan, who was lingering close to his side. “This is Charlotte’s kid. Tristan.”
—-
A look of anguish crossed Nora’s face the moment before she threw her arms around him, sinking her face into his chest. Her hands fisted his shirt and she held him close, and Jock encased her and kept her against him. He could feel her body trembling, heard her sniff as she fought to hold back tears. And his stomach turned over as the scenarios began to flood his mind. Nora might have been safe, but that didn’t mean she was okay.
What had Nick done to her? He was angry at Dermot, but he couldn’t help but feel relief that no matter who had saved her, somebody had. At least it had been Dermot. He looked at her cast and knew Aoife must have played her part; it was too cleanly done to be either Sullivan brother. The thought of Max even being near her made bile rise in his throat. Why couldn’t Dermot see the danger they were in with that nutjob around? Sighing softly, he pressed his lips against the top of her head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. She was back with him and that’s all that mattered. These past few days had been the worst of his life. Not knowing where Nora was, or if she was even alive... Jock couldn’t contemplate a future without her. He couldn’t imagine ever waking up without her by his side.
Nora pulled back a little, wiping her eyes with her good hand, then tilting her head to meet his eye. He lowered his head and kissed her softly, relaxing a little when he felt her respond. “It’s okay. I’ll explain everything.”
He nodded, kicking the door shut behind them and leading her into the kitchen. He noted the Baileys bottle on the side next to the steaming mugs of coffee, but at his comment, George just flashed him a look, and Jock decided this wasn’t a battle worth having. As long as Pup hadn’t snuck anything extra into his own... George asked Nora if Aoife was okay, and Jock took his coffee and moved to take a seat. Nora nodded, waiting until George had excused himself before taking a seat with Jock. She sipped at her coffee in quiet contemplation.
Her eyes were fixed to the worktop of the island they were sat out, distant in her thoughts, and Jock gently blew his coffee and waited, with a slight squirming impatience, for her to talk. He didn’t want to rush her though, knew this was something that had to be told at her own pace. There was a lot to unpack. Like what had happened once she’d left that hospital three days ago. What Nick had done to her. To his surprise, it was Dermot who was playing on her mind.
“He’s hurting.” Nora met his eye over the rim of her cup, silencing the words ready to tumble from his mouth. “Before you interrupt me, I know he deserves it. But we did things wrong too.” Jock glanced at the island, knowing exactly what she was referring to. The night they finally let their passions spill over; his body crammed between her thighs as she sat on this very edge, dress bunched, head thrown back as he’d devoured her throat, her breasts, any piece of hot bare flesh he could gain access to. The memory made him smirk, but luckily Nora was looking at her cast and didn’t notice.
“I’m not mad at him for this. I made a mistake and put myself in that position. I let him… I let Nick do this because I wasn’t thinking straight. I was drunk.”
Jock shifted, feeling a nip of guilt. They’d all been drinking that night, even Dermot had been pissed when he’d come in. Tensions had been high, things were said that wouldn’t have been said if they’d been sober. It would be easy to pin all the blame on Dermot, but the truth was, they all had played a part. Nick had simply found the perfect opening, the opportune moment to strike...
“I was drunk because I was upset, because I hurt Dermot so he hurt me. I broke my own wrist trying to get away from Nick, whilst… whilst he was murdering someone else.”
Jock lifted his gaze, but she had that faraway look in her eye again, brow creased, head shaking slightly in disbelief. This was the first time he had heard of a murder though. Somebody had been killed? “Nora?” Nora took a shaky breath, fingers moving through her hair.
“It should’ve been me… I can’t stop seeing her face… I didn’t even know her name... So I think of you and Malachi and I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how you kept it to yourself. I’m sorry someone else died because of me.”
Jock felt his heart wrench as she buried her face into her hands. Her shoulders shook as she fought to keep from breaking down right there, and quickly, he moved to comfort her. Nora pulled him close with a soft sob as he pulled her into another hug. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll make this better, I swear.” Even if it meant making things up with Dermot. Nora pulled back, tears in her eyes as she gave him a sniffly apology, but before he could answer, he heard George leave the living room; a moment later, the front door banged shut and Nora tensed in his arms as she glanced towards the hall.
“Can we go back to bed? Just for a bit.”
Jock nodded, helping her to her feet and leading her by the hand upstairs. Their bedroom was just as it had been when they’d left it the morning of Swill’s party, which felt so long ago now. Jock moved to shut the curtains, and quietly, they undressed. Climbing into bed together, Jock drew the covers around them and held her in his arms as she wept. Her face was pressed against her chest and he murmured to her soothingly in Irish, playing with her hair, stroking her shoulder and the curve of her hip.
She told him all about the murder. The woman who had barged into the unit and given Nora the chance to escape, the woman who’d given her life to save Nora’s. He could see it playing out in his mind, but knew his brain wouldn’t be able to conjure every horrific detail Nora had experienced and he hated that he hadn’t been there for her. That she’d gone through all of that alone.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” Jock murmured, when she’d fallen into a sniffly silence and he wasn’t sure if she was even awake. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry you got caught up in all of this.” Nora shifted so she could look him in the face, fingers stroking his jaw and running over his beard. He nestled closer to her, inhaling her sweet scent and vowing never to let her leave his arms again. This whole shit-show had been too close a call for Jock and he was going to ensure she had the happiest life he could give her. He’d have done anything to see that bright smile on her face again.
“... I’ll sort things with Dermot. If that’s what you want.” Nora gave him a look and he sighed, twisting a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I do want to fix things, Nora, I swear. Dermot... he was my brother, you know? Sure, we’re cousins, but we grew up together, everything we’ve done has always been a joint decision.” He wasn’t looking at her, eyes fixed on his twirling fingers. “I know how much I hurt him and I hate that, but I’ll never regret falling in love with you, Nora.” He looked at her, the barest of smiles on his lips. He released her hair, letting his fingers trail over her jaw and down her throat. He followed the path.
“You mean everything to me. You’re my life now and I’d never change that... Let me worry about Dermot, okay?” He leaned close and they kissed, soft and slow and savouring, and not long after, he was shifting, torso above hers, the kiss growing more heated. Pulling back a little, he sighed softly, eyes tracing her features. “I love you.”
—-
What a fucking week.
Brian Shaw filled his coffee with whiskey and slammed the bottle on his desk. The Ball has been an utter humiliation on his part and despite the satisfaction of having the lads knock ten shades of shit out of Rivera, the slippery cunt had somehow managed to escape. Bruce had landed him in St. George’s Hospital but when Shaw had arrived the next morning, Rivera was gone. A+E was busy at the best of times and nobody had seemed to know when nor where he’d gone. He’d had his men searching the streets, every nook and cranny, any other contact Rivera knew... which had been surprisingly small number.
The last contact he’d had with his mother had been four days earlier, a half an hour call. He’d had Bruce check the place out, but he hadn’t been there. He had a few friends on the force, but they were either on Brian’s books, or currently laid up in hospital with a gunshot wound to the head. Brian had spent a bit of time outside Robbie’s room when the young man had finally come out of theatre. Head bandaged and blood-stained, still unconscious. How the fuck had he even survived?
And where was Rosa?
He looked up as he heard footsteps and watched Bruce approach. The large man looked serious, eyes hard as he came to a stop beside Brian. He looked at Robbie through the glass and curled his lip. Brian was still watching him. “Any sign of them?”
“Nothing. I’ve got men everywhere. Rivera has disappeared, and dogs lost that whore’s scent a few streets away, so I don’t know if she was picked up or-“
“The CCTV?” Carter snapped. “Has you checked it?”
Bruce glanced at him. “There’s nothing, sir.”
He stepped forward, slamming Bruce into the wall. “There’s thousands of fuckin’ cameras in London. You’re tellin’ me none of them picked her up?” Brian hissed, face flushed in his fury. He released Bruce and turned away, stalking the corridor.
“I’ve got Jones and Ricton down at the hub now. They’re trawling the footage now, but it could take a while.”
“We don’t have a while!” Brian stalked back towards him, eyes narrowed. “If word of this gets to the papers, we’re fuckin’ done. Finished. Rotting our fuckin’ arses off in prison. That ain’t fuckin’ happening. I want Rosa and Rivera found today. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”
Bruce hesitated, eyes darting back towards the window. “What about Croft?”
“I’ll deal with him.“ He turned away, ending the conversation, listening to Bruce’s fading footsteps. His eyes rested on Robbie’s pale face. The kid would be critical for the next twenty-four hours at least, and Brian was still torn about what to do. It would be easy to end him here; he had doctors who could fudge the notes and cover the actions. But, it would be a big cover-up and not something Brian needed in the immediate aftermath of the Ball.
But Robbie wasn’t going to be walking free to blab. That much was for sure. Brian would be keeping a very close eye the next couple of days.
Pulling out his phone, he headed to a quieter part of the corridor and called Luke. He answered after a few rings. “Where are you? I need you down at the hospital. Call Lawrence. I have a job for you both.” He hung up without waiting for an answer. If Luke didn’t turn up, he’d be the next to face Brian’s wrath and this time, he wouldn’t be so forgiving. His mind drifted to Rosa as he waited. He’d intended to kill her with that bullet. He knew he’d hit her, seen the bloody wound appear on her leg as she staggered out the door and into the night. A flash of blonde hair, the blue fabric of her dress, and the vivid patch of claret.
He’d stumbled to his feet, disorientated, head pounding. Pieces of vase had crunched beneath his feet as he’d made his way to the door, gun in hand, but when he’d peered out into the street, but she was gone. The trail of blood had led left. How the fuck had they lost her? It should have been fucking easy. Curtains had been twitching by then, sirens in the distance, so Brian had pulled his radio and called Bruce to clean-up the scene. Robbie had somehow still been alive, his hair and face covered in his blood. Brian had tried to finish him, but Bruce had stopped him. “You can pull this as self-defence if you have to, sir,” he’d muttered. “Put another bullet in his head and that’s murder.”
Brian had hated that he‘d been right. And so Robbie had been given another chance. For now, at least. And if he wanted to find Rosa, lure her back, then he was going to need him. He heard familiar voices and looked up as Lawrence appeared, Luke at his side. Lawrence opened his mouth to greet him, but Brian cut across his words. “I need you both to shut your mouths and open your ears. Something big is kicking off and there’s somebody I need to find. Rosa Croft. I want you to bring her to me. I don’t care how.” His eyes darted to Luke. “I know your background, Winters. I know every address you’ve lived at, I know every petty little arsehole crime you’ve ever done. I understand you’re quite familiar with the dregs of London. Find her.”
—-
Bruce Chapsworth had known Brian Shaw for the best part of fifteen years. Shaw had been a sergeant when Bruce first joined the ranks and had been the one to show Bruce the ropes. They’d shared a patrol car for five years before Shaw had been promoted. They’d taken part in huge operations, had arrested more lowlife scumbags than Bruce could count... He’d been on the force long enough to know how things should be done and how things were actually done under the rule of Superintendent Brian Shaw.
Unbeknownst to Bruce, there was a lot he didn’t know about the inner dealings of Shaw, and the things he did know were things he’d tried to stay out of. The backhand deals with criminals, the black rot of corruption at the heart of the Met. Bruce had prided himself on his morals and his standing in the community and the pride in his wife’s eyes and the huge smile on his daughter’s face as she told everybody her daddy was a policeman. He was here to make a difference, a real difference, and that’s how he’d worked for many years. Turning a blind eye to the goings on of his superior and focused on doing the best he could do.
And then his daughter got sick.
Walking into the front room of his home, Bruce smiled when he caught sight of the small figure huddled in blankets on the sofa. The little girl looked up at him, blue eyes brightening the second she saw him. Her mouth stretched into a beaming smile, revealing small white teeth. “Daddy!”
“Hey, baby gal.” Bruce dropped his flak jacket on the back of the armchair and moved over to sit down beside Daisy. He pulled her into a hug, running the palm of his hand over the smooth expanse of her bald head. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, Mummy made cookies and they have sprinkles.”
“I hope there’s some left.”
“I’ve just pulled a fresh batch out the oven,” Moira said, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she strode through from the kitchen. She leaned over, dark hair brushing his face as she kissed his cheek. “Good day?”
“Could ‘ave been better,” Bruce replied, but smiled. “I’m just glad to be home.”
“You look tired. I’ll make you a coffee.” Moira hummed beneath her breath as she disappeared again, heels clacking on the laminate. Bruce watched her go before looking back down at Daisy. She was playing on her iPad, finger jabbing at the screen.
“How are you feeling today, Dais?” He asked softly. She have a one-shouldered shrug.
“I was a bit sick this morning, but Mummy gave me a bath.”
Bruce nodded, but didn’t say any more. He leaned down and kissed the top of her smooth head and blinked back tears. She was only eight, but the past year had ravished her. Her bones pressed against her papery skin, but the chemo had left her stomach and legs swollen and tight. He adjusted the cushions beneath her legs, tucked the blanket a little tighter and stood.
The treatment wasn’t working. The doctor had sat with him and Moira two months ago and broke the news, voice grave, hands laced on the desk in front of him. “I’m afraid Daisy has stopped responding to the treatment. There’s... little else we can do.”
“What do you mean, there’s little else?” Bruce snapped, angry heat blooming. “She’s been having this treatment for months, it must have worked!”
“I really am sorry, Mr Chapsworth. We can offer medication to make her comfortable. That’s the best we can do.”
“Palliative care,” Moira murmured. She’d been frozen ever since the doctor broke the news, hand clenching Bruce’s so tightly his fingers were going numb. Bruce glared at the doctor.
“There must be something. Anything!”
The doctor sighed, then opened his desk drawer and pulled out a leaflet. He handed it over. “They’re pioneering treatment in America, but it isn’t cheap. You could easily be looking at a couple of hundred-thousand dollars and there’s no guarantee it will work.”
Bruce snatched the leaflet and stood. “You might be ready to give up on her, but I’m not.”
It was a cruel situation. A much-wanted baby which they’d had later in life; Moira had trained as a lawyer for years and they’d both finally agreed they were financially stable enough to bring a child into the world. Daisy’s birth was a joyous occasion and the much-loved baby was passed from adoring family member to adoring family member. And for six and a half years, life was perfect for the Chapsworth family. Until, shortly before her seventh birthday, Daisy began to get sick, off-balance, bruises blooming at a mere touch... the doctors at St. Ormond’s had confirmed the devastating news and Bruce had been desperately trying to say afloat since.
They couldn’t lose their daughter.
“I can help you,” Brian had told him in a soft voice in the locker room. “With the money. But, I need some help from you first.” And that’s how he’d been ensnared in Brian’s world. How easy it had been for him to accept. Years of trying to bury his head in the sand, yet when it came to his daughter... Bruce would do anything.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly, moving behind Moira and slipping his arms around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as Moira sighed and leaned back against him.
“I heard some news today,” she said, the corners of her mouth downturned, and for a fearful moment, Bruce thought she meant Daisy. “A lady who works at the firm... She was murdered yesterday. It’s all over the news.” She reached up to wipe her eyes. “Charlotte Foster. God, I can’t believe it. What happened to her was horrific.”
Bruce had heard about the murder; who in London hadn’t? But he hadn’t been assigned the case, so he knew little details of what had actually gone on, other than whatever snippets he’d heard in the locker room yesterday. Her body, complete with multiple stab wounds, had been taken to the hospital. A second body had been found in a burning vehicle where the killing took place. The police were still trying to connect the dots. He hadn’t realised Moira had known the woman though and his heart sank. As if they weren’t going through enough already. “I’m sorry, love. Did you know her well?”
“Well enough. She was our secretary. She had a son around the same age as Daisy.” Moira pressed a hand to her chest, pain flickering in her features. “That poor poor boy.” She turned, burying her face in Bruce’s chest, and he held her tight, rubbing her back to soothe her. After a few minutes, Moira pulled away and moved to the sink to splash cold water on her face. “How was work?” She asked and he sensed she was looking for a change of subject.
“Average. I have a few leads to chase up tonight. But, I shouldn’t be out late.”
“Not if Brian has anything to do with it,” she muttered beneath her breath and Bruce pretended not to hear her as he busied himself with making a coffee.
—-
Bruce hated coming to this estate. It was rundown and dingy, graffiti scrawled on every conceivable surface, and there was a permanent underlying smell of shite in the air. It was by far the worst estate in all of East London. Bruce pulled the patrol car to a stop, noticing the gang of youths eyeing him on the opposite side of the street. Hoods up, scarves concealing their faces. When he climbed out, they scattered, running off in several different directions. “Fuckin’ dick’eads,” Bruce muttered and headed to the nearest block of flats.
Each door was in need of a fresh lick of paint and more than once, he had to sidestep broken glass. Somewhere above him, a child was whinging and somewhere below, a man and a woman were having a furious argument. Bruce sighed, but kept his focus. He was only here for one reason and that was Rosa Croft.
Bruce still didn’t quite understand what was going on. Rivera had made a fool out of himself and Shaw, and the beating had been justified, in Bruce’s eyes. Perhaps a part of him had used it as an excuse to vent his frustrations about his daughter, but still... now Rivera was gone, Rosa was gone and Bruce had been tasked with finding them. Rosa was another mystery to Bruce. Who the fuck was this slag? From what Shaw had told him, she was the daughter of a woman he used to see. That was all. And that woman, that ex-girlfriend... she lived in this dump.
Reaching the door, Bruce rapped sharply. This door was black with rot and there was actually a gap beneath the door where the wood had come away entirely. He wondered if it had been kicked in at one point. He knocked again. “Police! Open up!” A few moments later, he saw a shadow in the glass, the sound of a chain being loosened, before the door was flung open. Bruce wrinkled his nose at the state of her and the stink that gushed from the house. She was a head shorter than him, her blonde hair hanging in greasy clumps, her face grey and sallow. There were scabs around her mouth and open wounds on her hands that he was pretty sure were oozing pus. She had blue irises, set in the middle of large, wild eyes, and his eyes own began to water. This was Brian’s ex?! She was nothing but a drugged up old slapper who, despite her unwashed and dirty appearance, had still managed to apply a face-load of slap; bright pink eyeshadow and thick red lips, though her teeth were yellow and crooked and most had fallen out. She stared at him.
“Well? Fuck you just standin’ there for? You fuckin’ stupid or summing?”
“Is Rosa here?” He asked. He’d rather not beat around the bush. The quicker he could get away from this shit hole, the better. Rachel narrowed her eyes and folded her scrawny arms over her chest. She was wearing a leopard print shirt, buttons undone to reveal her cleavage, and the skirt she wore was black and way too short for Bruce’s liking. Prostitute. She reeked of it.
“Rosa? Nah, don’t know no Rosa.”
Bruce made an impatient noise. “Listen. I know she’s your daughter. Brian Shaw sent me. You remember him?” At this, Rachel straightened, but still looked suspicious. “We’re lookin’ for her. She ain’t ‘ere by any chance, is she?” He made a point of peering over her shoulder, catching sight of the disgusting house within. It was like a scene from Horders From Hell. Rachel licked her dry, scabbed bottom lip and looked him up and down in a way that actually made him feel uncomfortable.
“I ain’t seen that little bitch in years. Fuck knows where she is. But she ain’t ‘ere.” She leaned in the doorway with a pout. “But, you don’t ‘ave to waste your trip. You can come in if you like?” She licked her lips again. “If you got any cash, that is. I can make it worth your while.”
Bruce couldn’t have hid the disgust if he’d tried. He pulled a small card from his pocket. “I’ll pass. If you see Rosa, you let me know.” He turned and walked away. What a waste of fucking time...
“It’ll cost ya!” Rachel shouted at his retreating form. “I don’t work for no pigs like you. You fuckin’ ugly cunt. Where the fuck are you goin’? Oi!” Her shouts faded as he made his way down the stairs and back to his patrol car. Someone had spray painted, in huge pink letters, COCK SUCKER, across the side. He scowled, unlocking the door and throwing himself inside. As he drove off, the gang of youths spilled into the street, sticking up fingers and giving him the wanker sign. Bruce’s scowl deepened.
“Fuckin’ dick’eads.”
—-
Aoife hated how much her heart jolted when George answered the phone. She shouldn’t have been nervous about calling him and it brought a deep sense of sadness to her. Life may have been hard for the pair of them, but before last night, they’d been happy. Exhausted, yes, but happy. And Aoife had managed to destroy everything with her own two hands. She couldn’t exactly blame George for the way he acted, even if it had been so unlike George... had she pushed him to that edge? It made her heart physically hurt at the thought.
Listening to his voice reminded her of how much she missed him, how much she loved him, and she had to blink back tears that were suddenly threatening to fall. With a sniff, she wiped them away. When she spoke, putting all her heart into apologising for last night, unable to stop her voice from wavering. How had it come to this? They should have been at home this morning. Aoife should have held him tight and kissed him goodbye. She would have left a note in his lunchbox as she always did, sometimes with a few kind words, sometimes with a little smiley face and a big red heart. Yet they’d spent the night apart on other sides of the city and Aoife was struggling to believe last night had actually happened.
Yet it had. She’d invited Luke back, she’d drank with him and eaten pizza as if George had been nothing to her. And she’d never forgive herself for that.
“I love you so much.” She caught the strain in his voice before he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know it was possible to find everything I’d ever needed in one person and I’m sorry for not telling you that more. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do. I think I just find it so difficult because... Well, you make everything seem so easy, and for me it’s always been hard.”
Aoife heard him sigh and her heart gave another painful pang. All she wanted was to be with him now, his arms wrapped tight around her. God, it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and she already missed him so much.
“I will fix it. I said I will and I promise I will. What I did last night... the way...”
Aoife shut her eyes as he struggled to find the words and she knew how disgusted he must have felt with himself. She knew George inside and out, she knew him as well as she knew herself. He’d be punishing himself for his actions, hating on himself, and she didn’t want that for him. She didn’t want him to have to carry that wherever he went.
“Aoife I don’t deserve you, and I don’t deserve your apology. I was out of order. I was fucking disgusting, and I can never forgive myself for it but it’ll never happen again. I can learn from it, to do better.” Oh, George. Tears stung her eyes and she tried to swallow away the lump in her throat, but before she could get a word out, she heard another voice in the background and there was shuffling down the line. A moment later, George’s voice sounded again. “Aoife, I’ve got to go. I love you so much. Everything will be better soon, I promise. I’ll ring you later.”
“I love you too,” she murmured before the line went dead. Staring at the blank screen on her phone, Aoife sucked in a shaky breath. They’d get past this. Somehow, together. And they’d get stronger from it. They had to.
—-
Benji hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. For the whole drive over, he’d been at war with himself. Was this the right thing to do? Would getting involved with the Sullivans benefit him? Either of them? Tristan hadn’t said a word, his gaze fixed out the window as they headed deep into the heart of the city. What was Max planning on saying? He must have had something in mind when he’d asked Benji to drop by, but what? What potential did he see in Benji that apparently nobody else did? Nobody other than Lucien, that was, but they’d been brothers since they were in nappies, growing up in neighbouring flats. What would Lucien say about all of this? So many questions and not enough answers.
The penthouse was obnoxious. A private underground car park filled with every expensive car imaginable. There was a bit of money to be made in carjacking, and any other day Benji would have felt he’d fallen into a gold mine. He knew enough people to have every single car removed in the space of an hour, and sold in the space of two. He would have been a very rich man indeed.
But Benji wasn’t stupid and he pulled his eyes away from the Aston Martin they were passing and headed for the elevator. If Benji so much as put a fingerprint on any of them, Max Sullivan would kill him and that was something he didn’t doubt. When they reached the penthouse, Max was waiting with a glass of amber, a slow smile curving his lips as he greeted him. But then Max spotted Tristan, brow furrowing as Benji introduced him. Tristan was half-hiding behind his leg, eyes wary and mistrustful. Benji just hoped the kid trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. Setting down his glass, Max approached, which only caused Tristan to sink further behind him.
“Hey. Me and ... ” He glanced at Benji, who softly cleared his throat.
“Benji.”
“Me and Benji need to speak in private, if that’s alright with you?” Tristan didn’t answer, only glanced up at Benji, who nodded. Max knelt down on his haunches, eyes fixed to the boy. “I’ve got a son about your age.” Max reached into his back pocket and Benji reacted without thinking, stepping forward to block Tristan. Max fixed him with a look, hands raised to show he was unarmed; a bag of Haribo hung from his fingers. Benji felt heat flush and glanced away. “This is twice I’ve surrendered to you now. It won’t happen a third time.” The warning was clear. Benji nodded, looking back at Tristan. “I got these for my son, but you can have them if you like.”
Tristan seemed unsure of what to do, eyes darting from the sweets to Max’s face and back again; no doubt Charlotte had told him a million times not to accept things off strangers. For some reason, the thought made his heart ache. Max sighed and straightened, handing the sweet bag to Benji. Max excused himself, telling him that he’d be in the lounge and that Tristan could stay in here. Once he was gone, Benji knelt down, one hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You okay, bud?” Tristan shrugged. “Listen, take these, eat ‘em. I’ll be ten minutes, okay?”
“Just ten minutes?” Tristan looked uncertainly towards the door Max had left through. Benji nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” He waited until Tristan had gotten himself comfortable before heading through the same door Max had disappeared. It led to an expansive lounge, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked London; the Thames weaved like a snake through towering skyscrapers and London Bridge twinkled off towards the right. It was actually stunning; the most Benji had seen of the East End was from the roof of his block, but this was different somehow. It was a glimpse into a future he could have. Max looked at him over his shoulder, then indicted to the glass waiting for him.
“Shut the door. That’s for you. Sit with me.”
Picking up the glass, Benji followed Max to a set of armchairs by one of the windows. The leather creaked as he sat down, unable to stop himself from looking around. There was an open-plan kitchen area on the other side of the room, a dining table and four chairs close by. A staircase in one corner led upstairs to where he assumed the bedrooms were, and a huge widescreen TV dominated the back wall. Remembering where he was, he brought his gaze back to Max, to find the other man studying him closely. He took a sip of port to quash his nerves and tried not to recoil at the taste.
“I was serious when I offered this invite to you, but this isn’t a crèche.”
Benji bit back the retort hanging precariously on the tip of his tongue. It may not have been a crèche, but Tristan came first above everything. He would have done the same for his daughter too, if she were here.
“So you know who I am. I have a son, I get it. But foremost I have always been a business man. As you know from last night’s events... I don’t hesitate with what I do. Do you think you could do that too?”
Benji held off answering by taking another sip of the God-awful port. Licking the taste from his bottom lip, he shrugged. “Yeah. I could.” And he could have finished Walker last night, if given the chance. A dark part of him wished it had been; Walker wouldn’t have gotten off so lightly had Benji been left to deal the punishment. Except Charlotte wouldn’t have wanted that. She wouldn’t have wanted him to follow such a dark path and it wouldn’t have changed anything. It wouldn’t have brought her back.
“I have plenty of pushers, I’m not looking to add another mule to my herd... Tell me what you know, what you’re capable of. I’m guessing you sell pills to kids, but you know you’re worth more than that.” Benji frowned a little, bit didn’t comment. Couldn’t that be said for all the pushers of London? Always trying to do better, always striving to level up, despite the circumstances that surrounded them. Nobody wanted to deal drugs forever. Some of them had no choice. Did Benji have a choice? “You love your family and when I say family I mean whoever the fuck it is you work with because no doubt that’s all you have left. You think you owe them, you can’t betray them because of everything they’ve done for you, but your palms are itching and you’re restless. I can help with that.”
Benji wanted to stand up and tell him how he was wrong, but the more he listened to Max’s words, the more he realised how right the other man was. Before Charlotte had come along, Benji hadn’t even been living. He’d just been surviving from one day to the next. Max was watching him expectantly and with a soft sigh, Benji began to talk. “I’m a born and bred Hackney boy. Me and Lucien grew up together, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Grew up dealing in the ends, fighting with other gangs and that.” He explained about Reggie and how they stole back goods bought from his shop for a little extra cash, or how Lucien would get him to steal cars and move them around the city so the coppers never found them. Everything and anything that could come in useful, or at least make Benji seem worth his while. He had a feeling Max didn’t invite just anybody back to this place.
“I’d just left Reggie’s when I saw Charlotte, that first time. She was with Walker.” He explained what had happened and how he’d tracked Charlotte down after she’d asked - or rather, mouthed - for help. Had that really only been last week? It felt as if he’d known her months and yet... He trailed off when talking about her got too much. Max tilted his head, swirling the dregs of his drink.
“You probably had all intents to settle down once you met Charlotte, huh?” He looked apologetic for a moment. “I won’t humour you and say I’m sorry, because I’m not-”
“What the fuck?” Benji spat, but Max continued over him.
“-and I never will be. I’m not sympathetic, and I know we’re not looking to be friends. What I did wasn’t for you, it was just personal, okay? You don’t owe me and I don’t owe you, I’m just looking for a partnership.” Max raised his glass. “What do you say?”
Did he really have a choice? Benji’s jaw was tense as he knocked back the rest of his drink. He knew this was his only chance. If he walked away, he’d never have this opportunity handed to him again. “A partnership,” he repeated, still considering.
“-I have one rule. You don’t disrespect me. Do you understand? I’m not here to help you get vengeance, but I will do one thing for you...” Benji looked up at this, a slight crease in his brow as Max finished the rest of his drink. “The funeral, for the girl-”
“Charlotte.”
“For Charlotte. I’ll pay for it, for everything. The boy doesn’t deserve to say goodbye any other way. Then I’m done with favours. You work for me, but only me.” Max set his glass down and the sound was sharp, like a gunshot. “If you want to keep working with this little pal Lucien, then go ahead and forget my name. Otherwise you need to tell him Max Sullivan is in town and wants to take his business. It’s your choice.”
Fuck. Lucien wouldn’t be happy when he heard that. But, for some reason, Benji couldn’t walk away from this. Max said his reason for shooting Walker was personal, but Benji couldn’t help but feel indebted, despite the other man’s assurances. The thought of Tristan, and his daughter Tasha, made the decision for him. Growing up in the ends wasn’t safe and there was no security, neither financial nor in terms of the future. He wanted that security for them. The security working for Max could offer. Charlotte wouldn’t have wanted Tristan growing up like Benji had. Seeming to read his mind, Max spoke, glancing at his empty glass.
“Do you want another drink? You look ciaptha by her, you know. Haunted. The girl she saved is my dearthair’s fiancé.”
The woman with the broken wrist, who’d been crouched outside the storage unit like a wounded animal. Charlotte had saved her. That thought made him want to cry again and he looked away, swallowing hard as Max carried on speaking.
“The world is shit, I know that’s no consolation but I thought you should know.”
Benji nodded, hands clasped together between his knees. “I’ll do it. I’ll join you. And...” He paused for a moment, glancing away with a soft shake of his head. He shouldn’t have been here discussing her fucking funeral... “I appreciate you handling the funeral. I honestly do... I’ll do anything you need me to, no questions asked. And Lucien won’t be a problem, I can offer you that at least.” The two men leaned over and shook hands, and in an odd way, it felt like he’d signed his soul over to the devil. And in an even odder way, he was thankful for it. He didn’t want to be in the lead anymore. He needed somebody to tell him what to do.
A knock at the door ended their conversation and both men looked over as Tristan appeared in the doorway. His cheeks were pinched, eyes watery. Benji instantly felt swamped with guilt. How much had he heard? He should have known Tristan wouldn’t have been content to sit still for long. Max stood.
“We’re done now,” he said quietly, so only Benji could hear, then spoke up as he addressed the boy. Pointing to his own face, he chuckled. “I’m one of the good guys. Trust me.”
Five minutes later, Benji and Tristan were heading back through the underground car park. They’d said their goodbyes and left after they’d exchanged numbers; Max telling Benji that he would call when he needed him. In the car, Benji didn’t relax his grip on the wheel until they were a good distance away. Tristan was staring at him and Benji just knew the question that was about to leave his mouth before it did.
“That man. He killed Nick, din’t he?”
Benji glanced at him with a scowl. “I fuckin’ knew you was listening. You gotta stop doin’ that, man.”
“He did though, din’t he?”
Benji sighed, shaking his head as he focused back on the road. “I can’t tell you that.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“Fuck sake, Triss, it’s a I can’t tell you.” Tristan giggled and Benji nearly crashed the car in surprise. “What’s so funny?”
“You swear a lot. Mummy never swears.” Tristan looked smug. “Fuck is one pound, so that means you have to put two pound in the pot when we get home.”
“Are you for real?”
Tristan nodded firmly. “Yup.”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Aug 22, 2022 9:43:32 GMT -5
‘I took her back to the penthouse, but I didn’t spend the night with her, I promise you.’
Lara simply nodded, knowing a promise spoken by Dermot was never easily broken but still unsure. He was still like a little boy in that regard, always keeping foolish promises as if his life depended on it. No doubt when he was younger he had made a vow to always protect Max, and so now here they were. Foolish, but pure. It was the most striking difference between the two of them.
Some part of her was reluctant to believe him, however. Scared, of the hurt. As he stood before her, his features soft and his voice gentle, she wanted so hard to believe it was the truth. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, defensive.
‘You were together for years.’ She shrugged. ‘You were engaged –'
‘We spoke.’ Dermot reassured her. ‘That’s all. About where we wanted to go from here.’ There was a second of pain in his eyes at the next words but it disappeared quickly. ‘She wants Jock. She loves him, and… I think I’m okay with that, Lara. Actually… I know I am.’
Lara chewed her lip, her arms loosening slightly. All the way here she had been ready to end things with Dermot before he had a chance to crush her heart. She had so readily given it to him the last time they were together and she felt herself trembling with the fear he had already changed his mind. She was damaged, she was going to be divorced and she’d already had two children; she felt deflated and unappealing.
Max had looked at her in a way that suggested otherwise, but that was Max and he always watched her as though he were ravenous, even on her darkest days. Dermot however, had no need to love her in all of the fragile glory, so why would he? When there was Nora with her university degree, long legs and glowing engagement ring. Lara wouldn’t say she was jealous, she was just… scared.
‘Can we talk inside?’
He was tilting his head at her in that puppy-dog way that made her want to smile, and he knew it and tried to smile too.
‘I didn’t quite envisage this conversation on the driveway.’
Lara couldn’t help roll her eyes at him then and turned back to grab Charlie from the car. He was still half-asleep, clutching his door and lolling against her shoulder with a sigh. What would she tell Dermot about their time at the Zoo? How much she enjoyed it? Would she have enjoyed it more with him? After struggling with the door, she managed to get inside as Dermot took the keys.
‘I’ll put Charlie to bed. Can you make the drinks?’ glancing over her shoulder briefly, she took the stairs to his room. She understood what it was like to feel exhausted after a day with Max, as she was already feeling that way. He made your emotions rocket, and the sugary ice cream hadn’t helped.
Pulling the blanket up over him, Lara ran a hand over Charlie’s forehead, smoothing his curls back. He was so innocent in the midst of all the politics that for a moment she wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if Max left? What if he left and took Charlie? Charlie was already besotted with Max and it was terrifying knowing that Max knew just how much his son loved him. That power was something she wished he didn’t have, yet as he’d leaned in close and practically brushed his lips against her neck, she’d almost forgotten her worries.
Blinking back the stirring inside her, she placed a kiss on Charlie’s cheek and left, leaving the door slightly ajar. At least Max didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t. He had been very open from the beginning with his controlling desires and temper. Her and Dermot, though? This was something new and she wasn’t sure why she couldn’t shake Nora from the back of her mind.
Seeing a drink on the table she mumbled a small thanks as she cradled the mug, glancing at the contents to stop feeling his gaze on her cheeks. He was trying to judge how she felt, and to be honest, she wasn’t sure. Betrayed somehow, even if she had no right to be. She needed to call Nora, to see if everything was okay, but she was also scared to even begin that path. What would her friend say when she found out? Would she understand?
‘I didn’t give you a solid commitment yesterday, Lara, and that was wrong of me.’
Lara kept her glare steady as Dermot started to speak. She needed to be harsh, otherwise he would take advantage of her in the future. One thing Lara had never done was set boundaries and if she wanted it to work with Dermot, she wanted to do it right.
‘But I realised something, when I was with Nora… I felt a little like I was betraying you. I care a lot about you, I always have done. Actually, I love you, Lara Smith. I should have been there this morning.’
Lara wasn’t sure way to say for a moment, her chest tight. Accountability was something she had never gotten from Max or Pete and Dermot was taking responsibility without her having to say or do anything. He was aware of his flaws, perhaps too aware. He was sensitive, but in a way that was healthy. He was looking at her, genuine apology on his sleeve and he was saying he loved her. She still stayed quiet, however, looking at him deeply.
‘D-Did you go out with Max and Charlie?’
‘Max came and took Charlie this morning. They went to London Zoo, and he… he asked me if I wanted to come.’ Looking down, she wrapped her hands around the warmth of her mug for comfort. ‘I didn’t, and then I argued with Pete, so.. I did.’ Shrugging helplessly she tentatively met Dermot’s gaze. ‘Charlie really enjoyed himself, that’s all that matters.’
‘What happened between you and Pete?’
Lara took a deep breath, knowing the question had been poised this whole time. What had happened between her and Pete? She was ashamed to say the truth but wanted it out. Wanted everything out, so she could start again.
‘He came back from Steve’s in a foul mood the other night. I just…’ clenching her jaw, she started again. ‘Charlie wouldn’t go upstairs, so Pete yelled at him, like he’s never yelled at him before. His voice was so angry, and I just lost it. I screamed at him, told him not to touch my son and then we argued about who else’s son he was. How Pete thought Charlie was a mistake. How I had made a mistake, and ruined everything. Hearing him say that about Charlie… I regret a lot of things, Dermot, but I don’t regret him.’ She met his gaze, tears brimming in her eyes as the memory resurfaced. ‘I know it makes things difficult, but he doesn’t deserve to be damned because of who his father is.’
It was difficult to talk about the argument so she dropped her gaze again, focusing on the grain in the wooden table.
‘He kept pushing me, trying to get me to do something, so I… I told him about us.’ Her jaw clenched. ‘I didn’t do it in the best way. I was cruel, but so was he. So he knows. And the boys know. Pete left, went to stay in a hotel and came by this morning to take Kimmy. Swill was with him. They all hate me. The way Swill looked at me… He used to look at me in adoration and now like I’m nothing but some cheap whore. It’s no doubt the story Pete is telling, and I understand because I did hurt him, but I never intended for it to all end like this. I don’t want a war, but he isn’t giving me any other choice. I don’t want the children to be involved, but I think he might try and take Kimmy from me.’
Pushing away from the counter, Lara shook her head. The thought of it all was too overwhelming. ‘I have two men both trying to take my children. What do I do if they succeed?’ Lara asked, sniffing back a flow of tears threatening to break through. ‘I don’t care about me. I just want them safe.’
Dermot filled the gap between them in seconds, coming to draw her close. One hand slipped beneath her jaw and he tilted her face to his.
‘It won’t be easy, but we can get through this, together. I’m not going to leave your side, Lara, not again. Last night was the last time. You don’t have to do all of this alone.’
All these years, even as much as Pete said he understood, he had never shouldered the load. It was the first time anyone had offered to help carry her burden and she wanted to sob, unable to believe it. Did she finally deserve this? To be saved.
‘I mean it when I say I love you. You can trust me, okay?’ his eyes were searching hers and Lara looked up at him, feeling herself getting lost in the earnestness there.
Dermot went on to say she was his priority, and so were his children. Not one or the other, but both. No judgement for the fact one of them was his owns brothers, son, but encasing them all in his shroud of protection because he loved her. Love was expansive and compromising and understanding and relentless; selfless and warming and Lara could feel it in his embrace.
‘You love me.’ She whispered, slipping her arms around his neck. ‘I love you.’
They kissed softly for a few moments until it grew heated. It was like nothing she had ever experienced when they kissed. She felt safe and wanted, no necessity to be anything other than who she was. The kiss was both wholesome and intoxicating, making her stomach clench, a warmth between her thighs. Lara heard a frustrated groan leave Dermot’s mouth as she pulled away, both of them desperate for more.
It was an animalistic love, yet contrastingly it was respectful. They wanted to truly taste one another, like they had that first night, but with no time constraints, no conscience beating heavy above them. To truly enjoy one another.
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ Meeting his gaze cautiously, Lara wasn’t sure what he would think. Hearing they had spent the day together had made him uncomfortable enough. ‘Max invited me out to dinner, tonight. Six O’clock. I couldn’t say no.’ looking somewhat apologetic, Dermot’s answer hadn’t been what she expected.
‘Go to dinner. I’ll take Charlie back to the house.’
The house, Lara felt a ripple run through her. What was intended as his and Nora’s house, now… theirs? ‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘Take some of Charlie’s things with you. I’ll meet you there afterwards.’
‘Lara… humour Max for now, please. After we’ve calmed things with Pete, then we can figure out what we’re going to do about Max. If…. If this is what you want to do.’
‘Of course it is.’ Lara sighed at the worry on his face.
Fuck, she was worried too, though. Somehow an ex-husband was nothing in comparison to Max Sullivan. Pete was loud and violent, but never towards her, or their children. He wasn’t irrational and cold, he was just currently wounded and defensive. What would Max do?
At her response, Dermot kissed her again and she sunk into it deeply. It were as if his touch could heal anything; inside one another’s embrace they were safe.
‘He can read me like a book, you know.’ Lara sighed as they pulled away. ‘I’ve never been good at pretending, not with Max.’
They held one another for a moment and Lara rested her head on his shoulder. She had hoped they were done with games, yet now they were against the biggest trickster of them all.
‘I’ll be back at half five to pick up Charlie. If Pete comes back or if anything happens, call me.’
Lara nodded, chewing her lip. ‘I don’t think he will.’
‘I won’t be long.’
Dermot kissed her again and Lara savoured it as though she was never going to see him again. She had go to back to pretending, as if she wasn’t in pain. Just because she was asking for a divorce, it didn’t make it any easier. The only thing that did make it possible was Dermot and suddenly she didn’t want him to go. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust herself with Max, she didn’t trust Max. The longer they tried to fool him, the more furious he would be when he found out.
‘I’ll see you later then.’ Lara said as she finished her drink and placed the mug in the sink. Glancing down at her phone she saw a message from Pete saying Kimmy was staying with him at Swill’s tonight and she felt her stomach drop. Swill’s apartment was barely child-friendly, but what other choice did she have? She needed to see Max, and she wanted to be with Dermot, so sometimes there would have to be sacrifices.
As much as Swill suddenly loathed her, he loved the children, she couldn’t deny that. The housing situation would need to be resolved swiftly, however, and that would mean giving Pete the house. Looking around at the kitchen, Lara felt a thousand thoughts whizzing through her mind and felt dizzy at the endless possibilities and tasks ahead.
‘You really think we can do this?’ she asked as Dermot stood in the doorway. He nodded at her and she gave a cautious nod in response before he left.
One thing at a time, she went to tidying the kitchen and living room. Her and Dermot’s mug sat in the sink beside one another and she was reminded of the two wine glasses they’d left resting on his counter top. The two of them, together. It didn’t make them invincible, but they stood a chance. Lara didn’t want to think about whether that chance was at ending his life, or merely moving theirs across the world, but either way it was terrifying.
And why was she still feeling nervous to see him tonight? Was that fear, or was it excitement?
After checking back on Charlie, she saw he had woken up and so she gave him a bath, ruffling his damp curls with a towel when he was done. They sat and ate dinner, which was spaghetti bolognaise and watched silly cartoons on the television. The whole while Charlie had the lion and dinosaur in his lap, clutching them dearly. Did he know he was Max’s son, was that why he cared so much?
Had Max told him?
Watching the television, Lara rested her head on top of her sons and let out a heavy sigh. He smelt like shampoo and she buried her nose into his hair, squeezing her eyes shut. Suddenly her phone vibrated across the table and she straightened up, hair on her arms rising. The two of them watched it with interest before Charlie craned his neck to look at her.
‘Are you going to get that, Mummy?’ he asked and she nodded, moving to pick it up. Nora.
Walking up the stairs, it was as if they had only just been in this bedroom an hour previous, and yet it was almost four days ago now. It was strange, how such a traumatic event could fracture time. Nora let Jock lead her to the bedroom and slowly they climbed out of their clothes and clambered into the bed. It felt as if Jock hadn’t even slept in her since she’d gone and a pang of guilt struck her.
There was nothing she could’ve done to inform him, other than not having left in the first place. Battered and bruised, and injured more than she was now. Looking at the bruises on his back as he went to draw the curtains, she frowned. Dermot had really hurt him, physically and mentally.
Wrapping herself around Jock’s sturdy frame, Nora didn’t realise she was crying until he held her tighter. He spoke in his soft, Irish tones, soothing her hair and suddenly she felt safe. As much as she had loved Dermot, she didn’t feel fully protected in the penthouse. Jock however was like a sturdy rock in the midst of a raging ocean, weathering numerous storms and standing firm. It was why she had felt so helpless when he had left; he centred her.
‘I want to tell you what happened.’ Nora managed after a while of silence. ‘I need to process it. I read this thing that said if you speak about a traumatic experience, then it gets it out of your body, is that okay?’
As Nora began to tell Jock about Charlotte, she couldn’t seem to mention what had happened before that. Nick exposing himself, and Nora kneeling and confused, but she knew she had to. That was the worst part of it all, having been created by her own stupidity.
‘I didn’t know what to do.’ Nora mumbled, not looking at Jock. ‘He had these photos of other girls, not just me. There was some of Rosa -- lots of Rosa. I feel like a bitch for being so mean to her now. I don’t know who Charlotte was, but she found us, knocked on the door and stabbed him. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t get out of the handcuffs so she… she sacrificed herself, for me. If she hadn’t, then I don’t think I would’ve gotten out. I had to break my wrist just to get it out of the chains, and I didn’t even look back… I just… I left her.’
Had there been another way out? Had she been foolish and selfish?
‘… Before Charlotte… I thought I could distract him enough to grab the keys. I made it seem like I wanted him and he…’ glancing away, Nora felt a lump ball in her throat. ‘He showed me he wanted me too… you know.’ Tears stinging her eyes she felt Jock tense but shook her head. ‘He didn’t touch me. But, it was such a stupid fucking idea. I’m so stupid, Jock.’ Nora sobbed. ‘Why was I the one that was saved? I’m useless. Even on the boat, you saved me, I didn’t do anything.’
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.’ Jock murmured and Nora felt her whole body slump as she gave gentle sobs. His thumb was stroking her hip and she nestled against him, holding him tight.
‘…I’ll sort things with Dermot. If that’s what you want.’
Nora tilted her head to look at him then and Jock sighed.
‘I do want to fix things, Nora, I swear.’ He reassured her and she nodded, understanding.
Relationships were difficult, no matter who they were with. It was easy to neglect, especially the ones you loved the most; you took them for granted. How often did she take the time to check in on anyone? How long had it been since she’d properly spoken to Aoife? Last night had been the first time in a long time. And Lara or Rosa?
‘I know how much I hurt him and I hate that, but I’ll never regret falling in love with you, Nora.’
‘He understands.’ Nora gave a small smile. ‘It doesn’t make it easy, but he understands.’
‘You mean everything to me.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re my life now and I’d never change that… let me worry about Dermot, okay?’
Jock leaned close, kissing her before she could argue. Nora wanted to do something, but she had already caused enough trouble, and the way Jock tasted against her tongue was enough to forget everything for a moment. Her eyes fluttering shut, she relished in the feel of him above her, the warmth of his hands on her body. It was the way things were supposed to be and she felt foolish for having ruined everything. As her hands slid down his back, she felt him wince slightly as she pressed a bruised muscle and he pulled back.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you, so much.’ Nora whispered, tugging him closer.
They kissed until they were exhausted, Nora rolling herself on top of him, straddling his waist. Jock took all of her in, his hands running down her sides and she tilted her head, drinking in the happy gaze on his face. It was like a different world when they were together. Could things really be getting back to normal?
His chest was defined, and it always amazed her how fit he was for someone that did nothing but drink. There were a few small scars over his stomach and a few yellowing bruises slowly disappearing. Running her fingers across the scars she sighed, bringing her hand up to touch the one across his throat. Jock had been through so much and he wasn’t as tough as the world tried to make him. Nora could feel his fingers tugging at the waist of her underwear but she sighed, placing her hands on his.
‘I don’t think I can.’ She said slowly, flashing a nervous look. ‘It’s not you. I want to I just…’ glancing away, Nora flopped onto her side beside him. ‘I keep thinking I’m fine and then I see him and I just… I’m sorry.’
The two of them lay in bed for a little while longer as the evening came around. They could hear the birds singing outside, the rumble of car engines, the sound of feet walking on the pavement. Nora could see the photograph of her and Jock against the window, pressed into one another as Dermot stalked outside, to see Max. Two sets of betrayal in one image. Then she saw one of Rosa, obviously drugged up and young.
‘Where is Rosa?’ Nora asked, turning to him. ‘Does she know he’s dead now?’
When Jock said she was safe but didn’t know, she nodded. ‘I’m glad she’s safe. I never thought I would say that about her, either.’ She gave a small laugh. How alike they both were, when Nora had originally cast her out. Strange, the things that bonded a person.
‘I think I need to call Lara.’ She decided on after a while, reaching over to grab her phone. ‘I’ve been a terrible friend.’ clambering out of bed, Nora pulled her dress back on, glancing at Jock who was watching her in the mirror. ‘What do you want for dinner? I think we should order something in.’ walking back over to the bed, as Jock sat on the edge, she reached out and touched his cheek. ‘Thanks for being patient with me.’ She smiled and kissed his forehead.
Leaving the room, Nora felt momentarily nervous about calling Lara. How long had it been since they’d really spoken? Swallowing, she put the phone to her ear as she moved into the lounge. There was a blanket on the sofa where Jock had no doubt tried to sleep whilst she was gone and her heart stung.
Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Nora perched on the sofa and listened to the dial tone. Why did she feel like Lara would be mad at her? Rubbing her eyes, she jolted when it was picked up, Lara’s voice on the other end.
‘Hey.’ Nora smiled. ‘I’ve missed you.’
They spoke for a while, not in depth, but enough to know what had happened. She knew about the kidnapping? Because of Charlie, Lara had said; Dermot had come to collect him so Max could take him to the zoo.
‘What a fucked up situation.’ Nora had mused and both women had grimaced. ‘How do you feel about it?’
Lara answered, and spoke about the two lion and how Max was different and both of them tried to decide if a leopard changing its spots was possible. Nora didn’t know anything anymore.
‘Max was there, at the storage facility. He told me and Dermot to leave and that he would handle it.’ Nora said, unsure if Lara should know. ‘He… He had a gun with him, Lar. I think he killed Nick. I saw it on the news… what happened to him wasn’t an accident.’ Feeling sick in her throat, Nora regretted bringing it up and was happy for the subject change.
‘I’m happy with Jock. So happy. I feel stupid for wasting so much time. Was that what you felt like when you met Pete?’ When Lara didn’t reply, Nora raised an eyebrow. ‘Lar? Is everything okay?’
Lara went on to explain what had happened, in an abbreviated version. About how she was divorcing Pete and how he’d spent the night in a hotel, and taken Kimmy that morning.
‘What?’ Nora frowned, the confusion blinding. ‘Is this because of the firm? Because he’ll leave it for you, you know. Really, he will.’ Was that true? ‘He loves you! And the kids –’
Cut off, Nora listened as Lara mentioned how Pete had said Charlie was a mistake and suddenly it was as if she didn’t know the man anymore. Nora felt a sudden anger and shook her head. ‘That’s not Pete talking, I promise you. That’s Bovver. He’s gotten in his mind, that’s all.’
It was as if the whole world had been tipped upside down and nothing made sense anymore. Right was wrong and good men were bad. After a few seconds, the realisation set in as Lara didn’t argue and Nora frowned. ‘Do you not love him anymore, Lar?’ she asked quietly. ‘Is there someone else? Is it Max?’ she asked incredulously, hoping the answer was no. ‘Do you want to come round tonight?’
When Lara said she was busy, Nora asked why. ‘What are you doing this evening, huh?’ Nora asked when she tried to shrug her off. ‘Who are you seeing tonight? Tell me! Tell me!’
When she said Max, Nora almost dropped the phone. ‘A date?’ she asked and Lara denied it, even though she didn’t sound so sure. ‘Lara, do you know what you’re doing?’ Nora asked, genuinely concerned. ‘Fuck! I don’t think he’s changed, but… if you think so…’ she shrugged slowly. ‘Keep me updated and stay safe, okay? Don’t… don’t do what I did.’
The ended the phone conversation promising to meet up soon and Nora just sat for a moment, confused. Lara and Pete were getting divorced and she was going on a date, that wasn’t a date, with Max? What else was happening she didn’t know about? When Jock appeared in the doorway asking if she was okay, Nora looked up at him slowly.
‘Lara and Pete are getting divorced.’ She said uncertainly. ‘And she’s meeting Max tonight… at a restaurant. Should we be worried?’
For years, the GSE has a strict no women policy. No joining, and no fraternising. It wasn’t that women couldn’t love football, because they could, they had just formed their own club. One that didn’t rally together, slosh pints and draw fists. It was different, for women; they were complex, they were emotional and it got in the way of business. That was what Pete had thought, anyway. Turns out, it was the men that were the problem.
They argued, they got lonely, they forgot things, they were messy and rude and violent. Men were the judgemental, prejudice race, with their heavy hands and their bruised egos. When Steve had gotten married, he’d been forced to leave. When Ben was born, he refused to ever come back.
Bovver told Pete that women distracted you and ruined fucking everything. When Pete had glanced at Lara across the bar, he’d felt the daggers in his back as his best friend willed him not to go there. Years of him itching for the moment that their relationship shattered, and Pete didn’t think he could face such a gloating I-told-you-so. Because it wasn’t so; it hadn’t been Lara’s fault. It had been Dermot’s.
When things had been good, they had been the best.
It wasn’t Pete’s fault that she was damaged when they’d met. The Sullivans had tainted her with self doubt, manipulating her into believing she needed them, even when she left. There had always been fractions of Max in her life; when the nightmares came, in the beginning and in the end. On the honeymoon, waking up in a sweat, thinking he was somewhere there and then with Charlie…
It was as if Lara somehow forgot all of the narcissistic qualities Max held, when she saw him, or when she saw their son. Their fucking son. Forgot how he’d tried to kill her -- twice. And had she forgotten how it was Dermot who had almost killed Dave when they’d first met? Trapped him in a fire at the club, left him for dead. Why was that forgivable, and yet trying his fucking hardest, day after day, was not enough for Lara, if he made one small mistake along the way?
What would it take for her to see the truth? To see the real them? Well, Max could have Charlie, but no one was taking Kimmy from him, especially not Dermot Sullivan. Did he think he could just step in and take over where his brother had left off? Did his brother even know?
Men played the games that women were drawn into. Lara hadn’t asked for this, but neither had Pete. Something needed to be done. Walking into their house to get Kimmy had made his heart hurt. It was why he had been so cold towards her, terrified that if he took a moment to look at her he might shattered into a thousand pieces. She had looked so broken and desperate, and then he reminded himself she hadn’t looked that way when Dermot had fucked her hard.
The way the Sullivan’s had orchestrated it from the very beginning made him mad. They had always wanted what he had, even when they’d sat there and judged him, degraded his family, his way of living, his life. They were envious, because he had been happy. Pete had managed to get everything they could never have and now they had taken it all back.
Clenching his fist over the baby bag, he heard Swill get cursed out of the house and the front door slam shut. It had been like being caught inside a hurricane, in and out and disorientated now he was back at the car. Seeing Max had also wound him up no end, and it was so ridiculous he gave a hysterical chuckle. Was she playing them all against one another, or were they all playing her?
Kimmy looked up at him, wondering what he was laughing at and he shrugged his shoulders.
‘We’re going to the Abbey, baby girl.’ He told her, as if she understood, and strapping her into the back seat he glanced over his shoulder at Swill.
‘Don’t say a fuckin’ word.’ He murmured as Swill opened his mouth in disbelief at the whole situation. ‘Let’s just get there, alright?’
The drive was tense. Pete felt his shoulders pinched and he could feel a migraine forming behind his eyes. He had slept badly, he was angry, he was upset, he was… ready for a fight. Pete had never taken Kimmy to the Abbey for anything other than a family gathering, a party, or when he was with Lara. Taking her with just the boys there, when he was so pent up? Fuck, what other choice had she given him?
They loved her, they loved both of his kids, even if they shouldn’t. They were softies, really, and sometimes Pete could even see a glimmer of softness in Bovver when Kimmy would smile at him with her big, blue eyes. Knowing he would be there, Pete didn’t know how he felt. He should’ve been happy to see his best friend, his brother, but he was scared. Of the judgement? Nora had broken Bovver’s heart and Pete hadn’t gloated, but things had changed and he was unsure.
Swill went into the Abbey first as Pete busied himself taking Kimmy out of her car seat. Every time he tried to get his mind on track, he could see a flicker of what he imagined their night to be like. Lara throwing her head back, Dermot kissing her throat with his hands gripping her tiny waist. If it wasn’t that, it was Max holding a knife to her stomach, threatening to cut out the child he was now so desperate to keep. And if it wasn’t the vivid images, it was their taunting voices.
They had been the voices inside his head when he’d been dreaming of death. Lara had hated him for standing on the precipice yet she had been the one to help him climb there. Ever since he’d heard the name Sullivan, Pete had been unable to see clearly. If it wasn’t bad enough Max had forcibly bore a child with her, Dermot had now taken her heart. What was there left for Pete but pity?
Balancing Kimmy on his hip, Pete took a deep breath and turned to look at the building which had brought him comfort for all those years. Hopefully it would be a sanctuary for him now, when he needed it the most. Pushing open the door, he welcomed the smell of wood polish and ale. The floors had been redone recently, a rustic looking stone Isla had seen through, disposing of the beer stained rugs. It wasn’t the only change she was making, he thought as he looked up to see Swill smiling across the bar at her.
Giving only a small smile back in response, Isla turned her gaze to the door and her eyes settled on Kimmy. ‘Hey, small fry.’ Isla beamed. Pete’s eyes were elsewhere, however.
‘Bruv.’
In the corner of the room, on the table which had always been theirs, Bovver stood. Pete had heard that Dermot had laid his hands on him, but what he saw was worse than he could’ve imagined. His face dropped in disbelief, seeing his once arrogant, broad shouldered friend now hunched over like a cripple. His face was battered and bruised, yet it didn’t stop the determination shining in his eyes.
‘Come ‘ere, Princess.’ Dave moved over to Pete with a nod, scooping Kimmy out of his arms. ‘Pete.’ Taking her back to his seat, she was instantly surrounded by Swill and Ned who started to coo and beam in her face. Ryan was sat in the corner, chewing on a stick of him, his hat pulled down low.
‘Dave.’ Pete nodded in return, unable to take his eyes off Bovver. His neck felt hot and the justified anger he had felt moments ago had suddenly tripled. ‘Bovver.’
‘Did… did you get my message?’
Pete pulled his gaze away then, feeling sheepish. ‘It wasn’t a good night last night.’ He managed, and Swill flashed him an offended look. ‘But I read it this morning, yeah.’
‘Are you alright?’
Pete gave a sharp laugh then, shaking his head. ‘Am I alright?’ he asked, eyebrow raised. ‘Look at the state of ya, looks like you went five rounds with Mike Tyson.’ When Bovver told him it was Dermot, he nodded slowly. He grabbed Bovver’s hand and pulled him in, patting him gently on the back.
‘That Sullivan prick has got a lot to answer for.’ Pete said through grimaced teeth. ‘Now I’m only goin' to say this once, so I ‘ope your ears are working, but… well… you were right, Bruv. About the Sullivans… about Dermot…’ swallowing, Pete realised he hadn’t thought about how to say anything to the boys, when he decided he didn’t need to word it well, to save face, to save Lara’s reputation. He needed to tell them the truth, and he needed their help. ‘Swill knows, so the rest of you might as well know too.’
At this, Swill placed his hands over Kimmy’s ears so she wouldn’t hear the rest. She was balanced on his lap, playing with a coaster he’d handed her that suddenly looked like an appetising biscuit.
‘Me and Lara are getting a divorce --’
‘What?!’ Dave asked, confusion clouding his face. ‘What d’ya mean a divorce?’
‘I mean what I say, alright?’ Pete sighed, pulling up a seat besides Bovver. ‘It’s over. She very plainly laid it out to me yesterday that I’m a piece of shit and that Dermot Sullivan would make a far better husband.’
‘You lost me again, mate.’ Dave frowned. ‘Did you say Dermot Sullivan?’
‘You ‘eard me.’
Head spinning, Dave took a sip of his pint. ‘Just when we thought things were settling down.’ He murmured under his breath. ‘Give us the 411 then.’
‘The what?’ Swill asked and Dave rolled his eyes.
‘It’s what they say on this show Alice watches all the time. 411, it means tell us the details.’
‘Then why didn’t you just fuckin’ say that?’ Swill asked and then grimaced. ‘Sorry, Kimmy. You didn’t hear that alright?’ he asked, placing his hands back over her ears. ‘Tell ‘em, Pete. Tell ‘em you’re back.’
So Pete told them everything.
He told them that he and Lara had been arguing lately, about Charlie, about Max. About the same things they had ever really had arguments about. ‘When I said you were done, and I was back… she lost it.’ Pete looked towards Bov. ‘I’m sorry for the way I handled that, bruv, honestly. I… I just know we can be better. I know we can all be fuckin’ better, but I also just wanted to do whatever Lara wanted me to. I realise now nothing I could do would please her and I couldn’t help the firm and be a good husband. I let slip, with both of you. That won’t happen again.’
Pete went on to say how Nora and Dermot weren’t getting married, and how Dermot had suddenly found a new interest. In not to kind terms he had said how Dermot had fucked Lara and how easy she’d said he’d made it for them. How she had been unhappy with their marriage for a long time and had been too afraid to say anything.
‘Sleeping with her best friends ex? That’s fucked up.’ Ned shook his head in disbelief.
‘And the worst thing is, just as I was going to get Kimmy this morning, Max was driving away from the house.’
‘What is he doin’ there?’ Dave asked and Pete shrugged helplessly.
‘He’s Charlie’s father.’
‘That means shit, especially when it’s Max fuckin’ Sullivan.’ Dave spat and Pete raised an eyebrow, surprised by the langue and the heat. ‘He doesn’t deserve to be a father, the jumped up Irish cunt.’ Finishing his beer, Dave wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and huffed. ‘Me and Alice have been trying for a baby for a while and it aint going well. So when pricks like him get to…. Well… never mind.’
Swill swung an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in close. ‘It’s alright, bruv.’
‘I know.’ Dave murmured, dragging himself away from the choke hold Swill practically had in him. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s alright.’ Pete gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m back now. We can handle anything.’
‘We can ‘andle Dermot Sullivan, if that’s what you want.’ Swill piped up, fist clenched. ‘Tell us where and when and I’ll treat his legs like fuckin’ matchsticks –’
‘Easy.’ Pete put out his arms to calm him. ‘As much as I want to deck the Irish prick for what he’s done. To me, to Bovver… to all of us. Sadly, I think the best way in is the long game.’ When Bovver mentioned the NTO, Pete nodded. ‘Exactly, but I don’t think you’re in the right place to be fighting anyone…’ he glanced Bovver up and down, chewing his lip. ‘What’s actually wrong with you? Two broken ribs, three?’
Bovver told him what had happened, how Dermot had come to him to find Nora and had beaten him to within an inch of his life. Jock had been there and done nothing.
‘Doing nothing it just as bad as doin’ something.’. Pete muttered. ‘He didn’t stop ‘im attacking you, either.’
‘Nora is a good kid.’ Swill said suddenly and everyone turned to him. ‘I think we should leave Jock out of it, for her sake.’
‘You get laid once and suddenly you’re going soft on me?’ Pete asked, tilting his head.
Swill’s cheeks suddenly flushed pink and he rubbed his neck. ‘Nah, I just… I know her, I trust her instinct.’
‘What about her instinct when she was fucking Dermot?’ Pete snapped and Swill shut his mouth.
‘Who was unfortunate enough to sleep with you?’ Dave asked and Swill grinned, a big gummy grin, pointing over his shoulder towards Isla. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Serious.’
All of them looked over at Isla and she felt her eyes on them instantly, flashing an angry look towards Swill.
‘When did we become a firm that didn’t communicate with one another, huh?’ running a hand over his face, Pete reached out to take Kimmy back and held her close. ‘I’m done playing games. I want them gone. All of them.' he flashed a look at Swill. ‘So where is their next match?’
‘Do you even think the Sullivan’s ‘ave anything to do with their firm anymore?’ Dave asked and that was when Ryan spoke up. Mentioned how Max wanted to take Charlie to their next match, to try and make a Millwall fan out of him. ‘Unbelievable.’
Luke Winters had a dealing in everything that was going on right now. He was helping both Shaw and Sullivan, regarding things neither of them were aware of, believing him to be loyal truly only to them. He knew about Aoife, about Dunham, about all the pill popping dealers skirting around the city. He didn’t know what Aoife was thinking, though. She wasn’t replying to him and it was making him itch.
After getting off the phone to Max, he’d gotten a call from Brian and he was out again before he had a second to spare. Lawrence had been outside, waiting with the engine running. He looked at Luke in that way that made him both uncomfortable and strangely aroused. Luke loved attention, attraction, lust; anything that insinuated he was wanted. Lawrence looking at him like he wanted to bend him over made him feel powerful, but he would never let him know that.
‘You’re not my type, poof.’ He murmured as he jumped in the passenger seat and they headed to the hospital.
‘Shame.’ Lawrence replied, a small smile on his face. ‘What is then?’
Looking out the window, Luke lit up a cigarette and dragged on it slowly as he considered the question, as if it were of great importance. ‘Women, Lawrence.’ He replied finally, earning a sideways look. ‘Beautiful women with great tits –’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Am I?’ Luke asked, flicking ash out of the window. ‘What is my type then?’
‘I don’t know, but you’re not as superficial as that.’
‘You think you know me, huh?’ Luke laughed as Lawrence glanced at him, a knowing smirk on his lips.
‘I’m the only one that knows you, as much as you fucking hate it. What happens at boarding school stays at boarding school, right?’
Luke didn’t reply after that, watching the world go by as Lawrence turned up the radio. Lawrence didn’t know shit – nobody did. Sometimes it was exhausting keeping yourself fully from anyone, but it was also the best way to stay safe. Luke couldn’t be worrying about his nearest and dearest betraying him, slipping their knife into his spine like it were made of butter. Even Aoife he would always keep on the edge, only close enough to taste her tongue when he felt like it.
They arrived at the hospital and Luke smiled as he recalled Aoife being here, agreeing to dinner, agreeing to see him. She only regretted it because of George. She felt inclined to be apologetic and sympathetic to his puppy dog heart, when Luke knew she had enjoyed his company. She had let go, she had indulged, she had been inches from kissing him. That was the problem with relationships, you always felt indebted, even if you were unhappy.
Weaving their way through the wards, Luke wondered if Aoife was working today, or if George would be hear, cowering from last nights events. It had been difficult for Luke not to break his neck, but it would be worth it he kept telling himself, even if it currently felt like a waste. If it got him Aoife… It would be worthwhile.
Lawrence headed into the room first, pompous head high. He was figuratively and literally a kiss-arse. Straightening his collar, Luke followed behind, smirking as Lawrence’s greeting was shot down.
‘I need you both to shut your mouths and open your ears.’
‘Good to see you too.’ Luke murmured under his breath but listened all the same.
‘Something big is kicking off and there’s somebody I need to find. Rosa Croft. I want you to bring her to me. I don’t care how.’ His gaze shifted then and Lawrence looked disheartened. ‘I know your background, Winters.’ Brian looked at him, a serious glare in his eye. ‘I know every address you’ve lived at, I know every petty little arsehole crime you’ve ever done. I understand you’re quite familiar with the dregs of London. Find her.’
‘Some would say you’re threatening me, Brian.’ Luke said in response and Brian looked less than impressed. ‘But I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it. I can find anyone.’
Brian handed him a photograph and Luke felt his heart skip in sick delight. It was the woman from the polaroid; the one he had beneath his pillow, who made his dick hard and his cum warm. He tilted his head, looking at the innocent enough image. She was younger there than she was now, but the face was the same, the eyes and lips pursed in the same pleasing way. What did Brian have to do with her?
Did he know about this other man, or was he behind it all?
Nodding his head, Luke pocketed the picture and glanced at Brian. He opened his mouth to speak again when he heard a loud clatter outside and a voice he recognised. Turning on his heel, Luke peered out of the room they were in to see George Turner struggling with a nurse, bedpans spewed across the floor. Trying not to laugh, he cleared his throat, enjoying how George jumped.
‘Turner.’
George slowed, trying to compose himself before he turned back to Luke and the two simply looked at one another for a moment. Luke hated that his eye had bruised, and that George had practically nothing in return. A cut lip, a mere inkling of what was to come.
‘Winters.’ He greeted but Luke was pushed aside by Brian who stepped into the open.
George didn’t like the man who was staring at him, but he tried to keep the disgust and distrust from his face. He was an older man, no doubt in the police; he had that look about him, the one that implied he felt superior because he had a badge. Well, the police barely did shit, especially in London, and if he was in the forces, why was Luke involved with him?
Moving forward, he glanced at the board outside the room with the patients name and saw ROBERT CROFT printed clearly. He was in one of the intensive rooms; life support, a coma? Swallowing, he turned his gaze back to Brian who was speaking to Luke.
‘You know one another?’
Luke nodded, a smirk sliding onto his face. ‘You could say we have a common interest.’ He murmured and George felt his blood rush. What a cunt. ‘He works here.’
‘Not anymore.’ George stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘I resigned, to focus on the more important things in life.’
‘Well, fuck me, you finally saw the light –
Brian cut across the both of them, getting close into George’s face and he could smell tobacco on his breath. He asked if he’d heard anything and George brought his gaze up, challenging the older mans. It had taken a long time to learn not to be scared of broad-shouldered bullies. Was this man any greater than Max Sullivan?
George could still recall the day at Kings Cross when Dermot had taken him to meet his brother. They had been on the top level, in one of the restaurants and Max had pushed him too far, arrogant and obnoxious and somehow George had found a knife in his hand. The two of them had wrestled until Dermot had broken it up and Max had disappeared into the crowds, laughing in a way that suggested he’d enjoyed the fight.
Seeing his son-in-law like that hadn’t started Dermot and George was thankful for the understanding. Dermot never patronised him or made him feel small; Jock may call him a pup, but he respected him too, even if not on the same level. Max didn’t, Luke didn’t, his dad hadn’t; so many people underestimated him and George wanted to show them exactly what he was made of.
‘Yeah.’ He replied, standing strong with Brian inches from his face. ‘Yeah, I heard everything.’
Brian didn’t seem to like this answer and went to grab George’s collar but he raised a hand. The receptionist behind them was watching, an eyebrow raised in concern.
‘Everything alright, George?’ she asked and he glanced over his shoulder with a nod.
‘It’s all good, Veronica.’ He gave a small before turning back, letting his eyes settle on Luke over Brian’s shoulder. ‘I’ve just got some catching up to do with some new friends.’ He tilted his head to the side, indicating they should all leave but they were reluctant. ‘Unless you want to have this conversation here?’ he asked and Lawrence glanced at the floor uncertainly.
‘Let’s go, uncle.’ He murmured, flinching at the glare Brian shot him.
Slowly they all headed outside, Luke coming up behind George and taking his elbow. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he hissed but George kept his gaze forward, nodding at all the staff he knew.
‘Get the fuck off of me, you slimy wanker.’ He hissed back, tugging his arm free.
Luke fell back into line with Brian. What was happening? What the fuck was Turner playing at?
When they all stepped out into the sun, Brian stopped, announcing he was fed up of the game and demanding answers. Why should he listen to some scrawny cunt like George anyway?
Turning to face them, George crossed his arms over his shoulders. ‘Do you know who I’m engaged to?’ he asked and they all looked back at him in confusion. ‘Tell them, Winters.’
‘Fuck off –
‘Who?’ Brian snapped, having had enough of the games. ‘Just fuckin’ tell me, Luke.’
Swallowing, Luke glowered at George before turning to Brian. ‘Aoife Sullivan.’
‘As in Dermot Sullivans daughter?’ Lawrence piped up and George nodded.
‘I did work for the Sullivans, but now it looks like I’m a free agent.’ He paused to stick a piece of gum in his mouth, chewing it for a few moments as he let the uncertainty settle. ‘What do they say? Don’t work with dogs, small children or family –'
‘So?’ Luke asked impatiently and George smirked in a way Luke had never seen before.
‘Well, I could always go back to my father-in-law and tell him all of your little tales, about… Rosa, was it?’ he raised an eyebrow
‘What would he care –’ Luke started but Brian put out a hand to silence him.
‘Well I’m guessing you –’ he looked towards Brian. ‘—are either ex police, or current, and I can’t see any reason you would have Luke here looking for her, unless you were the one that put her family member in that hospital bed over there.’ George nodded to the building behind them. ‘And as I just said, I resigned, so I’m looking for work –’
‘We’re not hiring.’ Luke spat but Brian stopped him again and he felt his back stiffen. What the hell was going on? Why was George trying to infiltrate the empire he had spent so many years trying to build up? For a game? For Aoife? Heat flushing his neck he loosened his tie with a grunt. He hadn’t ever considered that George would try to play him at his own game.
‘So, what do you say?’ George asked with a smile, full attention on Brian. 'And you better pay well, I've got a wedding to plan.'
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Aug 24, 2022 10:41:17 GMT -5
Dermot had gathered a few of Charlie’s things in an overnight bag and sat it on the back seat. Slipping into the driver’s seat, Dermot glanced at the house before he drove away. He’d picked a couple of t-shirts and a pair of trousers for Charlie, along with his dinosaur pyjamas and a few of his toys to keep him entertained while Lara was out. And all the time Dermot was driving, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his head. The look of anguish on Lara’s face had been utterly heartbreaking and he felt an anger towards Pete Dunham that he’d never felt before.
“... I screamed at him, told him not to touch my son and then we argued about who else’s son he was. How Pete thought Charlie was a mistake. How I made a mistake, and ruined everything. Hearing him say that about Charlie... I regret a lot of things, Dermot, but I don’t regret him. I know it makes things difficult, but he doesn’t deserve to be damned because of who his father is.”
Just seeing the tears in Lara’s eyes... It had taken Dermot everything not to leave the house right there and find Pete. Charlie hadn’t asked for any of this and to be called a mistake had the blood roaring in his ears. Perhaps it was because of his own childhood that he felt so riled and Dermot thought back to his own father. How many people had tarred him with the same brush as Paddy Sullivan over the years? Snide remarks on how the apple never fell far from the tree, how he and Max would grow up to be just the same. It had taken Dermot every ounce of determination not to follow that destructive path, because where had it got his Da really? Blown up at a riverside was where it had gotten him. Hated by everyone, fuelled by alcohol and rage. If Dermot didn’t try and be better, who would break the cycle? He hadn’t wanted it for Aoife, and he didn’t want Charlie to have to deal with that pressure, to have to live with the burden of being a Sullivan on his shoulders. It wasn’t fair, and it certainly wasn’t fair of Pete to make him feel that way.
To make Lara feel as if she’d done something wrong by loving her son.
And it wasn’t only Pete who had pissed him off. His friends too, the boys. How easy it had been for them to turn their backs. Swill had sided with Pete without giving Lara the respect she deserved. In her own home. Dermot understood loyalty, he understood that blind need to protect the ones you cared about, but by the sounds of it, they hadn’t even given her a chance
“They all hate me. The way Swill looked at me... He used to look at me in adoration and now like I’m nothing but some cheap whore.”
“You’re not a whore,” he’d told her softly, hating the upset that marred her features, tears swimming in her blue eyes. But, Lara wasn’t focused on herself. They could have called her a million disgusting and degrading things, but she’d take each one, absorbing the words and adding them like bricks to the wall she’d always had built around herself. All she was worried about was the children and it broke his heart.
“I have two men both trying to take my children. What do I do if they succeed? I don’t care about me. I just want them safe.”
Because that was Lara in a nutshell. Always prioritising herself last, no matter what. Perhaps that was part of the reason they’d ended up sleeping together, ending up discovering feelings they hadn’t even known existed... For the first time, she’d thought only of herself and the aftershocks bordered disastrous. Dermot had held her close after that, her body fitting perfectly against his, and when they kissed, it was as if the whole world melted away. In that single moment, everything was perfect. The two of them, alone, together, murmuring soft words. Her gaze had searched his face as she’d looped her arms around his neck and his hands had slid to her waist, body hot even through her dress. Her whispered words played on repeat as he pulled into Tesco and parked the car.
You love me. I love you.
In the store, Dermot mindlessly filled a basket with everything a little boy might like, though his thoughts were far from what food item was in his hand. Pete and his pals would be a problem, a small one, he assumed, but a problem nonetheless. Still, Dermot didn’t doubt he could deal with it. The bigger threat came from his dearthair, his own flesh and blood. He’d tried to ignore the spark of jealously that had ignited when Lara revealed she’d spent the day with Max and Charlie at the zoo, but it burned with a lot more ferocity now he knew they were going for dinner. Just Lara and Max together in the city. And he was worried about Lara. About what Max may do should she reject him.
Whatever way he looked at it, this was a betrayal Max would never have considered, but a betrayal which would cause more damage than anything in the past four years. And he knew Max, he knew how charming and persuasive he could be, and he didn’t doubt that Lara hadn’t had much of a choice. Max didn’t give choices, and if he did, it was only if either option benefitted him.
“He can read me like a book, you know. I’ve never been good at pretending, not with Max.”
Dermot had nodded his agreement, because he felt the same. Some days, Max only had to look at him to know something was on his mind, and Dermot had never been able to hide anything from him. Not about Susie, or Aoife, not even when he’d started seeing Nora. Max knew everything and when he didn’t, it was never for long. All he had to do was say that word and Dermot would spill the truth like a burst paddling pool. Dearthair. How had Max ever gained so much control over them? It was a startling, and rather saddening, realisation.
—-
Lara’s hands were trembling when she picked up the phone. Charlie settled back, gently fiddling with the ear of the lion, his attention back on the TV. Answering the call, Lara lifted it to her ear, and her heart was beating so hard she was sure she was about to be sick. She couldn’t keep doing this, she realised suddenly. Lying to Nora of all people... She felt guilty for thinking it, but it was almost worse than betraying Pete in the first place. It could have been anyone, but no, it had to have been Dermot. Her ex. Her ex-fiancé.
But, then, it could never have just been anyone. Lara wasn’t a slag, she didn’t throw it about, even before Pete, even before Max. Lara had slept with a grand total of two - now three - people in her entire life. But that thought didn’t really reassure her. She was in love with Dermot and she’d never be able to change that. Had she always been in love with him? Had it always been there, dampened by everything that always been going on? How was she ever supposed to explain any of this to Nora? “H-Hello?”
“Hey. I’ve amissed you.”
Those simple words brought a lump to her throat and Lara shut her eyes briefly, holding back the tears threatening to spill. How could she be so selfish? While she was destroying her marriage, Nora had been kidnapped. Lara should have been there now, comforting her and supporting her like the best friend she was supposed to be. Why hadn’t she called Nora first?
Oh yeah. Because she was a coward.
“How are you? I heard what happened.”
“You know about the kidnapping?”
Lara flushed. “Yeah, um... Dermot told me when he came to pick up Charlie. Max took him to the zoo.” It felt wrong saying Dermot’s name, images of their night together tearing through her mind. His lips against her throat, hands trailing fire down her thighs...
“What a fucked up situation,” Nora mused and Lara murmured her agreement. It was fucked up. Massively massively fucked up. “How do you feel about it?”
God, Lara didn’t even know where to start. She glanced at Charlie, and even though he was engrossed with the TV, she lowered her voice anyway. “I... don’t know. Max bought these two lions and Charlie will not let his go. He hasn’t put it down since we got home. And Max... He seems different. Is different? I don’t know.”
“Can a leopard really change its spots?” Nora asked and Lara found herself biting her bottom lip, unable to reply for a moment. Was it possible Max had really changed? Had some life-changing new perspective and put away all that darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went? And if so, what did that mean? “Is it even possible?”
“I...” Lara sighed, shutting her eyes. “I just don’t know anymore. Everything just feels so out of my control.” Like she was on a rollercoaster with no way to get off. She just had to hold on tight and prayed it all ended soon, and that she got out of it alive. Again.
“Max was there, at the storage facility. He told me and Dermot to leave and that he would handle it. He... He had a gun with him, Lar. I think he killed Nick. I saw it on the news... what happened to him wasn’t an accident.”
Nora’s voice wavered at the end and Lara sighed softly, blinking away tears. “It’s better he’s gone,” she reminded Nora softly; she didn’t know much about Nick, only the bits and pieces filled in by Nora and Dermot, but by the sounds of it, Max had actually done them all a favour. The mention that he had a gun hadn’t gone unnoticed by Lara though, and she wasn’t even surprised. Max would never have returned to London without having some form of protection; he’d pissed off a lot of people on both sides of the water for him to swan around unarmed. “Thank you for telling me, Nora. But, are you sure you’re okay? How are things with you and Jock?”
Maybe a little part of her was probing. Trying to figure out how hurt Nora would be when she found out what Lara had done behind her back. She heard Nora shift the phone to her other ear, and beside her, Charlie giggled at something on the screen. “I’m happy with Jock. So happy. I feel stupid for wasting so much time. Was that what you felt like when you met Pete?” The mention of his name was like being drenched in ice cold water. Lara’s whole body seemed to contract, the lump returning full force and choking off her air. “Lar? Is everything okay?”
Doing her best to take a breath, Lara forced herself to speak. “... Not really.” Swallowing hard, Lara stood, heading for the kitchen. She didn’t want Charlie to be reminded of what had happened last night; he’d been so happy all day, the smile stuck to his face ever since they’d gotten back from the zoo. She couldn’t deny the influence Max was already having on their son and part of her hated it. She should have been the one putting that smile on his face, not arguing with the man he believed to be his father, not breaking down the stability she and Pete had spent years building.
Sometimes, it was easy to compartmentalise what she’d done, set it aside and cling to her defences. Other times, like now, the weight of what she and Dermot had done, the look on Pete’s face when she’d told him... it was like a sledge-hammer to the chest, caving her in. Lara pushed a hand through her hair, pacing the tiled floor. “Me and Pete are getting a divorce. W-We had a huge argument yesterday and he spent the night in a hotel.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “He took Kimmy this morning.”
“What? Is this because of the firm? Because he’ll leave it for you, you know. Really, he will.”
“If he really wanted to leave, he would have done it already,” Lara murmured. Sure, he’d told her he’d left the firm all those years ago, but all he’d really left were the matches. The mentality had still been there, and the resentment that Lara was the cause of him leaving in the first place.
“He loves you! And the kids-”
“It’s not just the firm,” Lara cut in, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes. “It’s everything. He told me Charlie was a mistake, that he was my mistake and that he was suffering for it. I can’t forgive that, Nora.”
“That’s not Pete talking, I promise you. That’s Bovver. He’s gotten in his mind, that’s all.”
Lara appreciated Nora’s efforts, but without revealing the whole truth, Lara couldn’t argue anymore. Sinking onto the stool at the breakfast bar, Lara rubbed a hand over her face and glanced at the clock, heart sinking when she saw she’d have to start getting ready soon. “I hope you’re right. But, I don’t see how we can come back from this. He won’t even talk to me.” And could she blame him?
“Do you not love him anymore, Lar?” Nora’s voice was quiet and Lara shut her eyes as her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. “Is there someone else? Is it Max?”
“No, no, it’s not Max,” Lara said quickly, then winced and wondered why she hadn’t answered the question about Pete first. And it was becoming more and more clear that she could not lie to Nora. It was making her feeling dirty and tainted and guilty, yet how could she say it? How could she sit here and admit, ‘actually, yes, somehow I’ve fallen head over heels for Dermot and I can’t imagine my life without him. He’d been a constant through everything and Lara truly couldn’t be without him now. It was almost pathetic how much she needed him. “I just don’t feel the same way about Pete anymore, as awful as that sounds. And I know it sounds awful.”
There was a pause before Nora asked if she wanted to come over and Lara blanched. Part of her was dying to say yes, to rebel against Max and his demands, but she knew from experience that no good would come of it. Max would see it as a challenge, an affront, and the games would begin. That’s if they hadn’t already. It was so difficult to keep a clear head around him, she never knew she was wandering into dangerous territory until it was too late and she was already ensnared and helpless.
She hated it.
“I... can’t tonight. I’m... busy.”
“What are you doing this evening, huh?”
“Oh, nobody. I mean, nothing.” Damn it, Lara! Nora instantly pounced on her slip-up.
“Who are you seeing tonight? Tell me! Tell me!” Despite everything, Lara couldn’t help but chuckle at her best friend’s insistence. “A date?”
“N-not a date? It’s just... so we can talk about Charlie. To discuss how we’re going to ... raise him, I guess.” Raising Charlie with Max? She never imagined she’d ever be in a position where she’d be saying those words, especially not now, and frankly, she was starting to feel a little insane. What was happening with her life?
“Lara, do you know what you’re doing?” The words weren’t unkind and Lara felt a fresh surge of tears. She glanced towards the doorway where she could hear more of Charlie’s giggles.
“Truthfully? I don’t have a fucking clue. But, I don’t have much of a choice either.”
“Fuck! I don’t think he’s changed, but... if you think so... Keep me updated and stay safe, okay? Don’t... don’t do what I did.”
“You didn’t have a choice either,” Lara reminded her gently. “I love you, Nora, okay? I promise I’ll stop by soon.” They said their goodbyes and after the call, Lara sat for a moment, staring into space. Dermot would be there soon and she needed to get ready, but she felt numb.
She’d ruined Pete and she hadn’t even been able to tell Nora the truth as to why. The raw truth. She hadn’t even had the courage to tell her on the call, when the words had been dancing on the tip of her tongue. And it did feel worse than with Pete. Nora was the closest thing Lara had ever had to a sister, they’d both been through such similar trauma and they truly rooted for each other and supported each other in everything. Through all relationships and all break-ups. Both doing their best to placate hurt parties. Dermot may have been Lara’s mirror, but it was as if she and Nora shared a very soul and Lara considered herself very lucky for the bond they shared. Lara would not make a fool out of her, even if Nora never wanted to speak to her again.
And even though Nora had told her how happy she was with Jock and how she’d regretted wasting time, Lara couldn’t help but fear some lines should still never be crossed.
—-
By half-five, Dermot was pulling back onto Lara’s driveway. He’d dropped everything back at the house and spent an hour trying to make it look a little more homely. He’d brought a couple of lamps for the front room, some cushions for the sofa and even a few children’s films to keep Charlie entertained. For some reason, he couldn’t seem to quash the nervousness churning beneath his ribs, but did his best to keep Max out of mind. Heading for he front door, he knocked, and when Lara answered, his eyes widened. “Wow. Lara, you look-“
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Lara pulled a face and stepped aside to let him in; she was in the middle of curling her hair, a slight scowl on her face as she tried to remove them with her fingers. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“No, no, you look amazing.” Dermot shut the door behind him, unable to take his eyes off her. “You look great,” he added. She was wearing a short white crop top, paired with a long pale pink skirt.
“He’s going to think I’m making an effort.” Lara felt a stab of irritation at herself as she continued to try and smooth her hair. She’d already changed three outfits, put her hair up, put it down. She’d even considered going to the restaurant in a hoody and jeans, but she could have only imagined the look on Max’s face if he’d seen her. She would have looked like she was struggling, like she needed his help, and that was the last thing she wanted to put into his mind.
But, there was a fine line between ‘I’m doing fine on my own’ and ‘I’ve dressed up just for you’ and Lara was struggling to navigate it. Snatching a packet of baby wipes off the side, she began to remove the baby blue eyeshadow from her lids. She could feel Dermot’s eyes on her; she could always feel when his eyes were on her, as if she could feel warm spots directly where he was staring.
“You look stressed.”
Lara dropped her hand and turned to look at him. “I can’t lie to Nora. We have to tell her.” At this, Dermot straightened a little and she saw the panic dart in his eyes. Turning away, she resumed unmake-upping herself. “Now you look stressed.”
“Lara-“
“If we don’t, Pete will tell her. She’ll find out. It has to come from us.” She swallowed hard. “Its only fair.”
Dermot nodded, a more resolute expression resting on his face. “You’re right. We can... go tomorrow, if you want?” He moved closer, standing behind her in the mirror and meeting her gaze in the reflection. “We’ll figure this out.”
“She’s going to hate me.” He could see the worry swimming in her eyes and sighed softly, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her back against him. Lara rested against his chest, shutting her eyes briefly as he dropped gentle kisses to the column of her throat.
“She won’t hate you.”
“You can’t persuade me with your mouth,” she smirked, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze in the mirror once more. The corner of his lips curved into a smile, though he didn’t remove his mouth from her throat.
“You sure?” He murmured huskily against her skin and Lara shivered, trying to stop her mind from clouding. Turning, she gently pushed him away, a brow arched and that smirk still lingering on her mouth. He leaned back against the wall behind him and she couldn’t help but admire how attractive and handsome he looked under the orange glow of the hallway light.
“Very sure.”
“How about I-“
“Uncle Dermot!” They booth jumped as Charlie thundered through from the living room, a red cape trailing behind him. It was tied around his neck, the yellow mask at a jaunty angle on his face. “Look at me! I’m a superhero!”
“Oh my goodness,” Dermot replied, feigning shock. “A real live superhero?”
“Yep!” Charlie beamed, then showed Dermot how strong his muscles were as he jabbed his own biceps. “See. Got muscles.”
“Hmm... if you’re that strong, I guess I can’t do this..” Dermot darted forward and grabbed him up, turning him upside down and Charlie began to laugh and squeal as Dermot tickled his sides.
“No! No! You wiiiiiin!”
Laughing, Lara watched the exchange, her heart warming. Dermot set Charlie back on his feet and ruffled his hair. “You ready to come on an adventure with me, superhero?” Charlie nodded eagerly. “Right, go and get anything you want to bring and we’ll get going.” The little boy rushed off, no doubt to try and bring his entire toy chest, and Dermot turned back to Lara to find her grinning at him. He smiled back with a soft chuckle. “You okay?”
“I love you.” She moved close, hand sliding across his jaw as she guided his lips to hers.
“I love you,” he murmured into the kiss, hand falling to her waist. “I love you so much.” Five minutes later, Charlie was impatiently waiting to leave and Dermot gave her one last look as he stood on the doorstep. “I’ll have my phone on me. Text if you need anything...” Lara nodded. There was so much she wanted to say, yet words seemed to fail her now. Watching the car leave, Lara worried her bottom lip. She had no idea how tonight was going to go and her nerves were fraught. At ten to six, she climbed into her car and made the short drive to the restaurant Max had messaged her. It was an expensive place, a valet coming to greet her and take her keys. It was a far cry from the MacDonald’s breakfast she, Pete and the kids had enjoyed the week before. When life was normal.
Making her way into the restaurant, Lara have her name, and was led to a table at the back. A more private area than the rest of the place, she noticed, but that was all she had time to notice. She spotted Max straight away and her stomach flipped and she instantly began to sweat. Here we go, she thought to herself, a moment before the waiter pulled out her chair and she took a seat. The table was small and Max seemed a lot closer than she would have liked. She forced herself to meet his eye, but couldn’t yet bring herself to smile. “Have you ordered?”
—-
“I want to tell you what happened. I need to process it. I read this thing that said if you speak about a traumatic experience, then it gets it out of your body, is that okay?”
“You can tell me anything,” he promised her softly. They were laid together in bed, the feather duvet drawn up around them, Nora’s head resting against his chest. His fingers traced soft patterns on her forearm and for the first time in four days, Jock could finally feel himself relax. It had been terrifying, being so close to losing Nora. The idea of never seeing her again had given him nothing but a sense of chaos and disarray, his future suddenly dissolving and leaving him with nothing but darkness.
But she was alive and he actually spent a moment thanking God for that. For saving her, for protecting her when he couldn’t. He listened to her talk, her voice hoarse and quiet, no doubt damaged from screaming. She must have been terrified. Locked up in a dark storage unit with only that psychopath for company. The thought of Nick sent a fresh surge of hot anger coursing through him, but the man was dead. There was no revenge Jock could exact now and it frustrated him.
“I didn’t know what to do. He had these photos of other girls, not just me. There was some of Rosa -- lots of Rosa. I feel like a bitch for being so mean to her now.”
Rosa. Jock stared at the ceiling, just listening to her words, the entire thing playing out in his head like a bad film, though he knew the reality would have been a thousand times worse than anything he could have imagined. “You weren’t to know,” he murmured, fingers running across her shoulder. Rosa had been with Nick for a few years, but he’d never heard about photos being taken. Did Rosa even know? She’d told him worse shit she’d experienced during her time with Walker, so he wasn’t sure if she did. That would be a difficult conversation when she got back.
“I don’t know who Charlotte was, but she found us, knocked on the door and stabbed him. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t get out of the handcuffs so she… she sacrificed herself, for me. If she hadn’t, then I don’t think I would’ve gotten out. I had to break my wrist just to get it out of the chains, and I didn’t even look back… I just… I left her.”
Jock didn’t have a clue who this Charlotte was either, but she had to have been some sort of guardian angel. It saddened him that she’d ended up losing her life, but if she hadn’t been there, it would have been Nora getting lowered into the ground and that was something he refused to contemplate. The thought of Nora being so desperate to get away that she broke her own wrist... Jock’s jaw tensed. He was glad that bastard was dead, but he wished more than anything he’d gotten a hold of him first.
“... Before Charlotte… I thought I could distract him enough to grab the keys. I made it seem like I wanted him and he…” He felt Nora tense in his arms and she had to force the next words from her lips. He had a horrible inner knowing that he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say. “He showed me he wanted me too… you know. He didn’t touch me. But, it was such a stupid fucking idea. I’m so stupid, Jock.”
She suddenly sobbed and Jock frowned, pulling her closer. “Hey now, that... that wasn’t your fault. He was fucked in the head, he was a sick man, Nora. You’re not stupid. You were doing what you had to do to survive.” But, the tears were flowing freely and Nora swallowed hard, trying to slow them. “Why was I the one that was saved? I’m useless. Even on the boat, you saved me, I didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he told her, hand trailing to her hip, keeping her close to him. “But none of this was your fault. You didn’t ask for any of that. And I should never have let you out of my sight.” She was still crying, body slumped against his, and he spoke softly to her, mentioning how he’d sort things with Dermot, anything to ease her pain. He may not have liked it, but Dermot had found her, Dermot had rescued her. And if he hadn’t? Well, that didn’t bear thinking about.
So he kissed her, silencing any of the worries she had about his cousin. He couldn’t see how things with Dermot would ever be able to be fixed; the man had lied, repeatedly, had made everybody believe Jock was crazy. But then Jock had taken his woman, so did that make them even? And more than that, would Dermot ever really be okay with the two of them being together? Or would he become like Bov, angry and bitter and determined to ruin it whatever chance he got? He shifted so she was below him, lips teasing hers, just enjoying the taste of her and the feel of her body beneath his.
He wanted to savour every single second he spent with her. Just in case.
Nora ran her hands over his back, brushing a particularly sore spot and he winced, breaking the kiss to look down at her. He wasn’t angry with Dermot about the beating; in fact it was understandable and Jock would have reacted exactly the same. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though and he knew the rib-pain would be hanging around for weeks yet. Holding her gaze, memorising the way her lashes fanned, he told her he loved her.
“I love you, so much,” she whispered, drawing him closer. They kissed again, as if desperate to convey every feeling and emotion and soft whispered word into a single intimate act. Nora shifted them until she was straddling his waist, and he gazed up at her, completely awe-struck. Jock had never considered himself very lucky until he and Nora had gotten together, but now he was thanking all his stars for having such a woman come into his life. Nora was everything he’d ever been searching for, even when he hadn’t realised he’d been searching for it. Without saying a word, the two of them drank each other in as if this was the last time they’d ever see each other.
Her hands trailed his torso, his abdomen, tracing a smattering of small scars. Most of them from his days back in Ireland, the biggest from a particularly brutal beating at the hands of Barry O’Neill. That had been shortly before he’d fled for London, but the memory gave him an odd sense of satisfaction; Barry had beaten him for drugs Max had already left with, and Jock had remembered laughing in his face, teeth bloody. “Too late, pal. Max took the lot. It’s probably all up the noses of junkie English bastards by now.” Her fingers shifted then, touching the scar across his throat and he met her eye with a soft, but sad, smile, knowing she was thinking back to that day on the boat. “You did save my life,” he reminded her. “Remember?” His hands tickled up her thighs, skimming the waistband of her panties and feeling his heart start to beat heavy. But, Nora sighed softly and placed her hands on his.
“I don’t think I can.” Her words were slow and considered, and the nervous look she flashed him was painful. As if he would get angry, or upset, that she didn’t want to. Nick may not have touched her, allegedly, but he’d sure done something to warrant her sudden unease. As if Jock would ever force her into anything. He hoped Nick was rotting in Hell.
“It’s okay,” he told her quickly, wanting to dampen any fears she had.
“It’s not you. I want to I just...” Nora looked away, then moved to flop into he bed beside him, the pair of them shoulder to shoulder. “I keep thinking I’m fine and then I see him and I just... I’m sorry.”
“Nora.” He rolled onto his side and pulled the duvet around them again, hand reaching to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to apologise to me. I understand. Whenever you’re ready, okay?” He leaned close and gave her a soft kiss, before settling an arm around her, body entwined with his. They laid there together for a while, murmuring quietly about random little things, mostly to keep her mind from straying. The sun began to set, casting a dull red glow into the room, the birds chirping in the trees outside.
“Where is Rosa?” she asked after a little while, meeting his gaze. “Does she know he’s dead now?”
“She’s safe,” Jock replied. “But she doesn’t know about Nick. I’ll tell her as soon as I speak to her.” He wasn’t even sure when she and her copper beau were planning on coming back, but he lent then his parent’s cottage in Dublin and said they could stay for as long as they liked. And while Nick was dead, there was still all this business with the police and Robbie and ugh... Jock was tired.
“I’m glad she’s safe. I never thought I would say that about her, either.”
They both chuckled softly, Jock pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Rosa really was something else though, and he couldn’t blame Nora for her line of thinking when they’d first arrived, so maybe there was a glimmer of friendship for the pair of them on the horizon. Jock hoped so. Nora needed all the support right now and Jock was going to be the one leading the parade for her. After a while, Nora said she was going to call Lara, stretching to grab her phone off the bedside. Jock’s eyes followed the curve of her hip as each delicious inch was revealed. “You’ve not been a terrible friend, you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Lara will understand.”
He watched as she climbed out of bed, sliding her dress back on. She’d lost weight; he noticed her jawline looked sharper, her collarbone jutting a little. Her wrist cast. He wished he could revive Nick, just to kill him again. Whatever Max did wouldn’t have been enough. Nick had deserved to feel true agony for even laying eyes on his woman in the first place. Nora glanced at him.
“What do you want for dinner? I think we should order something in.”
She moved back towards him as Jock shifted himself to the edge of the bed, reaching to touch his cheek. Her fingertips were so soft and warm, the mere touch setting him instantly at ease. For the first time in what felt like forever, in this very single moment, everything was perfect. “I think we should too. I could eat a feckin’ rhino.” When was the last time he’d even eaten? He couldn’t remember. He’d drank plenty though and that shamed him.
“Thanks for being patient with me.”
She smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Jock smiled, reaching up take her jaw softly, bringing her closer to kiss her mouth. “I’m here if you need me,” he told her, voice low. “For anything. Is breá liom tú.” /I love you/. When Nora left, Jock got up and pulled on his trousers. Slipping his shirt back up, he did up the buttons, contemplating everything Nora had told him. She’d been bundled into a car and locked away for nearly four whole days. She’d been rescued in a way that had been both miraculous and tragic; if Charlotte hadn’t turned up, would Nick have eventually killed her? Would he have used her body first for his own disgusting gratification?
Knowing he’d only be torturing himself with these thoughts, Jock shook his head and made his way to the window. He looked out at the garden; autumn was beginning to creep in, the ground damp, the leaves starting to turn yellow. He couldn’t shift this knowing feeling that there was something big in the horizon, something dangerous. A gut instinct to stay alert. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but Jock trusted himself. He’d felt this way before, not long before Nick had sent the photo to his phone and revealed Dermot’s secret to the world.
Jock headed downstairs, overhearing the tone of Nora’s voice and quickly making his way into the living room. She was sat with the blanket around her shoulders and she was staring at the phone in her hands. “Are you okay?” She looked up with a frown; her face was pale.
“Lara and Pete are getting divorced. And she’s meeting Max tonight... at a restaurant. Should we be worried?”
Jock looked at her in surprise, shaking his head. “Seriously? Fuckin’ hell, what’s going on with the world?” He moved to her side, squeezing her shoulder gently. “Listen... I’m sure Lara knows what she’s doing. Try not to worry... I just want to make sure you’re okay.” His phone began to buzz and he cursed softly, giving Nora an apologetic glance. Pulling it out, he saw George’s name on the screen. “It’s Pup. Let me just take this.” He sat down beside her and answered with a, “This better be good.”
George began to tell him how he’d been at the hospital and overheard a Luke Winters talking to Brian Shaw. Jock knew this name very well and he felt himself tense at the mention. “Are you feckin’ serious?” George sounded breathless, but insistent and Jock uttered another unsavoury curse. He glanced at Nora. “I’ll deal with it now. I’ll call you when I’ve moved him. He won’t last another night in that place, I’ll bet. He knows too much.” They said goodbye and Jock hung up, getting to his feet and turning to look at Nora.
“While you were...” he trailed off, a little uncomfortable. “... Rosa got into something with somebody from her past. I sent her and her new man to Dublin, to keep her safe. To cut a long and incredibly dull story short, her brother was shot in the face and the Pup thinks someone’s going for round two so I’m going to get the kid out of hospital. Add an extra meal to that order?” He gave her a half-grimace, half-smile as he leaned down to pull her to her feet, drawing her close. “I’ll be an hour. Any delays and I will text and let you know. Are you going to be okay here?” He could bring her with him, but he knew she’d been through enough trauma to last her a lifetime and he didn’t want to add to that. An hour may have been a little optimistic but Jock did like to see a silver lining in everything. “In and out. No mess. I promise.”
—
Pete was back.
How long had it been since he’d been in this pub? Only a few weeks, since Swill’s birthday, yet it felt like an age. The Abbey had always been their place, their hangout, their home away from home. The place to meet, to discuss plans for upcoming matches. Terry always had the beers ready and they’d spend their week’s wages in one night, dribbling beer over the floor and chanting football songs until their lungs ached and their throats were hoarse. They’d been fourteen when they’d first snuck in through the swinging wooden doors, met with a cloud of fag smoke and an overpowering stench of stale alcohol. Steve had been at the back with his lads, blood staining their shirts and their knuckles, cuts and grazes on their faces but victory in their eyes.
It had been addictive. Pete and Bovver had wanted in straight away, had dreamt of the day the pub would be theirs and it would be their names being sung and cheered. Over the years, he and Pete had brought the GSE back on top, they’d formed a brotherhood with the others that was unbreakable. Had been unbreakable. So what had gone wrong?
The Sullivans. Life had been good before they’d come onto the scene and, maybe rightfully, he blamed Lara. Swanning in with her trauma and her pretty face; one look, one smile, and Pete had been hooked. Of course he had been. Pete had relished in being a Knight in Shining Armour, in being able to swoop in and save her. Had she planned this all along? It wouldn’t have surprised him if Max had been orchestrating this since long before she and Pete had even met. Four years was a long time. For four years they’d been fighting against that man and his family. Enough for enough, and Pete was either with them or against them.
Bovver stood, despite the glaring agony of his broken ribs, and saw the colour drain from Pete’s face. He’d almost forgotten how bad he looked. The nurses had cleaned up the blood at the hospital and had bandaged his chest tight, but there was little else to be done for the swelling in his face, the broken eye socket and the bust lip. Two large bruises bloomed across his eyes, a cut on his nose, and there was a particularly nasty graze on his jaw. And he was glad Pete could see him like this. It satisfied Bovver, having Pete know exactly what kind of bastard Dermot Sullivan was. The man he’d defended time and time again.
Dave stood, taking Kimmy from his arms, the little girl gurgling and showing off her two front teeth when she smiled. Pete came forward, eyes searching every injury, from his face to the way he held himself. He asked if Pete got his message and he looked away, sheepish, a slight tinge of red flushing the back of his neck.
“It wasn’t a good night last night. But I read it this morning, yeah.”
There was something in Pete’s voice which unsettled Bov and he frowned, looking at Pete properly. Now he was actually paying attention, he could see Pete’s clothes were rumpled - still from the night before? - and that there were deep bags beneath his eyes that spoke of lack of sleep. What the fuck had been going on? “Are you alright?”
Pete laughed sharply, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked at Bov. “Am I alright? Look at the state of ya, looks like you went five rounds with Mike Tyson.”
Bov gave a dry smile. “Yeah, well... replace Tyson with Dermot Sullivan and you’re right on the mark, bruv.”
Pete nodded slowly, eyes distant for a moment before he stepped forward to take Bov’s hand. He pulled him close, the two men embracing tightly. Well, as tight as Bov could manage. Pete patted him gently on the back. “That Sullivan prick has got a lot to answer for. Now I’m only goin’ to say this once, so I ‘ope your ears are working, but... well... you were right, Bruv. About the Sullivans... about Dermot...” Pete fell quiet, swallowing hard and Bov could only frown at him, that uncertainty churning in his gut. Something had happened. Something big had happened, Bov knew it. He glanced at Kimmy. Pete had never brought her along before, not without the pretence of a party at least. Where was Lara? And Charlie? His gaze shot back to Pete as he spoke again. “Swill knows, so the rest of you might as well know too.”
“Bruv?”
“Me and Lara are getting a divorce —”
Fuck. Whatever Bovver had expected, that hadn’t been it. No wonder Pete looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. As Dave demanded details, Bov waved to catch Terry’s attention at the bar. “Whole round, bruv, pronto.”
“... It’s over. She very plainly laid it out to me yesterday that I’m a piece of shit and that Dermot Sullivan would make a far better husband.”
“Yeah, Terry, might wanna throw some shots on there too,” Ned called over his shoulder, trying to be heard over Swill berating Dave for the use of What’s the 411? Pete got comfortable on the seat beside Bov and it was as if the floodgates had opened. How long had Pete been carrying this? How long had he had the weight of this on his shoulders? He told them he and Lara had been arguing a lot, and the boys all listened to silence. It was obvious Pete needed to get this off his chest, it was obvious how much he needed them; his brothers. Pete met his eye.
“When I said you were done, and I was back... she lost it. I’m sorry for the way I handled that, bruv, honestly. I... I just know we can be better. I know we can all be fuckin’ better, but I also just wanted to do whatever Lara wanted me to. I realise now nothing so I could do would please her and I couldn’t help the firm and be a good husband. I let slip, with both of you. That won’t happen again.”
“Bruv, I don’t blame you,” Bovver reassured him. “She got in your head. They all did.” Pete went on to say Nora and Dermot had broken up for good, which wasn’t exactly surprising news, but the mention that he had a new interest was, and it confused Bov. What the fuck was going on? Yesterday, Dermot had beaten him and threatened him to find some nobody Nick Walker and now he had some new interest? Bov hated being in the dark, he hated not knowing the plan. What was Dermot’s plan? What was all of this for? Well, Bovver wasn’t waiting long for the answers.
“He fucked Lara. On Swill’s birthday.” Pete’s lip curled in a mix of utter contempt and disgust. “After she’d left with him, they fucked. She said he made it easy for her...” The boys stared in shocked silence as he continued, voice hoarse, telling them that Lara had been unhappy for a long time and had been too afraid to say anything.
“What a load of shit,” Bov hissed beneath his breath. She hadn’t seemed unhappy to him, playing the doting mother at home. All the while whispering toxic nothings into his ear, brainwashing Pete against them... Bovver could feel that hot anger resurfacing. He had no idea if Max was involved, and if Lara had been seduced, that meant Dermot had now taken two women from them. First Nora, now Lara? Was it a coincidence he’d fallen for two women so closely connected to the GSE? Head spinning, Bovver snatched his pint when Terry appeared, knocking back the beer.
“And the worst thing is, just as I was going to get Kimmy this morning, Max was driving away from the house.”
Dave got heated and Swill moved to comfort him, but Bov’s thoughts were far away. Max. The fucking puppet master of the lot of them. He’d played them like pawns for too long and it was about time the GSE took back control. This was their homeland, their city. It was time to drive those Irish rats back into the bogs and Bovver was willing to do whatever it took. With Lara divorcing Pete, she’d clearly taken her side and he felt a hot hatred towards her for wasting four years of Pete’s life and lumbering him with a kid on top. Not that he didn’t like little Kimmy, but she’d forever be nothing but a target. They’d seen it with Hatcher, with Steve... having children was dangerous.
Look at Max now. Using his fatherhood as the tool needed to worm his way back in. Straight into Pete’s fucking home. It was a sick joke, it had to be. Bovver forced himself back into the conversation.
“We can ‘andle Dermot Sullivan, if that’s what you want,” Swill was saying, fists clenched as he stared steadily at Pete. “Tell us where and when and I’ll treat his legs like fuckin’ matchsticks-” The idea of beating the life out of Dermot certainly had it appeals and the quicker Bov recovered the better.
“Easy.” Pete put out a hand to calm him and Swill shifted as agitation coursed through him. “As much as I want to deck the Irish prick for what he’s done. To me, to Bovver... to all of us. Sadly, I think the best way is in the long game.”
Setting his now empty glass down, Bovver caught Pete’s eye. “I fuckin’ hate it, but I agree. We’ve got to strike when they least expect it, and it ’as to be in a way that will cripple their dirty fuckin’ empire. They have their fingers in a lot of pies, but the NTO was the heart of it. Maybe it still is. We gotta hit ‘em first.” Bovver could feel it pulsing through his veins, this siren to war, the lusty call of bloodshed. He’d felt it before, leading up to the fight where he’d ultimately slain Tommy Hatcher. St. George against the fucking dragon.
Now it was time to face the serpent. And this one had three heads.
Pete nodded his agreement. “Exactly, but I don’t think you’re in the right place to be fighting anyone...” Pete frowned, looking Bovver over. “What’s actually wrong with you? Two broken ribs, three?”
“Not to mention the broken collarbone, eye socket, and the fractured wrist.” Bovver shrugged. “I was at ‘ome when they called by. Dermot and Jock. Dermot... He was different, bruv. I can’t explain it; it was something in his eyes. He was saying shit about Nora, I can’t really remember... He beat me though, fuckin’ leathered me, to be honest.” Bov sniffed and glanced around the group, his audience captive. “Jock didn’t do a fuckin’ thing. He just let it happen.”
“Doing nothing is just as bad as doin’ something... He didn’t stop ‘im attacking you, either.” Pete’s words were a low growl and Bov could see the vein throbbing in his brow. It had been a long time since he’d seen this side of Pete and he didn’t deny some part of him was enjoying it. When Pete had come to his flat after the party and told him he wasn’t Major, the fire in his best mate’s eyes... Bovver had been relieved to finally see something, anything, other than that boring Dad-Husband act he’d been stuck in for years. This was the Pete he knew and loved.
“Nora is a good kid. I think we should leave Jock out of it, for her sake.”
Everyone turned to look at Swill, mostly in disbelief. Bov arched an eyebrow. Was he kidding? In his eyes, Nora was just as bad as Lara. It hadn’t taken her long to fall into Dermot’s arms, and in some ways he could see the charm, but Jock Sullivan? That ginger cunt had nearly destroyed the Abbey, and he may have had less to do with their troubles than his cousins, but he was a Sullivan and that was enough to condemn him. There were going to be no prisoners in this. Pete said something about Swill getting laid and going soft, and Swill flushed as he muttered something about trusting Nora’s instincts. Even Bov scoffed.
“What about her instinct when she was fucking Dermot?” Pete snapped and Bovver sniffed again, looking away with a nod. Pete was right. There was no going back for any of them now. Dave broke the strained silence.
“Who was unfortunate enough to sleep with you?” Swill grinned and pointed over his shoulder. At Isla. Even Bovver blinked in disbelief. “Fuck off.” She noticed their stares, and considering the anger in her glare, Swill was telling the truth. Bovver wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this shit and he could only dread to think that it was another member lost to a bit of skirt.
“When did we become a firm that didn’t communicate with one another, huh?” Pete said, reaching to take Kimmy back. She gurgled happily as he held her close. “I’m done playing games. I want them gone. All of them.” His last words were said with a pointed look at Swill, and Bovver couldn’t help but smile in the first time in what felt like years. Pete was back and once again, the GSE were going to be unstoppable. The Sullivans could believe they’d been defeated for as long as they wanted, it would only benefit the GSE when the time finally came for action.
“So where is their next match?”
“Next weekend,” Bov replied quickly. The fixtures were seared into his brain by this point.
“Do you even think the Sullivans’ ‘ave anything to do with their firm anymore?” Dave asked, but Ryan finally spoke up from his space in the corner, where he was still nursing his pint.
“Nah, word is Max is plannin’ to take Charlie to the next match. Wants to make a Millwall fan out of ‘im, apparently.” He pulled a face to prove how disgusting this concept was. “I ‘eard it from Jessy. ‘er brother works in a pub up near Millwall Park, he ‘ears a lot.” Pete shook his head in disbelief.
“Unbelievable.”
Bovver had fallen back into contemplative silence. There was a lot of new information to process and he sat back, wincing a little as lightning sharp pain shot through his torso. Dermot had slept with Lara and now she was filing for a divorce. Max had taken Charlie out for the day and intended to take him to a match next week. And Jock was riding shirttails and pulling Nora along for the ride. Between the three of them, they’d taken everything, and Bov wondered where their weaknesses could lie. Then, he remembered the tension he’d caught between Dermot and Jock the morning they’d come to his flat.
Was that something he could work with?
Max felt like a different kettle of fish entirely. He’d always be the ringleader of that madhouse, and no matter what happened, he never seemed to die. A club explosion, shootings, beatings, car crashes... He was the creator of the chaos, he was the one who made sure they were all sucked in and dancing to his tune. He had the money, the drugs, the cars, the girls; every petty dealer’s wet dream. How do you bring down a person like that when you work part-time in a call centre and spend the rest of the time drunk and fighting other firms? The GSE may have been reputable when it came to the world of football, but when it came to that seedy underworld of black market gangs and big-time drug shifters, Bovver knew he was merely small fry in Max Sullivan’s eyes.
“... You got any ideas?” He asked Pete slowly, looking up to find his best friend watching him. Kimmy was resting her head against his shoulder, thumb in her mouth. “... Bruv, you know I love you, right?” The others were chatting in the background, his words only for his best friend. “If you ain’t careful, they’ll use Kimmy against you. You can’t let Lara take her back. She’s already in Max’s pocket for all we know. All these years... bruv...” He shook his head, looking away for a moment. “I think she’s been playin’ you from the start. I’ve always known there was something fishy about ‘er. She had plenty of chances to stay with you, but she kept going back to him. Got ‘erself pregnant with Charlie and stuck around with you. It’s just convenient innit?”
He caught the upset in Pete’s face and leaned closer, putting a hand on his arm. “Bruv, I know it ain’t easy to ‘ear. But it makes sense. She pops up out of nowhere, gets proper cosy with ya... all the while she’s between you and Max. Honestly, Pete, think about it. It makes sense.”
—-
“Some would say you’re threatening me, Brian.”
Brian stared at the jumped up little prick in front of him and wondered why he still bothered with people like Luke Winters. The young man was cocky and sure. Overconfident. Not the type of person Brian normally picked. It had been on Lawrence’s recommendation, of course, and he was normally picky about who he had working for him, and he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny that Luke had yet to fail him. Everything he had asked so far had been done, to a high-standard, without the tiniest bit of cream licked from the top. He’d planned to keep Luke in charge of the pharmaceutical dealings in the hospital, but if he succeeded today, Brian had bigger plans for him. If he succeeded.
“But, I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it. I can find anyone.”
“Good.” Brian handed him a photograph of Rosa, one he’d kept for years. It was a little battered around the edges from time spent in his wallet, but there was no mistaking who was in the picture. He’d taken it himself, a week before he’d taken her back to his and fucked her for the first time. She’d been sat on a riverbank with her brother, but Brian had snipped him from the photo and kept Rosa close ever since.
So where was she?
It was something that was keeping him awake at night, a worm burrowing its way through his brain. She can’t have just disappeared. Bruce wasn’t looking hard enough, that had to be it. She’d been right there, she was fucking shot and injured. Yet no hospital had seen her, there was no fucking trace?! Rivera, too, disappearing into thin air. And though he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the fact, he knew she was friendly with one Sullivan in particular; Joshua. It was a tidbit of information he’d only become privy to in the last couple of weeks. On the night of the Ball, to be exact. While Rivera was getting the beating of his life in the cell, Brian had been scouring the computers for every scrap of info he could find.
The Sullivans were the thorn in the side of the Met Police. They were linked to a number of drug shipments and murders, yet as of now, there was not a single scrap of evidence against them. Nothing that could put them behind bars for life, yet Brian knew their guilt, they reeked of it. Rosa had returned to London with Josh a couple of months ago, and Brian just knew he was the reason behind Rosa and Rivera’s sudden disappearance. But where was he hiding them?
Luke pocketed the picture, but before he could speak, there was a loud crash outside that had them all wheeling around. Luke was first into the corridor, eyeing whatever scene had been waiting for him. “Turner.”
Who the fuck was Turner? Brian shoved Lawrence aside and strode out after Luke, eyeing the young man with narrowed eyes. He pushed past Luke, glowering hard at George; he was a similar age to his nephew, perhaps a little older than Luke. The stranger, Turner, looked straight past him and read the patient name on the door, and Brian felt himself tense. Who the fuck was this? He glared at Luke. “You know one another?”
Luke nodded, smirking, an oddly satisfied look in his pale eyes. “You could say we have a common interest... He works here.” Brian’s gaze shot back to Turner.
“Not anymore. I resigned, to focus on the more important things in life.”
“Well, fuck me, you finally saw the light-”
“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Brian hissed, stepping close, into Turner’s face, staring hard at him. To give it to him, Turner didn’t even flinch, merely stared back. “Heard much, did you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I heard everything.”
Brian felt a hot throb of irritation, going to snatch his collar, but Turner raised a hand to block it. Not far behind, the receptionist looked up from the computer she was working on, eyes darting between the group. She asked if everything was alright, mentioning him by name. George. George Turner. Brian committed the name to memory.
“It’s all good, Veronica. I’ve just got some catching up to do with some new friends.” Turner’s smug gaze settled on Luke, and it didn’t take a genius to work out there was some bad history, or fucking rivalry, going on here. Shit Brian didn’t have time for. George tilted his head, but nobody moved. Brian’s fists were clenched and he wondered how he would get away from decking him right here in the corridor. “Unless you want to have this conversation here?”
Lawrence glanced at Brian and he could see the fear in his eyes. Fucking poncy sap, what did he have to be scared of? “Let’s go, uncle,” he murmured, then shrank away from the dark look Brian gave him. Brian made the fucking rules here, he didn’t take orders. Turning, Brian stalked back towards the entrance, the others in tow. He could hear Turner and Luke hissing behind him, but didn’t turn to look. Outside, Brian turned, any scrap of patience he had quickly dissolving.
“I’m fed up with the games,” Brian snapped. “Tell me why the fuck I should listen to a scrawny cunt like you?” He had no idea who this prick was, or who he thought he was. Turner appraised them, folding his arms over his chest.
“Do you know who I’m engaged to?” he asked, and Brian let out a small breath. Was this kid for real? His hand went for his gun, before remembering he wasn’t in uniform. “Tell them, Winters.”
“Fuck off-”
“Who?” Brian demanded, before the two could start bickering like babies again. “Just fuckin’ tell me, Luke.” Because to be quite fucking frank, this was turning out to be a complete waste of time, time he could be using to find Rosa and -
“Aoife Sullivan.” Luke pulled his glare from Turner to look at Brian and in the space of a second, everything fell into place. Sullivan. He turned his gaze back to Turner, a sudden new interest alight in his eyes. Lawrence asked the question he was eager to know the answer to.
“As in Dermot Sullivan’s daughter?”
Turner nodded. “I did work for the Sullivans, but now it looks like I’m a free agent.” He slipped a stick of gum in his mouth and chewed slowly as he let that sink in, and even if Brian hated it, he couldn’t deny Turner was good. He glanced at Luke. He knew this kid, that much was obvious. Did Luke know he was involved with the Sullivans? Had Brian had the connection he’d needed under his nose the entire time? He looked to Turner again as he spoke. “What do they say? Don’t work with dogs, small children or family-”
“So?” Luke demanded impatiently and somewhere, somehow, a nerve had been hit. Luke detested Turner and it was apparent the feeling was mutual. All the while, Brian’s mind was racing, trying to figure out how he could use this to his advantage.
“Well, I could always go back to my father-in-law and tell him all of your little tales, about... Rosa, was it?” He raised an eyebrow. Luke pulled a face and began to ask why he’d even care, but Brian lifted a hand to silence him. He’d care if Rosa was already involved with the Sullivans, which he didn’t doubt she was. If they knew Brian was on her tail, they’d move her, send her someplace else he’d have no hope of finding her. Fuck. Turner looked back to him. “Well I’m guessing you are either ex police, or current, and I can’t see any reason you would have Luke here looking for her, unless you were the one that put her family member in that hospital bed over there. And as I just said, I resigned, so I’m looking for work-”
“We’re not hiring.” Luke jumped in before Brian could even open his mouth; Lawrence hadn’t said any more, but he’d gone awfully pale on finding out Turner was connected to the Sullivans. Brian raised a hand, patting Luke on the shoulder to calm him; he could practically feel the tension roiling off him. He stepped forward, back into Turner’s space, studying him intently. Personally, he didn’t trust the cunt. There was no way he was engaged to Aoife without still working for the family, but perhaps that could be of use. Because if they could get to Aoife, they would have the Sullivans eating out the palm of their hand.
And Rosa would have no choice but to return.
“So, what do you say?” Turner smiled. “And you better pay well, I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
“I say I don’t fuckin’ like you, you smarmy little cunt,” Brian hissed into his face. “I don’t fuckin’ like you and I don’t fuckin’ trust you. Don’t think for one second that I believe you won’t stab me in the back the minute I turn away.” He stared at Turner hard for a long moment, before stepping back, hands on his hips. He could almost feel Luke and Lawrence willing him not the accept, but Brian wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. “You’ve got one chance, Turner. Fuck me over and you’ll regret the fact your mum forwent the use of a condom, resulting in your pathetic existence. Understand, boy?”
He pulled out his wallet, slamming a wad of twenties in his hand. “I know Josh is hiding Rosa somewhere. I want to know exactly where that tart is. Don’t let me down.” He went to stalk off, then paused, looking back at him. “You report to Luke from now on. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”
—-
Back at the station, Brian slammed a mug beneath the coffee machine and watched the steaming dark liquid splash into the ceramic. What a fucking palaver. Turner had irked him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Maybe it was the pretentious attitude or the smug gleam in his eye, but the kid had made a big mistake today. Announcing the fact he was engaged to the daughter of a gangster was idiotic at best.
Especially when he had no idea what Brian was capable of.
Behind him, the door opened and Bruce came in. He shrugged out of his flak jacket, then sat on the arm of the chair as Brian stirred several sugars into his coffee. “You know that murder? The storage unit one?” Brian grunted but didn’t look up. “They’re burying her tomorrow. Moira knew her from work-“
“So?” Brian turned, leaning back against the counter. Bruce watched him steadily.
“She got an email this morning, an invite, from a Ronan Murphy. That rang a few bells in my head, so I looked it up.” Brian raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. “He has established IRA links, and he co-owns the Sullivan’s nightclub. Why the fuck would he be organising her funeral?”
“Why would he?” Brian murmured softly, eyes distant as the cogs began to turn. Bruce cleared his throat.
“Well, I did a little more nosying. Word is that they’re all gonna be in attendance.”
“All the Sullivans?” Brian’s eye’s brightened as Bruce nodded. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Go to the funeral. Keep an eye. If you see Rosa, let me know straight away. Oh, and Bruce,” he added, as the other man stood to leave. “Good work. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
—-
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Post by katherinesullivan on Aug 26, 2022 10:20:06 GMT -5
When Benji and Tristan left, Max sat back in his armchair and wondered why the fuck he was being so kind. It was strictly business, he told himself; if he did one small favour then Benji would flourish in the palm of his hand, like a lily in the sun. No doubt if not him, then Dermot would have felt somewhat responsible and forced him to take part in the funeral anyway. It was much easier when he remained in control.
It was quite a tragic story, really. All the same Max hadn’t been lying when he’d said he didn’t care. He wasn’t the sympathetic kind, especially for someone who had sought out her own demise, and for what? To feel better about her god awful life? To free the female world from the enslavement she believed pigs like Nick Walker were responsible for, or to set a good example for her son?
A fine example with her mortally wounded body flashed on every screen and newspaper. The world ate up shit like this; destruction, loss, chaos. It reminded other people that they were safe because it hadn’t happened to them. For a few days people would be a little more grateful until they became self-righteous and gluttonous again, until the next time.
Worse still, it appeared he had barely known Charlotte a week before it had all come crashing down. Who was he trying to prove a point to? Himself, Max mused. Benji Johnson didn’t have anyone to prove himself to, except himself. He was obviously unhappy with the route life had given him and wanted to be something more. Max could relate to that feeling, and as much as he had thrown a blanket over Benji’s life story, he saw a fraction of himself in there. When he was younger, desperate to climb the ladder.
Finishing his drink, he let out a heavy sigh, glancing out the window at the world below. There was always something happening, yet right now, for him, everything was still. The penthouse was silent. He had an hour or so before he had to meet Lara, and would take his time to get ready. Shower, maybe even shave his beard; make a real effort. For her, but also for himself. Routine. Max had always tried to dress well; it set the tone, it adjusted your mindset. A well-dressed man could take over the world.
First, however, he opened his phone. To get into his phone you needed to use an authenticator, which scanned his face and asked for a secure pin that was sent to his alternative phone, only lasting for thirty seconds before a new pin was created. You could never be too cautious when it came to security. Bringing up the details Luke had given him on Charlotte, Max gave a small hum at how everything had fallen into place. He’d received the details when she was just a pretty face who could offer them access to Walker. Everything you could possibly need, such as name, address, even her dental records. Sending them across in an email he then dialled someone, flicking it onto loud speaker.
‘Ronan.’ Max greeted when the call was accepted.
‘Boss.’
Ronan Murphy was one of Max’s oldest associates. They had grown up together back in Ireland, but not long after his sixteenth birthday, he had gone AWOL. Adamant to join the IRA, he’d packed his bags and left, pleading with Max to follow him but to no avail. Max loved a war, but not one that wasn’t on his terms. Ronan on the other hand just wanted an excuse to cause pain. He had gone missing a few years later, thought of dead after a plastic explosive destined for a member of the British Governments car had exploded in his very hands.
When Max was twenty and had landed his boots in England, he’d been sipping whiskey in a local bar and he’d heard that faithful Kilkenny accent call his name. Ronan was sat in the corner, cradling a pint in one hand and flicking a penknife in the other. The closer Max got, the more he could see the damage. Ronan’s left forearm and hand was gone, replaced with a shiny prosthetic arm. His hair once long and shaggy was shaved at the sides, long on the top; not too dissimilar to Jock. When he turned to look at Max, he could see why. A long, gnarled scar cut across just above his ear and curved to the back of his head, accompanied with a tribal tattoo.
His right arm and hands were also covered in numerous images, one of which being a four-leaf clover. He grinned at Max, one golden tooth showing and Max laughed in disbelief.
‘Ronan Murphy.’ The two greeted like long lost brothers.
He was allusive; more so than Max. Ronan didn’t like to stay in one place too long, or to be told what to do, so it was a wonder they got on so well. Over the years, Ronan would flit in and out of his life, doing anything and everything Max asked him. He had been one of the first people Max had introduced Lara to and Ronan had greatly approved.
‘Nice bit o’ skirt.’ Ronan had murmured as the two of them stood in a local pub, eyeing up Lara as she ordered them drinks at the bar. ‘Shame she’s a sassenach though.’ He added, in response to having first heard her English accent.
Max hadn’t cared. Irish girls were almost always gypsies anyway; Lara was something special. She was an ethereal being, offering far more than all the wanton women back home.
‘I’m going to marry her, Ronan.’ Max had said matter-of-factly.
Yet here he was, years later. No ring. No wife. Just a son.
Max filled Ronan in on what needed to be done ‘as soon as possible’. The funeral would take place at the same cemetery her grandparents were buried in, and it would be an oak coffin and the flowers would be lilies and they would be white. The music would be soft and orchestral and the priest would read two scriptures before they lowered her in the ground. Invites would need to be handed out, most likely word of mouth at such short notice but that was easy enough.
What was the last funeral he had been to? Was it Tommy or Mark? Either way Max hadn’t given a shit; he never did. What was the point? In Ireland you came together, you celebrated, you drank and you drank until the heartache ebbed away and you got on with your life. Here… people mourned for too long. Benji was still broken and Max wondered how long it would be before he’d fix himself. A wounded man could be dangerous, as Dermot had proven.
Hanging up the phone, Max headed into the shower and wrapped a clean white towel around his waist when he was done. Filling the sink with warm water, he lathered up the shaving brush with foam and coated his beard. When was the last time he had been clean shaven? After the car accident that had taken his eye, they’d cleaned him up and cut his beard as it held shattered glass. Before that? Not since the beginning… their beginning.
When Max and Lara had first met, his hair had been shorter and his face always clean shaven. She would run her fingers across his smooth jaw, stubble showing through in certain lights. He moisturised regularly, used numerous creams and lotions to maintain supple skin. It was worth it, especially when Lara would kiss him all over and her cheeks wouldn’t run red raw. When she had left him, it didn’t seem necessary to shave every day. His hair grew, longer and curlier; wild. Dark eyebrows, beard and hair was more intimidating in this world.
A man who was sharply dressed, neat hair, soft skin, ironed shirts? Somehow it sent the wrong message. Well, enough people knew who Max Sullivan was now to not drop their respect for a piece of facial hair. Using the cut-throat razor expertly he ponded over what he would wear.
Would Lara be dressing up, or would she dress down to prove a point. The only point that would make was, whatever she was doing it for him. Smirking to himself, Max splashed his face with warm water and applied some cooling balm. Next he took a pair of scissors and trimmed his hair. When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was as if he was a new man. He felt confident and looking forward to their evening together.
Max ironed a light blue pinstriped shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. Then he shrugged on a dark blue waistcoat and matching trousers, finished with a thick leather belt. A signet ring on his little finger and a rush of gel through his hair; he was ready. Pete Dunham couldn’t rival him if he tried. Glancing down at his phone, he saw a message from Luke and skimmed it briefly.
Dunham seen without wedding ring on. Divorce imminent. Planning to infiltrate Millwalls next match. He didn’t know where Luke got half of his intel, but he had never been wrong. Calling a taxi, Max decided he would get Ronan to collect him later, and Lara, if she was willing. And perhaps even if she wasn’t…
It was a nice restaurant in Soho. He had been here once before, but not with another woman. Sometimes Max just liked to appreciate a good meal and a bottle of wine. He’d specifically ordered a seat at the back, in a separate area to the rest of the guests. The chairs were a deep blue velvet, wooden beams running across the ceilings broken only by the chandeliers. It was reminiscent of New York in the twenties; sophisticated, regal, the best place to show Lara what she was missing.
No doubt the last restaurant she had eaten at, had had sticky residue stuck to the baby seats and wipe down menus. It wasn’t that she was common, it was the kind she surrounded herself with. Not just the children, but the idiots that Pete called his friends. All muscle and no brain.
As Max was shown to his seat and ordered a bottle of the house champagne, he thought back to one of the last few recollections he had of Pete Dunham.
‘Do it.’ Max had hissed. They were in the warehouse, the sound of running water filling their ears as a burst pipe below threatened to disrupt the foundations. He was close to Pete, inches from his face and Bovver was bleeding in the distance. Oh, and he had a gun to Max’s head. ‘I’d say you have twenty minutes before your friend over there bleeds out – so fucking do something, for once in your life, you absolute cunt.’
It was a word Max hadn’t liked before he’d left Ireland. It was vulgar, not very discreet. The way it sounded on your tongue made it snap like you were choking on something, but it had served its purpose that night. There was no other way to describe Pete Dunham. They’d taken Dermot hostage, so Max had taken Lara; it was a stand off. Mark Turner was there, and that idiot Jock. There had been gun fire, but none directed at him.
Pete had turned away to save his friend, and what good had that done him? Over the years there had been endless talk of how Bovver was letting the side down. How his violent streak did nothing but hinder their games. He was the epitome of a broken man, and Max would always find it hilarious that Nora had done it to him. She didn’t look like she was capable of anything.
Max didn’t need to know much more about Pete, it had all been shown to him in that one night. He was weak. He would always surrender rather than finishing a fight. Would that be the same for his divorce? He didn’t want him to, but Max wondered why he wasn’t fighting it. Had Lara done something wrong?
Just as the thought entered his head, then so did she. A crisp, white top showing a small amount of midriff and a long, pleated pink skirt. Red heels completed the look, a few waves in her hair and he couldn’t deny the smile creeping on his face. She had made an effort, for him. Standing up, Max waited as the waiter pulled out her chair and nodded in thanks.
‘We’ll have the champagne now.’ He ordered and the waiter nodded as he left.
It was a small, round table, made of old oak. They were close, but just far enough away that it kept the edge off, for now.
‘Have you ordered?’ she asked; no hello, no smile. She was nervous.
‘I haven’t, no.’ Max picked up the menu and flicked through it. ‘I didn’t want to presume, but I can order for the both of us, if you’d like.’ He asked and when she nodded he smiled. ‘I’m sure I can still remember what you like.’
The waiter came back with a jug of ice water and a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket. Pouring two flutes with the golden liquid he took the order from Max before disappearing again. Lara was looking at the champagne with a raised eyebrow and he gave a small chuckle, catching her attention.
‘A treat.’ Max shrugged. ‘Don’t deny me this. In fact, you should be taking advantage of my generosity, because I doubt if Dunham ever took you to a place like this.’ He sipped his own drink, never letting his eyes leave her face as she glared at his cold remark. ‘Plus, it’s my way of saying thank you.’ He added more seriously. ‘For letting me have a future with my son.’
Raising his glass towards her, he waited in hope for Lara to pick up her own so they could cheers. She was hesitant at first but then slowly her fingers found the neck and she held it an inch from his own before pulling back and drinking it. Max simply shook his head in disbelief, laughing at her confidence.
‘I deserved that.’ He noted and could’ve sworn he saw a small smile. ‘To us and to this evening.’
The waiter shortly brought the starter and it was a small crispy duck salad. The plate looked like a rainbow, filled with various brightly coloured vegetables and a spicy sauce. For the main, a chateaubriand for two. The large piece of steak was sliced neatly across the plate, with cherry tomatoes, mushrooms and a peppercorn sauce on the side. The large dish practically filled the table and a candle was lit between the two of them.
‘You look beautiful, by the way.’ Max said, catching Lara off guard. She was looking at the food, a swirl of emotions in her mind. ‘Absolutely stunning.’ He added. Nodding at the dish he smiled. ‘We had this years ago, do you remember? One of our first times in a restaurant as a couple, and you didn’t know what to order because everything was in French.’ He saw her cheeks pinch, but the memory was fond. ‘You loved it, said it melted in your mouth like butter and made me cook you steak for weeks. Foirfe.’ Perfect.
They were both laughing slightly, and it was nice. The smile actually met her eyes and it gave Max a glimmer of hope for their future.
‘It’s good to see you smiling.’ He said honestly and regretted it, seeing Lara’s walls already building back up. She took another sip of champagne, already on her second glass. ‘You don’t deserve to carry the weight of the world, Lar. Someone should be carrying you.’
Looking at her, Max felt no more anger or resentment, fear or threat. There was no impulse to hurt like there had been before. It was different now… Lara was different now. She was a mother. He had seen it before, a flickering moment in the hospital just after Charlie had been born. Lara had been asleep, hair fanning around her face but she had seemed to glow. There was something so powerful about birthing life, and Max had what he believed you would call respect for her that he hadn’t had before.
‘I know you perhaps felt compelled to come here, out of fear, or guilt or… I don’t know, whatever other horrid word that means you’d rather be elsewhere… but I’m so glad you are.’
They ate the main meal, talking about simple things. Nothing deep or overwhelming. Not about Pete or Dermot, or anything that they actually wanted to know. Instead about Charlie and all the silly things he did that made her smile. The way he ate his cereal, the way he sang out of key. The infuriating way Kimmy could look at you and get whatever she wanted, like a wide eyed Princess and Max agreed he could perhaps not deny her anything either.
‘Whatever Charlie has asked me for, I’ve given him.’ He admitted, wiping his mouth on the napkin as they took the empty plate away. ‘I don’t want him to be spoilt… Damn, I just want him to be loved. My Da… I don’t need to tell you my back story, Lar. You know me inside out… cosuil le leabhar.’ He glanced up, features soft. Like a book. ‘I just want him to know I care, and I want to show him how to do everything no one ever showed me to do; how to pitch a tent, how to... fuck, I can't think now, but how to start a fire, or drive a car… You know, important things, like... how to respect his Ma.’
Holding Lara’s gaze, Max swallowed. Was this too much? Clenching his jaw he turned away, pouring some more champagne in both their glasses.
‘So do you want to tell me what’s happening at home now?’ he asked.
Ronan Murphy loved Max Sullivan.
Why? He was a cunt; he was coarse, mean, selfish, brutal. He was whatever he wanted to be; he was unapologetic and that was why. Ronan didn’t have time for people pleasers, hypocrites or fickle or fake people. Those that thought the best way to get somewhere was to answer everyone’s call and demand; to be a million different people for a million different voices. That’s what Jesus did, and look where that got him. Nailed to a stake and spat on eternally.
When he was younger, sitting in the pews and listening to how Jesus had tried to save the world, Ronan felt himself grow hot and frustrated. The stories sounded ridiculous, and the ones that were credible, had terrible endings. The bible was a book of stories about people who tried their hardest and got nothing in reward. Sure, they would get what was owed them in the heavens or whatever bullshit but Ronan didn’t have time for that. Jesus had said ‘Vengeance is mine’ but Ronan wanted vengeance now.
Max Sullivan was the epitome of vengeance which was why it Had angered him his friend had refused to follow into the IRA.
‘Vengeance, mo chara.’ Ronan had whispered in Max’s ear as the two of them sat in a pub, sipping their beers and listening to the sirens outside. ‘The IRA opens the doors we’ve had slammed in our face all these years. Don’t you see?’
‘I see, alright.’ Max had murmured in response, slowly turning to land his glassy stare on Ronan’s face. They were both perfect, no scars, no blemishes. Young, restless. ‘I see a moments freedom for a lifetime of slavery –‘
‘See bigger, Max.’ Ronan had pleaded. ‘Guns, knives, pipe-bombs – all the destruction and chaos you could ask for, without the feckin’ repercussions!’
‘They’ll own you.’
‘No one owns me!’ Ronan had snarled, slamming his fist on the table. ‘I’ll own them. I’ll always be in control –’
‘I work alone, anyway.’ Max had shrugged, turning back to his drink. How many times had they had this conversation? ‘Less complicated that way.’
‘Bollocks.’ Ronan had laughed bitterly, finishing his pint. ‘What about your precious little dearthair?’
Max felt his back tense then but tried not to show. Ronan hated Dermot. Whether he was envious, or just impatient to his nativities, Max wasn’t sure. Whenever they were near one another there was sarcasm and hatred rife in the air. It didn’t matter anyway, Dermot had just met Susie and he was besotted, too busy to help anymore…
‘It’s different.’ Max replied stiffly.
‘It always is, until they betray you.’
‘What is your fuckin’ problem?’ Max turned then, anger flushing his cheeks. ‘Fuck off to the fuckin’ IRA then and get off my case, you irritating bastard!’
The two stared at one another for a moment, a tense heat wavering between them before they burst into grins, shaking their heads.
‘I'll see you again, Max, and I’ll be ready to say ‘I told you so’’.
Ronan had promised him as he’d left, albeit it sounded like a warning. Maybe it was, Max wasn’t afraid. Dermot would never betray him, he was too soft and pure. And what could he possibly do to harm him anyway? As he had told Ronan, he worked alone; always alone. Dermot was just… different. Dermot was family… However working alone all these years, suddenly he was starting to feel very lonely.
Ronan recalled the conversation slightly different to Max and the threat had been there. Ronan didn’t understand family. He didn’t understand the loyalty given to those who had done nothing to warrant it. A sibling wasn’t entitled to your respect simply because you had both occupied the same womb. Why did Dermot get treated better, when he was nothing more than a sopping blanket?
‘I told you so.’
‘Fuck off.’ Max had raised an eyebrow. It was the first time they had seen one another in three years; Max was twenty, Ronan was twenty-two. The prosthetic arm had peaked Max’s interest but he didn’t let it linger. ‘You were wrong.’
‘This is just the start.’ Ronan had warned. Dermot was getting serious with Susie, a baby on the way and Max was nervous. ‘You need me.’
‘I work –’
‘Alone.’ Ronan finished with a nod. ‘How about we work alone, together?’
That had been years ago. Nineteen years Ronan had been walking in Max’s shadow, listening to Dermot’s name being carried on the wind. What had he accomplished? How had he thanked his brother for a lifetime on a shining pedestal, protected. Did he even realise he was? Max made things happen; people disappear. For a man who liked to work alone, he had been thankful when Ronan had returned.
Every few years he would leave, whether it was the country entirely, or just the town. South Africa had been his favourite place to visit. It was where he had met his wife, in Durban. He had been down the beach one day, watching the sun set slowly on the horizon as the salt water touched his toes. Two hours earlier and he’d had a gun to someone’s temple, threatening to end their life and yet now Ronan felt nothing but blissful calm wash over him. He could still feel a speck of blood on the back of his shirt collar, where he’d not managed to wash it off in time.
Even hit men needed to take a break. It was how Ronan maintained such a calm composure most of the time. Max, too. You had to take time for yourself to reset, otherwise you’d go mad. It was how serial killers were born. The men who were transfixed, who couldn’t turn off. The doctors called it dissociative identity disorder, but Ronan called it sanity.
Amelia had been stood in the ocean, the waves up to her hips as she threw her head up towards the golden sun and basked in its rays like a goddess. Ronan had watched her for a few minutes, engrossed in her unique beauty. The water rippled and glinted, as if fragments of diamonds were scattered on the surface. She was wearing a white dress, blonde hair almost yellow, flowing down her back in elegant curls and she was laughing. Laughing to herself, her fingers feeling the ripples of the ocean, her heart rejoicing, and the purity of it all made his heart sting.
Then she turned to him and Ronan felt the breath leave his body.
Amelia Murphy. They had wed a month later, on the same beach, with rose petals forming a perfect crown on her head. It had been everything he could ever have dreamt of. Back when he was young, sat outside the traveller site with his bare feet in the mud and the music flowing around him, Ronan had dreamed of a princess to share this with. To share the earth with; to inhabit, to live, to relish in everything. Someone who made all the pain and suffering bearable; who would mend his knuckles when he hit too hard, or to be is alibi, be his… family.
And it was in that single thought, that single word that everything had gone wrong. Ronan Murphy didn’t do family. He didn’t approve of anything that made you vulnerable. If he wasn’t a target, then she was… and Ronan didn’t know what he would do if Amelia died. And hadn’t known what he’d do, until he’d found her body, on their first wedding anniversary, with a bullet wound in her back…
Back in the present, Ronan swallowed and glanced out of the car window. Max and Lara were inside, having some romantic bullshit meal and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Lara was no Amelia; she was certainly no saint. She was a whore, but a damn beautiful one at that.
Max had called him to collect them after their meal, to drive them home and the idea of seeing Lara Smith after all of these years had made him giddy with excitement. He had dipped in and out on their relationship over the years. From when Max had promised he would marry her, to his attempt on her life and all that came in between up until now. It was a rollercoaster of her own doing and somehow, he had missed her.
When it had been early days and she had been naïve and unsure, afraid to insult anyone in the presence of Max Sullivan, he had tried to take advantage. Not in a way too different from what any other man would have done. Max would ask him to protect her when he went out for an hour or so, and Ronan would watch her like a guard dog, his eyes following her lithe body as she paced restless and uncertain.
He particularly enjoyed startling her and catching her scream, or standing in the doorway, towering over her small frame with a smirk on his face. He had been handsome, before the explosion, before it had taken his arm and his hand. Amelia hadn’t cared, however. It was an extension to his personality; a story to tell, a tale of survival. But before that, Ronan would say he was an attractive man. He had strong hands and piercing blue eyes he couldn’t seem to take off of Lara as she stood in flimsy dresses and pined for her older boyfriend.
‘How old are you?’ Ronan had asked, the second of third time they’d met.
Lara was sat on the sofa, chewing her lip and staring resolutely at the television and didn’t reply.
‘Hey.’ Ronan persisted and when she continued to ignore him, he sat beside her, felt her slide into him as the cushions compressed. ‘How old are you, leanbh?’ his eyes looked her up and down, followed her bare legs to her hands on her lap, her chest… Jaw clenching, Ronan nodded. ‘You can’t be more than eighteen.’ There was something exciting about the recollection of youth and his stomach curled in excitement. ‘So… innocent.’ His head reached out and settled on her thigh, sliding up an inch, and then daringly another until the sound of a key in the door startled them both and they broke apart.
Lara ran across to Max without hesitation and he held her tight, unaware of the cause but thankful for the affection. It was little things like that he would try, and had gotten away with on multiple times before she’d grown over-confident with the protection of Max. And it wasn’t disrespectful what he was doing. Touching Max Sullivan’s girl seemed something he was entitled to, especially if he had to watch her as often as he did. Max didn’t need to know what wouldn’t hurt him, and Lara had proved in other ways she was unfaithful and no good for him all by herself.
So, seeing her today, a grown woman, made Ronan excited. Glancing down at his watch, he counted the minutes before their meeting with sweet expectation.
‘Me and Pete are getting a divorce.’
It was a strange feeling when you finally heard what you had wanted for years, and yet it didn’t have the same satisfaction because the person saying it was broken. Devastated. And Max already knew, well, had all but been told by others around and yet he had been desperate to hear it from her mouth only. Somehow it made it more real, but then with the realism came the realistic anguish and Max felt a moment of sadness for Lara.
Max didn’t understand marriage as much as he didn’t understand divorce, but he knew what it felt like to lose at something and to lose someone and it made you sick.
‘It’s just not working. We… we only split up yesterday.’
Was that why she had come to the zoo? Max was finding it hard not to say something, a sarcastic retort, or a snide remark about Pete Dunham but he felt the honesty with which Lara was speaking deserved consideration. He also couldn’t stop wondering why she had come to him when she had needed comfort.
‘I guess you can say I told you so.’ Lara added with a mumble, refusing to look at him. ‘You always said it wouldn’t work and you were right. I failed.’ She laughed briefly and it caught him off guard, such a sad, bitter laugh at the realisation of it all. Lara was too beautiful to look so upset.
‘I hate that expression.’ Max replied softly, thinking back to Ronan. ‘And he failed, not you.’
‘My children are all I have, Max.’ the topic swiftly changed, a mixture of grief and defensiveness tinged her voice. The way she was looking at him made him feel protective and angry; he wanted to fix everything, and he would, no matter what.
‘You have more than many.’ He tried to reassure her, and although Lara was looking at him, he knew she was struggling to find the words rather than taking in his response.
‘I’d die for them.’ He didn’t doubt. ‘I won’t stand aside and let them be torn away from me, okay? Not by Pete and not by you. I can’t Max…’ as her voice broke, Lara turned away and it took all his power not to reach out and touch her hand. Lara’s insides were swimming, a gut-wrenching turmoil he craved the reasoning behind. Was she upset because Pete had cheated, or because she had done something unforgiveable? Max needed to know if she was sad for him, or for herself. A selfish kind of heartbreak.
‘If you want joint custody, I’ll give it to you. I won’t stop you being a father, I’d never do that.’
‘I told you what I wanted.’ Max found himself still speaking slowly, as if still cautious. As if afraid that one decimal more in tone would fright her into shutting down, and he needed to know things. He also wanted other things; he wanted her. Why? Because she was his. ‘But I need you to sign some papers, to agree to this. I don’t want you to change your mind, Lar.’
‘I want you in Charlie’s life.’
There were tears in her eyes in this moment and the bravery Lara held for keeping his gaze was astounding. She was fierce and underappreciated. She was also strong, in ways he was not. Breaking Lara had not been easy, and only done in part. Lara was smart, and not just in the general sense of she could do her four times tables, but logical; she worked things out, quickly and without thought, she could reason and come to conclusions as if she were some great detective. Lara had, on some occasions, managed to play Max and played him well.
He hadn’t been shocked, merely aroused at her confidence and wit. And Max saw that now, as Lara sat across from him, her mind whirring, already aware of what needed to be done and how. No doubt she knew that this day would come between them, and could tell you the multiple outcomes, even if Max only saw one.
This intelligence was also not to be confused with stale rigidity; just because she knew what to do, didn’t mean she always did it. Lara could be spontaneous and had been when she was younger, yet with Pete… her spirit had slowed. Max didn’t want to see the light inside her dampen and bit his lip with a small sigh.
‘I want to be in his life more than anything.’
‘It was what I wanted, for so long, Max. Everything I wanted right there in that moment.’ His heart sang at the hope in her words but knew the rise would follow a fall as her tone suddenly changed. ‘But that’s not my life now. That’s not our life, okay?’
Max wanted to say it could be. Why couldn’t it? She was getting divorced, they had a child… Max wanted so much to tell her everything would be fine; she and her children protected, free to be who she truly was, no constraints, no rules. It was different – things had changed and he knew her inside out, like no one else. Although the idea of saying this now would be like an explosion to a horse; she would bolt, and he’d worked so hard to get her to come this close so he bit his tongue.
‘You can see Charlie whenever you like but I need… space. I just can’t breathe right now.’
For a moment Max didn’t say anything. It had obviously taken a lot for Lara to confide all these things with him and he let her thoughts and concerns settle around them like dust. He wanted to take the positives of it all, but the rebuffing of his moves he hadn’t even made yet had irritated him. Yet, did there seem hope? There was no concrete answer on their future, but there was also no heavy inclination she wanted anything more than him to be the father of their child. He was confused.
‘Thank you.’ Max finally said as the plates around them were cleared. ‘Do you want a dessert? Finish the night with a sweet note, rather than sour?’ he raised an eyebrow expectantly, but Lara shook her head, declining the offer as if it meant something more.
Did it mean something more?
Max had always known where he stood with people, especially Lara, yet now everything was different, and he was… cautious. It was a bitter feeling he didn’t like; he was terrified of losing her. When had that happened?
Getting up from his seat, Max paid the bill and moved around to pull Lara’s chair back so she could stand. He could smell her sweet perfume as her hair fell over her shoulder and he swallowed, one hand coming to briefly touch her shoulder as her bag strap slipped. He wanted to kiss the smooth of her neck, bared to him teasingly. Or to wrap a hand around her throat as he stood behind, squeezed gently, erotically.
‘I hope we’ve come to some sort of understanding.’ Lara said and the moment was gone, broken as he cleared his throat.
‘I hope so too.’ Max nodded as they both left the restaurant. It was late now, the sky dark and dotted with ember like stars. They glanced up, took a cool breath and assessed the situation.
This was the part of the night where the man and woman went home together. Where Lara would stand before him and Max would drink her in; then he would unzip her dress, watch it fall to her ankles like liquid. Her body would be different; her body had completed wonders since the last time he’d seen her naked. Lara had created life, becoming mother nature herself and it was intoxicating to think.
‘Let me take you home, it’s late.’ Max offered, his eyes still settled on her. They had been unmoving since he’d stood at the table, because every time Lara turned a fraction he could see a new part of her he wanted to explore. It was the same sort of infatuation he’d had when they’d first met. It had just taken really seeing her again after so long to realise what he’d been missing. His heart had a longing for Lara and the idea she may deny it made him angry.
Right on time, Ronan pulled up with the car and Max threw a glance at Lara.
‘I’ll have your car collected and dropped off, don’t worry.’ He tilted his head to the side, desperate for her to appease him. ‘Plus, you’ve been drinking, so you don’t really have a choice…’ a small smile played at his lips as he glanced at her own, wondering if she still tasted like the champagne.
Opening the door for her, Max watched Lara elegantly slip in and followed behind. It was one of his favourite cars; a black Rolls Royce Cullinan. It had all the smart intensity of your standard Rolls, but with the capacity of an SUV. The perfect vehicle to assert dominance.
‘You remember Ronan?’ Max asked as he looked up, meeting the mans eye in the rear view mirror.
Ronan let his gaze settle on her, specifically her thighs as she moved her bag onto her lap to cover herself more. He could already see the tension creeping up her neck and wondered what recollection of him she had.
‘No.’ she replied, turning her gaze to the window. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t tend to remember… unremarkable people.’
Ronan couldn’t help but laugh and shook his head. ‘Tá liathróidí aici.’ He caught Max’s eyes before looking back towards the road. Max didn’t laugh in response but his lip momentarily slid into a smirk.
She’s got some balls.
‘Mar sin faire ar do dhroim.’ Max replied before the radio was turned on. So watch your back he warned.
The ride went on in silence for a while, the world outside passing by, Lara resolutely watching the people passing, the River Thames, the blur of the street lights. Anything that would mean she didn’t need to acknowledge how close the two of them were right now. The music was a low murmur and Ronan had started to hum along with it.
Why was Lara acting as if she didn’t remember him? Stubbornness? Turning a corner, Ronan tried not to be agitated by her response, reminding himself it was because she did recall him, and perhaps fondly? He had purposely dressed smart for the occasion; a crisp white shirt, a waist coat and trousers. A Rolex watch rested neatly on his right arm, polished that morning. Was she intimidated by him? She should be.
In the back, Lara turned to Max, realisation washing over her and she looked angry.
‘We’re not going to the penthouse, Max, remember?’ her eyes were narrowed and for some reason he wanted her to strike him. Show some pure, raw emotions. ‘You’re supposed to take me home. I have to pick up Charlie, I told Dermot I’d be there at nine.’
Max nodded in understanding, but didn’t tell Ronan to change course.
‘Dermot is a big boy.’ He replied, not concerned for a moment that either were in danger. ‘Don’t you trust him?’ turning to face her, Max raised an eyebrow and watched her swallow. ‘I want to show you something, that’s all. It won’t take long, okay?’ watching her chew her lip, Max wanted to reach out and place his hand on hers to reassure her, to urge her to accept, but he held back. ‘Please?’ when Lara opened her mouth to argue, he raised his hands in defence. ‘I know you’ve already done so much for me, so one more thing won’t hurt, right? It’s for Charlie.’
That was final. They made it back to the penthouse and Ronan pulled into the underground carpark.
‘I promise you can leave when you want.’ Max whispered in the momentary darkness of the tinted windows until Ronan opened the door, washing them in light.
Max got out the car and headed to the lift, unaware of the awkwardness behind him. As Lara stepped out of the car she stumbled slightly and Ronan reached out to grab her. His prosthetic hand in her own small one looked unusual and Lara reeled back.
‘Careful.’ Ronan smiled, his eyes never leaving her face. She looked the same, just older, more…defensive, like a lioness. ‘Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?’ He added as she walked away to follow Max.
The lift door opened and Max put his hand on the small of Lara’s back, leading her in. It felt warm against his palm and he suddenly wanted to pull her in tight, but he knew she was on guard, cautious and tense.
‘It’s never been the same, since you left.’ Max said as the doors opened and they were both greeted by what was once home. Briefly, at least. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, glancing over his shoulder to see her stood in the middle of the kitchen, overwhelmed, arms around her middle. ‘Have a drink.’ He urged as she looked up to meet his gaze. ‘One more can’t do any harm.’ Pouring them both a whiskey, he handed Lara the tumbler with a small smile.
When she mentioned he’d said he had something to show her, Max nodded.
‘Right.’ Heading down the corridor, Max turned to see Lara was looking hesitant and he reached out to take her hand, tugging her near. ‘You’re safe.’ He reassured her and then frowned, glancing away when she didn’t look certain. ‘Fuck.’ Pausing for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what to say and chewed his lip uncertainly. ‘I know you… don’t feel that way, that you are safe and I know that’s my fault, but that was before… ‘ he turned back to meet her gaze. ‘That was before Charlie, Lara.’ Facing forward, he nodded to the door furthest away, a sign on the door. ‘I wanted to show you this.’ Leading Lara towards the room, Max stopped so she could see Charlie’s name in big, wooden letters. ‘I thought, if I want you to take me seriously, I have to prove I mean it.’
Pushing open the door, Max let Lara go in first and he stood back to gauge her reaction. It had been a quick job, and he hadn’t done it himself, but he was happy with it. Ronan had called one of the girls from the club with a penchant for interior design to come over whilst they were at dinner. The walls had been painted a light, forest green and the bed was raised, drawers beneath, a desk coming off one side and a ladder leading up to the sleeping area. The toy lion Charlie had picked out rested on the pillow, and a wicker basket of other toys was in one corner. On the wall there were numerous paintings of children animations or quotes from fairy tales, and then one of the frames made Lara freeze.
Coming to stand behind her, Max looked up at the white frame and felt his heart swell. He’d had this in a small box of memories for years, and hadn’t expected to see it on the wall. Inside the wooden frame was the first ever scan Lara had gotten of Charlie, from the doctors, a little crumpled but pressed neatly behind the glass. It was the one he’d found on her before the warehouse; before Mark Turner’s death, and before everything had gone wrong.
If it’s his, it dies.
That memory had haunted him for a long time, but now it was replaced with something else. A reminder what the two of them had created; their beginning, framed for eternity. Beneath it was Charlie’s date of birth and full name and for a moment it made him feel uncomfortably emotional. Lara didn’t say a word either and he wondered if she felt the same. It wasn’t really something they often stopped to consider; they were parents. Glancing down at her, Max felt himself move closer, pressed against her back. She had already downed her drink in the hallway and he took the glass, placing it on the side.
‘I’ve changed, Lar. I’ve changed, because of our son.’ He swallowed, a new emotion washing over him.
He just wanted to feel her, and cherish this moment. Remember the sweet smell of her hair, or the honey in her perfume; the softness of the skin on her shoulders and the tilt of her jaw. He wanted to soak in the realisation that they were a family, and even if he was wrong with his thinking, Max didn’t hesitate with what he did next. Brushing a strand of hair behind Lara’s ear he bowed his head and placed a soft kiss against her neck. Softer than he had ever touched her before; as if he were asking permission or tasting her for the first time. He could feel her pulse thumping beneath his mouth and kissed her there again, his hand settling on her waist.
‘I've missed you.' he whispered, his voice so low it made her skin pimple. Grabbing the hem of her dress, Max let his hand pull it up, sliding between her thighs slowly. Would she resist him? His own heart was beating erratically and it took all his power not to throw her against the wall and take her. 'Have you missed me?'
‘To cut a long and incredibly dull story short, her brother was shot in the face and the Pup thinks someone is going for round two so I’m going to get the kid out of hospital.’
Nora blinked at Jock, mind whirring. Lara’s brother had been shot in the face and she was now in Ireland, with the police officer? It was as if being the storage facility had created an alternative universe and nothing made any sense.
‘Don’t sugar coat it for me, will you?’ Nora winced, trying not to picture the image of a man with a bullet wound in his head. It had taken long enough to get Nick out of her mind…
Jock looked apologetic. ‘Add an extra meal to that order?’ Pulling her close, she felt Jock give a heavy sigh. He never got to rest and relax, and part of her wondered if they should leave for Ireland too.
‘I’ll be an hour.’
‘That’s too long.’ Nora murmured, although she knew she couldn’t argue. ‘It’s important, I know.’
‘Any delays and I will text and let you know. Are you going to be okay here?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Nora shrugged her shoulders, holding him tight for one more minute. Sometimes she forgot just how big and broad he was, her arms barely managing to reach around his shoulders. ‘In and out.’ She looked up at him and Jock nodded.
‘In and out. No mess. I promise.’
As soon as he left, Nora locked the door and pulled the bolt across. Rushing through the downstairs rooms, she checked all of the windows were locked and then ran into the kitchen and the door which went into the garden. Staring out at the green grass littered with daisies, she smiled slightly. It looked so calm and quiet outside, so unlike the inside of her head. Checking the back door was locked she did the same for upstairs before coming back to settle in the lounge. She had slipped one of Jock’s jumpers on and pulled out her phone to look at food.
An hour, he had promised. Chewing her lip she nodded and looked through a couple of menus before deciding what they should eat. Pizza would be fine and they could share it with the mystery outpatient. Would he be like Lara? Would he even be conscious? Shaking her head, Nora tried not to think too much and switched on the television.
Channel hopping for a few minutes she saw a glimpse of a western, some hospital drama and then a quirky musical. Leaving it on for a while she found herself smiling at the distraction, until it came to and end and the news came on…
‘…The funeral for Charlotte Foster will be held on October 5th at 11:30AM with thanks to kind benefactor and entrepreneur Maximillian Sullivan. This will be an open funeral for members of the public to freely pay their respects…’
Nora looked at the television, momentarily frozen. Behind the news reporter there was a photograph of the woman from the warehouse and then one of Max, smiling. He was wearing a suit, his bear neatly trimmed. She didn’t know which image haunted her the most but she suddenly dropped to her knees, unable to take her eyes off of Charlotte’s face. She had been beautiful, her hair thick and long and her smile reaching little dimples on either side. Honest, light eyes, full of life. She looked like someone Nora would’ve liked to be friends with.
She didn’t look like someone who deserved to be dead.
In that instant every feeling of terror and regret she had held inside seemed to spew out of her throat in a guttural cry and Nora couldn’t stop the sobs wracking her shoulders. They pulled an image up now of what she could only presume was her son, and his angelic face made her chest hurt. It was unfair, and it wasn’t even personal. Nora didn’t know this woman, and yet she felt indebted to this woman and her family. To her son, Tristan.
Would they blame her? Did anyone even know? Max knew the truth; would he tell?
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Nora tried to compose herself, stilling the sharp gasps for air. Why was Max involved in the funeral? If he had killed Nick, surely he would want to be as far away as possible from the scene? Then again, it was good publicity, and she half wondered if it was for Lara. Only an hour ago she had been on the phone to her friend, discussing whether he was capable of change. Perhaps he was?
Then he heard Jock’s voice in her head. ‘I’m sure Lara knows what she’s doing. Try not to worry…’
How could she not worry?
Max had been there, a gun in hand as if it weighed nothing and an emotionless look on his face. He didn’t need a reason to hurt someone and Nora felt as if Max knew who Nick was and had taken glee in being the one to end his life. Just like he had once tried to end Lara’s, all those years ago. No. Nora couldn’t let him get away with it; the whole world may have thought Max Sullivan was a hero, but Nora would at least prove to Lara he wasn’t.
She would speak to him, at the funeral tomorrow. Tell him to stay away from them all, for good. And although she wanted to always be open and honest with Jock, she didn’t want to tell him what she was going to do, because he would no doubt stop her, or get there first. There was a rivalry between the three – Max, Dermot and Jock – that she could never be a part of, but this was different; this was about her best friends safety.
Rushing to the bathroom to wash her face, Nora splashed cold water against her cheeks, breathless. Suddenly there was a loud thump and Nora shot up, heart racing and uncomfortably hot. Another bang and she squealed, pressing herself against the sink.
‘Hello?’ a voice called and Nora reached out, grabbing the first thing she could and it was a toothbrush. Pointing it at the hallway like a weapon she felt dizzy. ‘Hello, do you want your pizza or not?’
Taking a deep breath, she held the banister tight, taking a step at a time. Slowly opening the door, she grabbed the pizzas and shut the door in the couriers face before he could say anything. Back against the door she closed her eyes at the idiocy of it all and took the food into the kitchen. Not long after that and Jock was back, a barely conscious man in his arms.
Robbie sat on the sofa with a big bandage around his head and bags beneath his eyes. Nora just looked at him in confusion, arms wrapped around herself. The sleeves on Jock’s jumper were long and she felt like a child where she shouldn’t be. Looking towards him she frowned.
Leading her into the kitchen, he apologised but she merely shrugged her shoulders.
‘I hope you don’t mind him staying for a bit?’
‘Sure.’
‘How are you feeling?’ his finger trailed down her face gently and her eyes fluttered shut. ‘I tried to be as quick as I can, I didn’t want to leave you here. Not alone.’
‘You had things to do. I just hid in the lounge.’ She gave a sheepish smile, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. ‘Is… is he okay?’
Jock shook his head. ‘I’m sorry this happened to you. I just… I just want to make it better for you. I want to make it all go away.’
Hearing the sadness in his voice made Nora feel guilty for something and she leaned into him with a sigh, wrapping her arms around him. The cast on her wrist was bulky beneath the jumper but the pain was barely there, not now her head was spinning.
‘You need to see something.’ She whispered and when Jock pulled her back, asking what she said, Nora frowned further. ‘On the news…’ grabbing her phone, Nora pulled up the recent news articles and passed it to Jock. He looked at the screen in confusion for a moment before he scrolled past the heading and saw the image of Max staring back at him.
‘The funeral is tomorrow.’ Nora whispered, feeling selfishly overwhelmed again. ‘And Max… he’s paying for everything. Why?’ beginning to pace, Nora knew she wanted a drink but decided against it. Nothing good ever came from alcohol, she had learnt that now. Boiling the kettle she listened to Jock talk, pouring them a pot of tea. Robbie was no doubt asleep but she grabbed a cup for him too.
‘I need to go.’ Nora said certainly as she placed the cups and pot on tray which Jock took from her. ‘Tomorrow. I need to go, will you come with me?’ of course he would, why was she even asking? ‘I don’t trust him, Jock. I don’t trust Max and I’m scared.’
Jock reassured her as much as he could but Nora still felt as if something was wrong. The two of them moved into the lounge where the pizza was spread out on the table and Robbie was perched in the corner, his eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly.
‘Is it safe for Rosa to come home?’ Nora whispered but Robbie shifted at the mention of his sisters name all the same. ‘Sorry… ‘ she glanced at Jock when he continued to sleep. ‘Who did this? It wasn’t Max, was it?’ when Jock shook his head, Nora nodded and wrapped her hands around her mug of tea. ‘I just want to be done with it all.’
Settling against him, the two of them ate pizza and watched a black and white film on the television. At some point Nora felt herself dozing off against his shoulder but woke up to the sound of the two men talking. Opening her eyes slowly, she looked up to see Jock’s jaw clenched. Robbie was telling him everything that had happened, that he could remember. Jock was explaining how Rosa had been found and where she was now and Nora felt a tear roll down her cheek, dripping onto his shirt sleeve.
Throwing her arm around his middle, she slowly fell back asleep and when she awoke for the second time, the morning sun was streaking through the gap in the curtains. Jock was asleep next to her, his head lolling against the back of the sofa. Opposite her Robbie was propped up on the sofa, eyes open as he stared at the television playing on mute. Rolling onto her side she glanced at him and he caught her gaze, smiling slightly.
‘So, you’re Rosa’s brother?’ she whispered, so as to not wake Jock. ‘I never thought I’d say I miss her.’ She laughed and Robbie agreed. ‘Jock has always taken care of her, though. You don’t have to worry.’ Freeing herself from Jock’s hold, she perched on the edge of the sofa and rubbed her face. Somehow she felt more exhausted than she had before. It was six o’clock and the funeral was this afternoon. It was time to say goodbye to Charlotte Foster, the woman who had saved her life.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Sept 1, 2022 12:15:35 GMT -5
Lara remembered the last meal she and Max ever had together. It had been mere weeks before she’d tried to leave, for good, before Max had taken the blade to her throat and tried to end her life. It had been another expensive restaurant, similar to this, but with more half-clad girls and less lighting. This place had brick walls and fancy lighting, large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Underfoot, the floor was striped black and white, and to one side was a low green bench that ran the length of the back wall, several small wooden tables in front. On the other side, there was the bar and the doors that led to the busy kitchen, and filling every other space were oak tables, coddled by comfy green armchairs. Large yuccas dominated every corner, adding spillages of luscious green to brighten the room.
Any other day and she would have absolutely fallen in love with the place. Tonight, however, she could barely stop trembling for the nerves.
In the beginning, stepping into Max’s world had been compelling, exciting and magical. It had been an entirely different life to the poverty she’d grown up in, pound notes literally being used as cleaning rags when alcohol got spilled. He’d brought her expensive clothes, shoes, jewellery, whisked her away to so many exotic locations she couldn’t even recall them all. Lara had literally wanted for nothing and for a while, it was good. It was more than good. It was the best.
She wasn’t sure where the line had blurred between the best and the worst. It had been a slow gradual thing, or so she had thought. Looking back, it was clear Max had been moulding her from the start, easing her into his world of violence and bloodlust without her even being aware of what was happening. On that last dinner together, Lara had been unhappy. They’d argued in the car on the way and he’d slammed her head against the passenger side window with enough force to rock her brain against her skull. They’d argued during the meal, until she’d walked out, and Max had been quick to follow. Shoving her into the alleyway, the back of his hand catching the side of her face... Sometimes it was hard to believe those things even happened. It was even harder to believe he had changed.
When Lara entered the restaurant, she forced herself to keep her head high. She wasn’t that girl anymore and she needed Max to know that. She’d grown. She’d matured. She wouldn’t allow herself to get drawn into his games, no matter how hard he tried. And for a whole five seconds, it was easy to believe she could do this, that he had no hold over her now.
Then, she laid eyes on him.
The beard was gone. His once collar-length curly hair had been cut short and smoothed back. He was dressed in a blue pinstripe shirt, the sleeves rolled up with a navy blue waistcoat drawn over it, and if it wasn’t for his blue eye and the neat scar down his face, Lara could have sworn she had stepped back in time. The buttons of his shirt and waistcoat were slightly undone, revealing a smatter of dark chest hair. And she hated how good-looking he was, how handsome. How a single look from him could still cause butterflies to erupt deep in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t fair. He’d stood when she’d approached, a small smile curling his lips and she tried not to meet his eye. It was easier that way, for now. She nodded to the waiter and sank down into the offered seat, setting her bag at her feet, anything to prolong looking up.
“We’ll have the champagne now.”
Champagne? She glanced up just as the waiter walked away, holding back the urge to call him back. They might have been in a room full of people, but together at the table, it was as if they were the only ones here. Finding her voice, she asked if he’d ordered, and Max shook his head as he picked up the menu. His calmness unnerved her; strangely, if he was angry or upset, it was easier to deal with. She could deal with the violative nature of men, but not this. She had no idea what was running through his mind, what he hoped to achieve after tonight...
“I haven’t, no. I didn’t want to presume, but I can order for the both of us, if you’d like.” He flicked through the menu, glancing up and smiling when Lara nodded. “I’m sure I can still remember what you like.” A warmth filled Lara’s cheeks as she quickly looked away, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. A moment later and the waiter returned, presenting the silver ice bucket, the bottle of champagne embedded inside. How long had it been since she’d had champagne? And not cheap bubbly from the supermarket, but the expensive stuff. She watched, raising an eyebrow as the waiter filled two glasses. She hadn’t intended to drink when she arrived, and she especially hadn’t intended to celebrate. What was there to celebrate anyway? Her marriage was on the rocks, her children were being pulled in different directions, and she was only days away from Nora hating her for the rest of her life.
Max chuckled, a low sound which made her look up, and the small smile twisting his lips was devastating. As the waiter left again, Max shrugged. “My treat. Don’t deny me this. In fact,” he said, still watching her with an intensity that made her heart race. “you should be taking advantage of my generosity, because I doubt if Dunham ever took you to a place like this.”
Lara glared at him. He couldn’t resist the jibe, she could see it in his eyes, in the way he watched for her reaction. And the mention of Pete did nothing but bring all the guilt hurtling back. What was she doing here, when she should have been patching things up with him? She’d broken his heart. Not only that, she’d stomped all over it and left him to try and pick up the pieces. Was she really any better than the man sat opposite her?
“Plus, it’s my way of saying thank you. For letting me have a future with my son.”
Charlie. The only reason she was here. Max raised his glass towards her, holding it there, watching, waiting. Lara glanced at her own, still untouched, the bubbles zigzagging to the top and popping on the surface. Slowly, she reached for it, fingertips sliding around the stem. Raising it, she held her glass to his, but pulled it back before they could clink. She sipped her own as Max laughed, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile.
In some ways, she had missed this. The way he smiled at her, eyes alight with interest, as if she was the only woman in the world. He had a greedy way of looking at her, always had done. It hadn’t all been bad, she reasoned. He’d never allowed anybody to disrespect her, or hurt her, almost as if he had the rights nobody else did. Amongst the darkness of their past, there’s been moments of light and beauty, private jokes together, the making up after arguments, the way Max would chuckle against her throat as he held her close, hands running over her body. It was hard to know how she really felt, sat here, her own small smile breaking free at the thrill of defying him. And it always had been a thrill, their entire rollercoaster of a relationship, even when it had crashed to a stop.
“I deserved that. To us and to this evening.”
The waiter returned with the starter and Lara was glad for the interruption. She didn’t want to get too comfortable. She didn’t want Max to believe she was comfortable either, as she set her glass aside and picked up her fork. The dish placed in front of her was mouth-watering, the colour vibrant and delicious. Had she even eaten today? She didn’t think she had. Not much was said as they tucked in, but Lara noticed his gaze kept darting to her face, so she kept her eyes fixed to her plate. The champagne went down a little too easily; it tasted incredibly smooth, and by the time the waiter returned with the main course, her glass was empty. He refilled it, then carted their dirty plates away.
She knew Max was waiting for her to say something. Perhaps he was as well. But part of Lara was scared to hear it. Terrified, actually. At least Charlie was safe now, back home with Dermot. Her mind wandered; she could see them together on the sofa, a DVD playing on the TV, Charlie elbow-deep in a bowl of popcorn. The image was so sudden and startling that her heart literally panged. She wished she was with them right now.
The main course was chateaubriand, served on a large plate for them to share. To share, as if they were a couple. Lara wondered if that’s what the waiter thought, as he’d lit a candle which now burned softly between them. Picking up her fork, Lara gently stabbed a cherry tomato and watched it burst, trying to sort through the emotions warring inside of her. Max had remembered her favourite dish, something she hadn’t eaten since she’d been with him. She’d avoided all high-end restaurants, any sort of hint towards the life she’d once had. It had been easier to block it all out entirely.
“You look beautiful, by the way.” Startled, Lara looked up, meeting his gaze, cheeks pinching when she realised what he’d said. “Absolutely stunning.”
Dermot thought the same. When he’d walked through the door and seen her, his eyes had widened and his jaw had dropped. It felt good to know she made Dermot feel that way, had relished the way he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. She could still see them both in the mirror, Dermot’s lips grazing her throat as he tried to hide his smile. What was she doing here? Max must have seen the way she’d tensed, as he glanced at the plate and moved the conversation on.
“We had this years ago, do you remember? One of our first times in a restaurant as a couple, and you didn’t know what to order because everything was in French.”
She did remember. She felt her cheeks warm at the memory, the complete confusion she’d had as she’d tried to decipher the words. Max had been wearing the same smile he had now, leaning over to pronounce some of the words. He’d smelt like sandalwood and apple, beneath the musky delight of his aftershave. They’d eaten until they were stuffed, then laid out in Regent’s Park to watch the stars. Or what they could make out of them in the middle of the city.
“You loved it, said it melted in your mouth like butter and made me cook you steak for weeks. Foirfe.”
Perfect.
How many times had she heard that word? A word he’d murmur against the skin of her abdomen as he eased himself down her body. A word he’d smirk when everything was falling into place and things were going according to plan. Foirfe. Despite herself, Lara chuckled, the sound foreign to her own ears. She’d begged for steak and Max had cooked it, every night, and they’d helped it down with a bottle of whiskey, shared. That really had been another life. “It was good steak,” she replied, realising it was he first time she’d spoken since asking if he’d ordered. Up until now, she’d been afraid to open her mouth, unsure of what would tumble out. All of her secrets and fears, things she was doing her best to keep hidden from him. “Yours, I mean,” she smiled. “Maybe even better than the restaurant.”
“It’s good to see you smiling.”
She hadn’t realised she’d been smiling quite so widely until she felt it slip from her face. She busied herself with slicing a chunk of steak for herself, angry at herself for betraying the stance she’d been determined to stick with. Max wasn’t her lover and he certainly wasn’t her friend, and she needed to keep that in mind. It was so easily to fall back into the old rhythm, that it was as if they’d never been apart at all. Picking up her glass, she took another sip, trying to find some courage in the bubbles. Soon, they’d have to discuss the important stuff, the real reason they were here, and honestly, she was dreading it.
“You don’t deserve to carry the weight of the world, Lar. Someone should be carrying you.”
Lara opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. She wanted to trust his words, fall into them in the way she used to, but she couldn’t. What she carried was the weight Max had placed on her shoulders in the first place, a weight that had crushed and smothered the relationship she’d tried to create with Pete. And Pete was a good man, truly. He didn’t have secrets. He wore his heart on his sleeve. He’d trusted her, endlessly, even when he’d had no reason to. He was a great dad too; she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, take that away from him. And even if her feelings hadn’t been the same, even if their relationship felt more like friends than lovers... he hadn’t deserved what she’d done to him. Picking up her glass, she took another drink, trying to quash the churning upset.
“I know you perhaps felt compelled to come here, out of fear, or guilt or... I don’t know, whatever other horrid word that means you’d rather be elsewhere... but I’m so glad you are.”
Max was trying, she realised. Making an effort to fix things. He didn’t need to do this. He didn’t need to buy her dinner, or say nice things, or placate her, to get what he wanted. He could easily take Charlie without even contemplating Lara and her feelings, but here he was. Looking his best, trying to best. Seeking some kind of reconciliation. She thought back to her conversation with Nora, when they’d pondered whether a leopard could change its spots. She hadn’t thought it could. Now, she was beginning to doubt herself. Meeting his eyes, she gave a slow nod. They looked at each other, time seeming to stretch, and she let her gaze follow the lines of his face, so familiar yet different. The scar, the eye... so much had changed. But, they were here, together, able to occupy the same space without killing each other or...
Her cheeks reddened and she looked away, busying herself with the meal. “Charlie loves that lion,” she said, grabbing the first topic that came to mind. Right now, Charlie seemed like a safe conversation piece, something to keep both their focus. “He hasn’t put it down since we got home. He...” She hesitated, then glanced up at Max. “He really does like you, you know. I don’t know what you did...” Lara chuckled with a soft shake of her head. “But, you’re pretty much the best thing since sliced bread right now.” Max was smiling and for the first time since she got here, Lara felt herself relax a little. If they could come to an arrangement that suited the both of them, there was no reason they couldn’t make this work. Co-parenting.
Until he found out about Dermot, at least.
“He makes me smile all the time. Just silly things really. Like he has this cereal song he made up, he sings it every bloody morning, changing a few words depending on what he’s having.” Max asked if he could sing and she smirked at him, an eyebrow arched. “Probably about as good as you,” she jibed. They spoke about Kimmy too, as the steak got smaller and the champagne went down too easily, and for a moment, Lara had to stop talking because she suddenly wanted to cry. Tonight would be the first time since Kimmy was born that Lara hadn’t put her to bed. Or at least been there at bedtime to give her a kiss and a cuddle and wish her sweet dreams. She wouldn’t be there to tuck her dolly beneath her pink duvet, nor there to smooth back her blonde hair and whisper a soft lullaby. Tonight, Mummy wouldn’t be there and Kimmy wouldn’t even know why.
“Whatever Charlie has asked me for, I’ve given him.” Lara swallowed the lump and prayed he didn’t see the upset in her eyes as she looked over at him. The waiter appeared, clearing the dishes around them and giving Lara the moment’s reprieve she needed to pull herself together. “I don’t want him to be spoilt... Damn, I just want him to be loved. My Da... I don’t need to tell you my backstory, Lar. You know inside out... cosuil le leabhar.” How strange it was to hear her own words echoed back to her, words she’d spoken to Dermot only a few hours before. He can read me like a book.
How much was he able to read now?
“I just want him to know I care, and I want to show him how to do everything no one ever showed me to do; how to pitch a tent, or how to... Fuck, I can’t think now, but how to start a fire, or drive a car... You know, important things, like... how to respect his Ma.”
She could hear the passion in his voice, see it burning in his eyes as he caught her gaze and held it. His jaw clenched and he turned away to refill the glasses. Lara didn’t know what to say. She sat there, staring at him numbly, her hands twisting anxiously on her knee. She wanted to comfort him. She would have before, all those years ago. She would have slid onto his lap, cupped his jaw and promised him everything would be okay. That they would make this work, as they always did. She would have kissed him and he would have growled against her lips and clutched her tighter. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t even bring herself to touch him.
“So do you want to tell me what’s happening at home now?”
Lara reached for her glass and took a drink. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she began to speak. “Me and Pete are getting a divorce.” She didn’t say anything for a few moments, the words hanging in the air between them, but not for dramatic effect; she literally had no idea what else to say, or how much detail to go into before things got... dangerous. Dampening her bottom lip, she shrugged, eyes on the golden fizz in her glass. The champagne bottle was nearly empty and she could feel the lightness in her head. “It’s just not working. We... we only split up yesterday.” Pete’s face loomed to mind, the day of the argument. The anger and hatred in his face as he’d snarled at her, moments before punching his fist through the wall. And then his expression, when she’d told him she’d slept with Dermot. What would Max’s expression be if she told him?
“I guess you can say I told you so,” she added, still not looking at him. “You always said it wouldn’t work and you were right. I failed.” She laughed at her own stupidity, and when her smile faded, she lifted her eyes to his. “My children are all I have, Max. I’d die for them. I’d literally give my life if it meant keeping them safe.” She held his gaze, unwavering for the first time all evening. She wanted him to know how serious she was. She wanted him to look into her eyes and know what she was saying came from the very depths of her soul. “I won’t stand aside and let them be torn away from me. Okay? Not by Pete and not by you. I can’t, Max -“ And then her voice cracked as tears sprung and she shook her head and looked away. “If you want joint custody, I’ll give it to you. I won’t stop you being a father, I’d never do that.” She wiped away a few stray tears and swallowed. “I want you in Charlie’s life. You’ve made him incredibly happy and I won’t deny him that. And I won’t deny you that either.”
She looked over at him, tears glistening. “I saw how happy you were too. At the zoo. I was watching you, at first. You were both sat with your lions and the look on your face...” Lara broke off, biting her bottom lip hard as she willed herself not to cry. “It was what I wanted for so long, Max. Everything I wanted right there in that moment. But that’s not my life now. That’s not our life, okay? You can see Charlie whenever you like, but I need ... space. I just can’t breathe right now.” Not when she had so much to think about with the divorce and the house and Nora and Dermot...
They finished talking and Lara declined the offer of dessert. “I’m full,” she told him, though they both knew it was an excuse. After the bill was paid, Max stood and helped her out of her seat, close to her, closer than he had been all evening. He still smelt like Max and it brought back a vivid array of memories, all whirling like a kaleidoscope. Shouldering her bag, Lara turned away, sure that he’d been about to speak, or reach out for her, and led the way through the restaurant. “I should get back... Thank you for tonight. I hope we’ve come to some sort of understanding.” She was aware of how robotic she sounded, the need for this night to be over almost overpowering.
Max offered to take her home, but just as Lara was about to decline and point to her own car, his pulled up in front of them. Max smiled at her patiently; he hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time. “I’ll have your car collected and dropped off, don’t worry,” he promised her, tilting his head at her in a way that was almost endearing. A gesture so similar to his brother’s. He added that she’d been drinking and Lara knew she’d lost the argument. Giving him a half-smile, then glancing longingly at her car, Lara nodded. Max opened the back door and she climbed in, not paying much attention to the driver. Clutching her bag on her knee, she watched Max slide in beside her and slam the door shut. And suddenly she felt very vulnerable in the concealed darkness of the back of his car. Her throat went dry.
“You remember Ronan?” Max asked.
The car pulled away as Lara looked up, feeling as if she’d been doused in icy water. Ronan Murphy. She hadn’t seen him in a long time and she’d been perfectly happy with that fact. That man was disgusting. That man was by far the worst human being to walk the Earth. And Lara knew she’d walked straight into a trap. Gaining her composure, Lara shifted to look out of her window. “No. I don’t think so. I don’t tend to remember... unremarkable people.” To her surprise, Ronan laughed, then said something in Irish to Max that Lara couldn’t quite translate.
A little while later and Lara realised they weren’t heading for her house at all... She turned to frown at Max, eyes narrowed. “We’re not going to the penthouse, Max, remember? You’re supposed to take me home. I have to pick up Charlie, I told Dermot I’d be there at nine.”
—-
Jock had done a few stupid things in his time but this had to be the stupidest. It was early evening and he was walking down the white-walled hospital corridors, trying to look as if he was supposed to be there. To be fair, several nurses and a porter had already passed him and barely given him a second glance, but Jock knew his good luck wouldn’t last forever and quickened his step.
He’d called George back as soon as he’d left the house to find out exactly where Robbie was; St. George’s Hospital was huge and the last thing he needed was to get lost before he’d found the kid. Seeing the sign for intensive care, Jock followed the blue footprints on the floor and flashed what he hoped was a charming smile to another passing porter. There was an elevator to his right and he knew that was their only chance to get out unseen.
He hadn’t yet spoken to Rosa, though she’d been messaging every day since they’d left, demanding news. As long as everything went well tonight, he’d call her tomorrow with the good news. Brother safe, psycho ex dead... that pervert copper was the only one left to deal with. The one who’d put Robbie in hospital in the first place. He and Carter had both seen him when he’d been wheeled in, blood coating one side of his face, and frankly, Jock was surprised he was still alive. Not many people got shot in the head and lived to tell the tale.
Which brought Jock to his next problem. Was Robbie even fit enough to leave? Was he even conscious or laid in a coma? If he was, Jock would have no choice but to leave him. Could he though? Could he walk away knowing the police were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to finish him off? Trying to force away the growing throb of frustration, Jock turned a corner and reached the ward. The door was ajar and he slipped inside, casting an eye on all the names. *Robbie Croft*. The curtains were drawn around his bed and praying there wasn’t a doctor behind them, Jock slipped in.
It was empty, other than Robbie. He was laid on his back, eyes shut, a tube in his mouth and held in place with tape. They’d cleaned up the blood and his head was bandaged. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes and his chest rose and fell steadily. All around him, machines beeped.
Fuck.
Jock dampened his bottom lip and peeked back out the curtain. All clear, so far. Making his way to Robbie’s side, he frowned, then grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Oi, kid. Wake the fuck up,” he murmured, then giving his face a few less-than-gentle slaps. Robbie began to stir, groaning, eyes closed tight against the blinding light overhead. “C’mon, kid, wake up. We’ve got places to be.” Robbie blinked, frowning when he saw Jock, and he tried to talk but the tube blocked any comprehensible sound. Jock smirked. “Let me help you with that.”
He tugged at the tube until it was free, Robbie choking and gagging and Jock quickly went to peek out the curtains again. He could hear voices at the end of the corridor. He hurried back to Robbie and forced him to sit up. Robbie groaned, disorientated. “Wus goin’ on?”
“We gotta move your arse now before Mr Big Dick comes and blows the other side of your head off. Come on.” Jock began pulling tubes from Robbie’s arms, blood spilling, but what was a little blood in comparison to death? “And you better fuckin’ thank me for this, risking my own balls to save your life.”
“Where’s Rosa?” That night was starting to return to Robbie in flashes, and his head was pounding. He remembered being in the hallway, he remembered Brian turning the gun on him and the terrified look on Rosa’s face...
“She’s safe. She’s more worried about you. On your feet.” He helped Robbie off the bed, putting an arm around him and holding him steady. “Right. There’s an elevator at the end of the corridor. If we can get there, we’ll be fine. We’ll head straight down to the car park and then we’ll be gone.” He flashed Robbie a side-look. “As long as you don’t go passing out on me, I think we’ll be fine.”
“I’ll try not too.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Shoving aside the curtains, Jock helped Robbie over to the ward door. He could still hear voices in the corridor, but they didn’t sound as close now. Without hesitating, Jock eased him out the door and the two began walking as fast as they could towards the elevator at the end. Robbie, seeming to be gathering more of his senses, looked at him uncertainly. “How did you know I was here?”
“Oi. Don’t start questioning whether you can trust me,” Jock scowled. “Like I said, I’m risking my balls for you, for zero fuckin’ reward. I’m doing this for a fuckin’ pat on the back off your sister.”
“All right. Sorry.”
“A friend rang me earlier. He works here.” They were nearly at the elevator now. “He overheard Shaw and his lapdogs talking about what they should do with you. Of course, Rosa would never forgive me if I let her brother get murdered while in a coma from his previous attempt at being murdered, so here I am-“
“I didn’t attempt to be murdered-“ Robbie scowled before a voice called out behind them. They both stopped, looking behind to see a doctor heading their way. He was frowning, a clipboard in his hands, his white coat flapping at his legs.
“Excuse me? Where are you-“
Fuck this. Jock forced Robbie to keep moving, the two reaching the elevator. Jock slammed his fist on the button, muttering curses impatiently under his breath. The doctor was still shouting something, hurrying his steps as the door pinged open and the two stumbled inside. Robbie leaned against the wall, head swimming as Jock slammed the ground floor button over and over. The doctor, realising they were about to get away, began to run, and Jock could only grin brightly and wave as the doors slowly closed on them.
“Bastard,” he muttered as the elevator descended, turning to check out Robbie. He looked pale and unsteady on his feet. “Hey. I said don’t pass out.”
“And I said I’ll try not too,” Robbie growled in reply, opening his eyes to glare at him. Jock smirked.
“Good. As soon as these doors open, we’re out. I’m parked close by. As long as security aren’t waiting for us...” Which, by some miracle, they weren’t. As the doors eased open, Jock peered out. It was busier out here, people coming and going and ambulances crawled in and out of the bays. Perfect. Enough distraction that nobody should notice them. He looked at Robbie again, wishing he’d at least changed him out the white gown, but it was too late for that now; they had to move. Together, they slipped out the elevator and began to make their way to the car. Robbie did get a curious glance at a passing couple, no doubt due to the bandage on his head, but they reached the car relatively easy. Almost too easy...
Jock suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling he was being watched. He stopped at his car, looking around, eyes narrowed. But he couldn’t see anybody watching them and ... With a shiver, he shook it off. Too much whiskey the past few days, is all. Helping Robbie into the car, he climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking bay. Just as they were driving off, two burly security guards came rushing, red-faced, out the hospital, but by then, it was too late.
Jock beamed over at him as they hit the main road. “Well, if that ain’t a success to drink to, I don’t know what is!”
—-
Dinner had already arrived by the time Jock returned, helping Robbie into the house. The young man sat down on the sofa with a groan, managing to mutter his thanks to the both of them before he shut his eyes. Or maybe he passed out, Jock wasn’t too sure. Taking Nora’s hand, he led her into the kitchen and brought her close, sighing softly. “Sorry about that. I hope you don’t mind him staying for a bit?” His brow creased a little as he studied her, trailing a finger down the side of her face; her skin was incredibly smooth to the touch. “How are you feeling? I tried to be as quick as I can, I didn’t want to leave you here. Not alone.”
He shook his head softly. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I just... I just want to make it better for you. I want to make it all go away.”
—-
It was hard not to compare the men Lara had been with, which was a surprisingly small number than people would assume. First, of course, had been Max. Her first love, though in hindsight, not necessarily her true love? She’d dated boys before him, had had her first kiss at the back of the school field and had held hands and etched names into the back of her school planner. She’d even been on a date to a bowling alley with a boy called Marcus when she was fourteen and they’d shared fish and chips before her mum had picked her up.
And then there’d been Max Sullivan.
Nothing had prepared her for a relationship with Max. Not for the whirlwind she was about to get thrown into. Lara couldn’t sit and deny she hadn’t both loathed it and adored it, that it hadn’t been as exciting as it had been tedious. Those eight years had shaped her, changed her. Max’s hands had moulded her like clay into his image of perfection. He’d had expectations, expectations which she nearly killed herself trying to meet. Expectations that had nearly killed her when she hadn’t met them. She’d truly been in love and no matter how low and terrible it got, she’d hung on for those golden, glorious moments of sunshine that made everything worth it; all the hell, all the trouble... all it took was Max’s smile, or his soft whispered Irish in her ear to make life good again.
She’d treasured those moments, clung to them as if they were her only hope. The relief that she’d feel when he’d looked at her, the corner of his mouth pulling upwards... she could feel it now, here in the restaurant, that addictive reward for coming here, for meeting his expectations. Why did she still want to please him? Why did some small part of her seek his approval? This man who was as much monster as he was God? This man who could easily take her entire life with a simple click of his fingers?
She sat, spine stiff, and tried to remember all her reasons for leaving. All her reasons for living. The first few months after leaving Max, she’d felt truly alone. She’d left the only family she’d had and she’d gone. She’d built herself up, slowly, bit by bit, but she’d done it alone and without help. That she was proud of. That, she had to remember.
And then she’d met Pete.
The mere thought of Pete brought pain unlike anything she’d felt. The thing with being beaten, punched and hit and abused, was that you got used to it. You knew your limit and you knew the pain would ease eventually, the bruises would fade. What was harder was the emotional pain, the mental pain. The stuff that lingered for years and years, even if you thought you’d already dealt with it. She loved Pete Dunham. She loved Pete, but not in the way he’d needed. Not in the way she thought she had. He’d been a safe place for her in a world where she had nowhere to go, nobody to support her. Her mum had been dying and Lara had been struggling. Really fucking struggling.
And Pete has saved her from all of that. He’d defended her when he’d had no reason to, he’d given her a home, two beautiful children. Pete’s love had been soothing. It had been calm - for the most part - and secure. It was like being out in a blustery autumn day, knowing there was hot soup and bread waiting at home. It was in the sweetness of the petals that fell from the tree in their front garden. It was in the steam that rose from the baths he’d run her in the evenings. It was in all the small and simple things she’d taken for granted. He’d given her his entire heart and what had she done?
She’d destroyed it. She’d destroyed it as easily as Max had destroyed hers. That didn’t make her any better. Any hatred Pete had towards her was duly owed and Lara couldn’t fault him. Everything that had happened had been because of her and her mistakes. When was she going to stop fucking up?
... And then there was Dermot.
It was harder not to compare him to his brother. She could compare them both to Pete and draw a whole list of differences, but it was different when it came to Max and Dermot. They were cut from the same cloth, the same blood ran through their veins... and yet the love she felt for Dermot outweighed - no, outshone- anything she’d ever felt before. During that night together, hidden in an unloved and untouched house, Dermot had somehow managed to take away every bad feeling she had, every doubt, every limit she thought she had. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time, and he’d looked at her as if he couldn’t get enough. As if she was necessary for his very survival. The contrast between Max and Dermot was startling; like day and night, or chalk and cheese. Dermot was soft and malleable, yet Max was hard and unyielding.
Dermot had looked at her in a way that made her feel like a literal goddess, in a way that lit her up from the inside out. There’d been no greed in his gaze, like Max, and Pete’s gaze had somewhat lacked the feeling that she was the only woman in the world. With both Max and Pete, she always had a sense of having to try - having to try and keep them happy, having to try and make things work. There was no trying when it came to Dermot. She could simply be.
Three very different men. Three very different feelings. Three very different outcomes.
As she and Max left the restaurant, she couldn’t help but think of Dermot. She was tired and she couldn’t wait to step through that door and into his waiting arms. He’d be looking at her the same way he always looked at her; as if she was the most precious gem on earth. He’d tuck a loose strand behind her ear, then lean in close and kiss her. And Lara would sink into the kiss as if it were a hot bath; most welcome and much needed. Charlie would probably be asleep when she got back and Lara would allow Dermot to distract her with mouth, tongue and hands...
Except, that fantasy wasn’t to be. She debated with Max as much as she could about making her own way home, and it was with reluctance that she climbed into the back of his car. If she’d known who was in the driver’s seat, she would never have gotten in. Ronan Murphy; the man she’d vowed never to lay eyes on again. When it came to heinous side-kicks, Max had only had a few, Mark Turner potentially being the worst. Lara had always hated Mark because he’d been nothing but a dumb bully who’d got off on degrading women. She used to hate the look in his beady little eyes as soon as Max gave the green light for him to dish out some punishment, or to restrain her so Max could.
But, Ronan wasn’t Mark. If anything, Ronan was ten times more terrifying, more unhinged... when he’d looked at Lara, she’d frozen in fear. Any words she would have spat at Mark would die on her lips when it came to the Irish man. He was the reason Max had grown worse, the darkness in him deepening to disturbing levels. Lara did her best to ignore them as the car made its way through the dark streets, but it wasn’t easy. She could feel Max’s eyes on her face and she could sense Ronan’s from the rear view mirror. He began to hum along to the radio and it unnerved her for reasons she couldn’t explain. She tried to recall when the last exact time she’d seen him had been. She’d been a lot younger, seventeen or eighteen at most. He and Max didn’t often get together, but when they did, it was usually because business was involved. Was that why he was here now? What business did he have with Max?
Was it Charlie?
She could feel the panic beginning to rise, but she did her best not to show it. Sat rigid in the back of the car, her mind elsewhere, it took her too long to realise they were heading in the wrong direction. As the streets grew more expensive and familiar, the cars lining the road more hefty and pricey... Lara turned in her seat to glare at Max, reminding him that they weren’t supposed to be going to the penthouse. As if he needed reminding. Max had probably planned this all along. Dermot would be waiting and the idea of him wondering where she was hurt. Max simply nodded, looking back at her.
“Dermot is a big boy. Don’t you trust him?”
I trust him much more than I trust the two of you, was what she wanted to shout, but instead she swallowed back any retort. She had no doubts at all that Charlie was safe with Dermot, but was she safe? Right now, it didn’t feel like it. Max shifted in his seat to face her, reminding her of how close the two of them were. She drew her hands back to her lap and clutched the handle of her bag tight.
“I want to show you something, that’s all. It won’t take long, okay?” He was waiting for an answer, which she didn’t give. Biting into her bottom lip, she focused on that and not the fear threatening to take her last semblance of sanity. “Please?” Lara opened her mouth to snap at him, but he raised his hands, warding off her words. “I know you’ve already done so much for me, so one more thing won’t hurt, right? It’s for Charlie.”
And there it was. The one thing Lara couldn’t refuse. Maybe Max realised that too. Maybe the rest of Lara’s life would be filled with pleasing Max ‘for Charlie’. Abiding by his every whim ‘for Charlie’. The car rolled into the underground car park, dousing them in darkness. She caught Max’s whispered words, caressing her ear in the enclosed space, a moment before Ronan opened the door.
“I promise you can leave when you want.”
A promise. Max didn’t make promises he never intended to keep, that was something she did know. And it was currently the only thing she had ensuring her safety. As Max got out his side, Lara took a moment to take a breath before she too climbed out, refusing to even look at Ronan. But it had been so long since she’d worn heels and the bubbly had quickly gotten to her head... she stumbled a little and Ronan caught her, the prosthetic cold against her skin. It was much larger than her own and the mechanical parts looked strange. She quickly withdrew her hand, stomach roiling.
“Careful,” came Ronan’s soft murmur. “Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?”
Lara mustered the dirtiest look she could manage, before she turned and followed after Max. Her hands were trembling and she clenched them at her sides to keep them from betraying her. What the fuck did Max have to show her that couldn’t have been done at the restaurant? No doubt he had a contract drawn up on his phone, she could have signed it there. She tried not to look as out of place as she felt as they glided upwards in the lift, eyes glued to the mirror in front of her. At least Ronan was waiting by the car, which was the only positive indication of her safety she’d had so far. Unless he was here to stop her running away...
Get it together, Lara, she mentally scolded herself. If Max was true to his word, if he had changed, she truly had nothing to worry about. She’d be home by ten at the latest and she’d be able to tell Dermot everything that had happened and he’d hold her and tell her it was over and she wouldn’t have to do that again... And then Max’s hand was on the small of her back, guiding her into the penthouse as the lift doors slid apart.
“It’s never been the same, since you left. ”
His palm was burning hot through her dress, yet she felt suddenly cold when he released her, crossing the kitchen. She stood in the middle, arms slipping around herself, as she looked around. Everything was pretty much the same. She knew if she opened the drawer on the left, there’d be cutlery, and the cupboard above the coffee machine housed the mugs and cups. There was a stainless steel clock above the cooker, the face intricately designed; it had been one of the first things they’d brought when they’d moved in and she knew if she took it down, there’d still be their names on the wall, written in pencil, with the date they moved in.
Lara swallowed.
“Do you want a drink?” Max glanced back at her and she looked up, meeting his eyes; the blue one still made her uneasy, it just didn’t look right. “Have a drink. One more can’t do any harm.” She nodded and he turned away, filling two tumblers with whiskey. Not for the first time that night, she felt like she needed it, eyes straying to the lift, terrified it would ping open to reveal Ronan at any moment. Max crossed to her, a small smile on his face as he passed her the glass.
“You said you have something to show me?” Lara took a sip of her drink, hoping she didn’t sound impatient. The last thing she wanted to do was piss Max off, not behind his own four walls. It was a dangerous game she was playing and she was starting to regret coming at all. Would have it been easier just to fight him? No. Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t have been. Max didn’t need the support of the law to get what he wanted and what he wanted was her son. Max nodded, turning and heading down the corridor towards the bedrooms.
Lara had gone to take a step, then froze, eyes darting hesitantly from him to the corridor and back again. Did he...? Was he expecting...? Max noticed her pause and reached out, taking her hand and tugging her close. “You’re safe,” he tried to reassure her, cursing softly when he saw she wasn’t ready to believe that. And could he really blame her? The last time she’d been in this house, he’d kidnapped her against her will. He’d had Mark beat her, he’d held a party, and then he’d raped her when they were all still coked up and drunk downstairs. The last time she’d been here, she’d conceived Charlie. The thought made her feel sick. Max looked away, chewing his lip uncertainty. It wasn’t like Max to be uncertain and it was making her dizzy.
“I know you... don’t feel that way, that you are safe and I know that’s my fault, but that was before...” He brought his gaze back to hers and she found that she couldn’t look away. “That was before Charlie, Lara.” He glanced back down the hall, nodding towards a door at the end. “I wanted to show you this.” She allowed him to lead her down the corridor, knocking back her whiskey, other hand still secure in his. And unlike Ronan’s cold prosthetic, his hand was hot, searing against her skin. They stopped and Lara saw what Max had intended to show her this whole time; Charlie’s room. His name set in big chunky wooden letters, each a different colour. Charlie’s Room.
“I thought, if I want you to take me seriously, I have to prove I mean it.”
For some ridiculous reason, seeing Charlie’s name on the door in Max’s penthouse made it all so real. Charlie was his son and here he was, carving out a future just for their boy. Giving him a place, a place that didn’t necessarily include Lara. And Max was really trying here, she couldn’t ignore that. Before she could even process these feelings, Max pushed open the door and stood back to let her enter, and her eyes widened a little at the sight. Everything was brand new. She could still smell fresh paint and there wasn’t a single mark on the furniture or a name scrawled in crayon on the wall. It was bigger than Charlie’s bedroom at home, and whereas there, it was still painted in claret and blue from the day he was born, here it was a light, forest green that managed to relax even the most frazzled of nerves.
Lara wandered in, taking in everything. The sturdy frame of the bed, the lion on the pillows, the wicker toy basket already crammed in the corner. Charlie would absolutely love it here. There was artwork on the wall and something else too, which caught her eye. Frowning, Lara approached, and when she saw the scan photo framed on the wall with his name beneath, Lara felt as if all the air had left her body. She felt, rather than heard, Max approach, very aware of his presence behind her, even if she didn’t turn to look. She couldn’t. She couldn’t take her eyes off the scan photo. She’d assumed she’d lost it in the aftermath of what had happened that day. Max finding her in the rain, tearing the photo from her hands. It had fluttered into a puddle before he’d snatched it up, but the only sign of damage were the intricate creases that had been pressed smooth by the glass. Max had kept it all this time? She didn’t even know how to feel, but tears stung at the corners of her eyes and she blinked hard to get rid of them.
Max had kept it all this time.
She felt Max against her back now, his body just as heated, and she shut her eyes for a moment, desperate to will the tears away. He took the glass from her hand and she made no move to stop him, she made no move at all. Just stood there, numb, Charlie’s name and birthdate still printed behind her eyelids. She never imagined he knew. The exact date, the exact time. Of course it shouldn’t have been a surprise because she knew now that Dermot had been passing information, but still... the scan photo was something else entirely. It made Max human.
“I’ve changed, Lar. I’ve changed, because of our son.”
She felt his fingers at her throat as he gently brushed her hair aside, and she kept her eyes shut, tears trailing silently down her cheeks. A moment later, she felt the coolness of his breath against her heated skin and then his lips, ever so soft, ever so hesitant, against her pulse point. Lara’s world was spinning, she felt as if she’d fallen through the floor into nothingness. His hand settled on her waist as he pressed another kiss against her throat, and she felt her body betray her with a shiver. She fought the urge to lean into him.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered and Lara bit her bottom lip to stifle the sob threatening to break free. Some tiny part of her had missed him too, had missed this. Why? Why? His hand shifted lower, then caught the hem of her dress and began to slip it upwards. “Have you missed me?” Lara opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Had she been trying to protest? Lara wasn’t even sure, as a moment later, Max turned her to face him, his free hand sliding up her throat. His mouth found hers and her lips parted beneath his, a shaky sigh escaping. She could taste her own tears and the whiskey on his lips, and then Max was pressing her into the wall, his body taunt against hers. A soft moan escaped as he broke the kiss, teasing kisses along her jaw, his hand working further beneath her dress to touch her.
Lara gasped, her palm catching his cheek before she’d even realised she’d slapped him. Shoving at his shoulders, Lara struggled away, shaking her head as she fought with her dress. “No. W-We can’t. I... I need to go.” He was saying something, but her blood was roaring in her ears and she couldn’t seem to stop the tears from falling. Suddenly, she turned to him, furiously wiping at her tears as she strode forward to push him again. “This isn’t fair! You’re not being fair, why are you...?” She shook her head, incredulous. “Why are you doing this to me?”
—-
Nora had been playing on Jock’s mind for the entire time he was out. If he could have split himself in two, he would have, just to stay behind and protect her. Even if it was a little too late for that. Nick Walker was dead and Jock had done nothing to help. Hadn’t be able to help, he’d corrected himself on the way home, but that didn’t make it any easier. Jock felt like he’d failed. He’d failed Nora the moment he allowed her to walk away. The moment he found out she’d been taken and the moment he’d trusted Dermot to come back for him. He should have been there, no matter what. He should have followed Dermot, he should have done... anything to save her. He shouldn’t have sat on his arse drinking whiskey for three days.
It was a relief to finally be back home. With Robbie passed out on the sofa, Jock and Nora went into the kitchen, where he told her in no uncertain terms how sorry he was. That it shouldn’t have happened to her, that he wanted to make it all better. Nora looked up at him, brown eyes seemingly too big in her pale face. The horror of everything that had unfolded had left her looking sick and almost frail, and there was no shimmering light in her eyes. The cast around her wrist looked bulky beneath the sleeve of her jumper, which swamped her small frame and made her look even more fragile.
Jock hated that cunt, Nick. He hated him for what he’d done to Nora, for what he’d reduced her to. When she said she’d been hiding in the lounge, he knew it hadn’t been a joke, no matter how light she tried to make her voice, and the thought made his heart physically ache. She shouldn’t have had to be hiding anywhere. She sighed softly, moving close to hug him and Jock held her just as tight, shutting his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her hair. Christ, he was beyond glad to have her back and he made a mental vow never to let her get hurt again.
Nora whispered something Jock didn’t quite catch but he did hear the unsteadiness in her voice and pulled back a little to ask her what she’d said. “On the news...” Nora frowned, turning away to pick up her phone. She scrolled through for a moment before handing it to him. Brow creased, Jock looked at the headline before scrolling down and freezing when he saw Max’s face. What the fuck? Quickly, he read on. The funeral of Charlotte, the woman who’d saved Nora’s life, was tomorrow, and it had been paid for and organised by no other than his bastard devil of a cousin. This stank, the whole thing, like fucking bullshit.
“It’s like he’s trying to clean up his image,” Jock murmured, more to himself than Nora, but he looked up when she spoke again, her voice nothing but a low whisper. She was staring right at him, lower lip trembling slightly.
“The funeral is tomorrow. And Max... he’s paying for everything. Why?”
Nora moved away from him and began to pace, brow furrowed. Then, she crossed to fill the kettle and Jock looked down, staring hard at Max’s photo. Fucking Maximilian. Jock was sure the last time he’d been called that, it had been by his Ma and he’d been in a fucking Terry cloth. What was the world coming too?! Locking the phone, he set it aside and looked up. “I don’t really know what he’s up to, but I don’t like it. It’s just another game; everything’s just a fuckin’ game to that cunt. ‘Scuse my language. That bastard.”
“I need to go.” She set three cups and the steaming pot of tea on a tray, which Jock took from her, hefting it with one arm and supporting it with his chest. “Tomorrow. I need to go, will you come with me?” He nodded, though as soon as she said the words, a million uncertainties rushed through his mind. What if it was a set-up? What if he had something else up his sleeve? “I don’t trust him, Jock. I don’t trust Max and I’m scared.”
“I know. I don’t trust him either,” he said softly, trying to reassure her. “I’ll be at your side the entire time, he won’t even get near you.” She didn’t look too convinced though and he sighed softly as he followed her out the kitchen. What was Max playing at? The only plausible explanation was that he was trying to impress Lara, perhaps prove to her that he was a changed person or some such bollocks. All Jock knew was that Max never did a thing which didn’t benefit him, so he was definitely gaining something. But what? The two of them headed into the lounge, where Robbie was still sleeping, and Jock carefully set the tray down beside the pizza box. It smelt good and his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and even that had been half an apple because he hadn’t been able to stomach anything else.
“Is it safe for Rosa to come home?” Nora whispered, but Robbie still stirred a little and she murmured an apology. “Who did this? It wasn’t Max, was it?” Jock shook his head, sitting down beside her when she reached for her mug of tea and cupped it between her hands.
“No, not Max. Rosa’s Ma had a boyfriend, back in the day. He did some shit Robbie had only just found out about and he got a bullet to the face for it.” Then, he paused, glancing at Robbie. “Well, he’s lucky it wasn’t his face. Rosa’s safe from Nick at least, but from this guy?” He shrugged gently.
“I just want to be done with it all.”
“I know. And it’ll all be over soon.” He was going to make sure of it. Nora settles back against him and Jock slid his arm around her shoulders, fingers running through the ends of her hair. The TV was on low, some old black and white movie which Nora had already seen, and he listened with a small smile as she explained the plot and the characters and how it had been a great film of its time. Jock just enjoyed listening to the gentle tone of her voice, every now and then pressing a kiss to her temple as they shared pizza. By the time the film had finished though, Nora had fallen asleep, her breathing shallow, still propped against him. Jock watched her sleep, trailing her thumb over her cheekbone and jaw. So beautiful, so fucking beautiful. How did he ever get so lucky?
Leaning for the remote, Jock found an action film on another channel and left it on. He’d just grabbed another slice of pizza when Robbie woke, groggy and confused as he looked around. He relaxed a little at the sight of Jock and Nora, remembering where he was. Groaning softly, he sat up, rubbing his bandaged head. “What time is it?”
“Late. Or early. Depends how you look at it? It’s nearly three AM.” Jock lifted his foot and used it to nudge the pizza box towards Robbie without disturbing Nora. “Eat up. You’re lucky there’s a few slices left. I was just gonna eat them.”
“Cheers.” Robbie began to tuck in, ravenous. Jock waited until he’d finished before he demanded any details, and Robbie was happy to give them. Sitting back, the younger man drained his lukewarm tea, wiped his mouth and then sat forward, looking serious. “I... Well, we was at Carter’s. We’d been at the Policeman’s Ball and... well, I didn’t see what happened but I think Carter punched Brian. You know Brian, right?”
“Heard of him. Don’t really forget paedophilic rapists that easily.”
Robbie flushed, but continued. “Yeah, well... I should have trusted Rosa from the start. Everything she said was true. What ‘e did to ‘er...” He looked uncomfortable, staring at his hands. “Brian didn’t like that I knew. I think he wanted to finish us both off there and then. I... I remember him pointing the gun at me, but nothing after that.”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Jock told him, jaw clenched a little as the scene played in his head. He and Carter had both seen the aftermath; the blood splattered hallway, the smashed vase, the broken door. They’d seen Rosa, collapsed and bleeding profusely on the floor once they’d returned... they were both lucky to have gotten out breathing. He told Robbie exactly how they’d found Rosa and that she was still in Ireland with Carter for now. “Don’t be an offended little bitch, but her exact whereabouts are classified. For now.” Robbie didn’t seem to like it, but he reluctantly agreed. Beside him, Nora shifted, her arm tightening around his waist, and he looked down at her, features softening. Robbie was watching her also.
“Do you think Rosa will forgive me?” Robbie asked, and Jock looked up to find him watching Nora. Robbie’s gaze lifted to his. “For not believing her? I should have believed her.”
“She’ll forgive you,” Jock replied, then smirked, a teasing look growing in his eye. “Eventually.”
At some point, they must have fallen asleep again as the next time Robbie woke, the sun was slanting in from the window and giving the room a hazy glow. His head was still aching, but not as bad as it had been, and he gingerly touched the bandages wrapped around his head. Jock and Nora were still asleep, curled up together on the other end of the sofa, so he turned on the TV and put it on mute to watch the morning news. Some teen had been stabbed at a party and was in a critical condition in hospital. There’d been two muggings within ten minutes of each other, and the Metropolitan police were being slated for being unable to control the city. Same old, same old.
It wasn’t long before Nora woke. She rubbed her eyes and rolled into her side, eyes meeting his, and she smiled at him when he caught her gaze. She was pretty, real pretty, and he could see why Jock’s arm had been locked around her all night. “So, you’re Rosa’s brother?” She whispered and he nodded. “I never thought I’d say I miss her.” She has a soft gentle laugh which made him grin back.
“Yeah, I agree with that one.”
“Jock has always taken care of her, though. You don’t have to worry.”
As she sat up, loosening herself from Jock and rubbing her face, Robbie nodded and looked over at the Irish man. The man was huge, bulky, his red hair as fiery as he was... “I have a lot to thank him for,” he agreed. Jock hadn’t had to risk his own back getting Robbie out of hospital last night, nor with getting Rosa to safety. If that had been left to Robbie, where would they be now? Probably dead. As if on cue, Jock woke with a grunt, looking around quickly until his gaze settled on Nora. Robbie saw the way his shoulders sagged with relief, before he sat up and reached to touch Nora’s shoulder. Robbie quickly looked back at the TV, the moment feeling a little too intimate for him.
“Did you sleep well?” Jock asked, before realising Robbie was awake. “What about you, kid? How’s the head?”
“Better.”
“Good.” Pulling himself to his feet, Jock stretched. “We have some shit to do today; you gonna be all right here?”
Robbie nodded, clicking off the TV when it news circled back to the start. “I need a shower. Badly.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Jock smirked, before reaching out to take Nora’s hand and ease her to her feet. The rest of the morning was spent getting ready for the funeral. Nora was in a quiet mood, and he noticed the small frown puckering her brow whenever she was lost in her thoughts. He knew she was thinking about Charlotte and what had happened, so he ran her a bath and told her to take her time and relax. “I’m gonna go Dr Jock on the poor bastard downstairs. I’ve some bandages in the cupboard and I want to see how bad it looks.” He drew Nora close, pressing a fluffy towel into her hands before he kissed her nose. “I’ll be back up soon. I love you.”
Back downstairs, he found Robbie making a strong coffee in the kitchen. “You look steadier in your feet,” he said, making Robbie jump. “I wanna see that head though.”
“Why? Do you think it might get infected?” Robbie asked nervously, touching the side of his head. Jock grinned.
“No. I just haven’t seen a brain before.” Five minutes later, Robbie was sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen as Jock gingerly unwound the bandage. It got more bloodstained the more Jock unravelled it, but he was wholly disappointed to find the bullet had only grazed the side of his head, leaving a gash just above his ear. “Shame. Thought it was gonna be gorier than that.”
“Well, I’m glad it ain’t,” Robbie grumbled as Jock began to apply fresh bandages.
—-
Afternoon was upon them before they knew it. Jock had pulled on a fresh black shirt and waistcoat, as well as trousers which had the creases in all the right places. In the car, he fiddled with the radio, trying to fill the silence. Nora looked pale and she’d barely said a word since they’d left Robbie at the house. As they pulled to a stop in traffic, the lights slow to turn ahead, Jock looked at her, reaching out to squeeze her hand softly. “You good? We don’t have to do this, you know.”
But, Nora needed to and that he could understand. In her eyes, it was the least she could do for the woman that had given her life for her. Nodding, Jock looked back at the road, crawling along after the car in front. His mind kept drifting to Max. He might have organised the funeral, but would he be there? Perhaps he’d just said a few of his cronies along to make up numbers, but who knew really? Nobody but Max knew the dark thoughts that crept around his mind and Jock just prayed they would get through today unscathed.
The cemetery was already filling up by the time they pulled up in the car park. Two cars he recognised instantly and he barely stifled a groan. One was Max’s; large and black with tinted - and no doubt bulletproof - windows. He recognised it from the few times he’d been in his cousin’s underground garage. The other was Dermot’s.
Of course it would be.
There was a group gathered outside the church as Jock moved to help Nora from the car. His eyes met hers and he offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Do you need five minutes before we go in?”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Sept 20, 2022 11:00:48 GMT -5
They were all silent for a moment. Pete felt as if someone had planted a stick of dynamite between his eyes and all he could feel was the wick slowly burning down, ready to explode. Something bad was coming he told himself as he sat besides his friend and finally stepped into reality. Something bad was coming he felt deep inside when he shot awake at night, a cold sweat prickling his brow.
But what were they to do? There were no answers, only fear and uncertainty and it was humiliating to feel so afraid of something unsure. Afraid of the what-if. In that instant he realised that was how Max Sullivan played the game; ambiguity. You spent so much time waiting for him to do something, that by the time it happened you were already exhausted.
‘You got any ideas?’ Bovver asked and Pete shrugged his shoulders, helpless.
He was watching his best friend intently, as if believing an idea would spring from the top of his head. ‘I know what I want to do to the cunt, but I don’t know how that’ll help us now.’ He muttered under his breath.
‘... Bruv, you know I love you, right?’
The tone suddenly changed and Pete tilted his head to the side, a sickness stirring in his stomach. ‘Don’t say you’re gonna break my heart today, too?’ Pete asked, only half joking. ‘But yeah. You’re my best mate, course I do.’
They loved each other, always. They loved each other despite everything that had happened, because when they had been scrawny little boys, they had been all the other had truly had. Someone who wasn’t family, who didn’t love you because they had to, but because they had chosen one another. Friends even if Bovver was a grumpy, entitled bastard and Pete blindsided by love. Before and after all he had done to Dermot and Jock; even if he had ruined Swill’s birthday and potentially started a war, because the war had always been coming, Bovver had merely been the spark.
‘If you ain’t careful, they’ll use Kimmy against you.’ Bovver murmured, voice low. ‘You can’t let Lara take her back. She’s already in Max’s pocket for all we know. All these years... bruv...’ He shook his head, looking away for a moment and Pete felt his neck grow hot. ‘I think she’s been playin’ you from the start –’
‘Bruv –’
‘I’ve always known there was something fishy about ‘er. She had plenty of chances to stay with you, but she kept going back to him. Got ‘erself pregnant with Charlie and stuck around with you. It’s just convenient innit?’
It was difficult for Pete to hear what he already knew. People had the fascinating ability of pretending things weren’t real, blinding themselves to the obvious, painstaking truth. Believing they were the exception and the clouds of darkness threatening to burst would pass if you left them alone. Pete had been stood under his own warring sky for too long, and Bovver was stood there with a pin, insistent it burst and flood.
Perhaps it was time. Lying to himself had only made Pete go momentarily crazy and the fistfuls of pills the hospital had left him with were doing nothing but numbing the obvious. Change was inevitable, and so was the pain that came with it, but he was capable of handling it because he wouldn’t be alone.
Looking at Bovver, Pete couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes and glanced down at the top of Kimmy’s head.
‘It was always at the back of my mind.’ Pete replied, voice low. ‘But I can’t one hundred percent agree with you that it was all for nothin’.’ Chewing his lip, he sighed, shoulders heavy. ‘Because then what am I fighting for? She did love me. You can’t… you can’t fake that, for so long… she isn’t a psycho, Bov, she’s just…’ he shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Bruv, I know it ain’t easy to ‘ear. But it makes sense. She pops up out of nowhere, gets proper cosy with ya... all the while she’s between you and Max. Honestly, Pete, think about it. It makes sense.’
Nodding, Pete kissed Kimmy’s forehead and glanced into the distance. How long had Bovver waited to say these words, and what percentage of them was true? When he thought of Lara he used to see three specific visions; on the beach in a white dress on their honeymoon, in the bathroom as she held up the positive test for their second child and the day she had said yes to marrying him. All of these images were now warped with the blur of arms and legs, bare torsos and moans; Dermot and Lara fucking hard on the kitchen counter, knocking things out of their way, shattering a photo frame on the side that had held their wedding photo.
It wasn’t just the pain of it all, it was the humiliating. Shannon and Steve had had their moments, but they had never broken. Dave and Alice were going strong, and then there was Nora. Was he just as bad as her? She was smart and pretty and funny, but somehow the heartache didn’t seem to fracture her so much and he wondered how she survived. Why was he finding it so hard to survive? Was he going to become like Bovver? Twisted and bitter? No, Pete needed to be better, for Kimmy.
‘I know what you’re tryin’ to do, Bruv.’ Pete said after a moment. ‘You don’t’ need to make me angrier than I already am… I’m fuckin’ livid. But she’s still the mother of my child… I still need to be smart, for Kimmy’s sake. If you think I should keep custody of her, I can’t get my record tarnished, do you understand? I want to take the Sullivan’s down, but we need to really think before we act on this occasion. My whole life is at stake.’
The two held an understanding gaze before they were cut off by Isla pointing a remote at the television.
‘…The funeral for Charlotte Foster will be held on October 5th at 11:30AM with thanks to kind benefactor and entrepreneur Maximillian Sullivan. This will be an open funeral for members of the public to freely pay their respects…’
Pete stared at the screen unblinkingly, the smug face of Max staring back at him. The injustice in this world sometimes really pissed him off. Not even just the Sullivans, but everything. He was looked upon as a thug when others weren’t, and why? It was always the ones you didn’t expect that were the bad guys, unless you were Tommy Hatcher. It was either obvious, or oblivious but not people like Pete. It was why he’d stopped cutting his hair short, aware that for some reason a buzzcut meant he was dangerous. The GSE were held higher than the yids in terms of violence, even though they weren’t the ones that used actual weapons.
Seeing Max on the screen, held on a pedestal that he’d built for himself, Pete wanted nothing more than to tear him down.
‘Bruv...’ Dave’s voice was beside him and he went to scoop Kimmy off his lap, seeing the vein throbbing in his neck.
Pete hadn’t realised how tight his jaw was clenched until he stopped.
‘Sorry.’ He murmured and pulled himself away from the screen. ‘I just need a moment.’ Pushing himself from the table, Pete stepped outside and rounded the corner. The air was muggy and he felt trapped; fist clenched he circled for a few moments before upturning one of the wooden benches, throwing empty glasses and plates flying. A guttural roar came from his throat, so dry and rough that it burned and Pete turned, slamming his fist directly into the lamppost.
The pain that came in that instant was nothing to rival that spinning inside his head. His knuckles popped, instantly turning blue from the force but Pete was breathing heavy, wanting something more satisfying to take his frustration out on. Max Sullivan was a lie. Everything about him had been manipulated to suit his own needs, and Pete would not allow him to step one more foot inside his house. Him, or his brother. He would go to that funeral tomorrow and –
‘Bruv?’
Bovver was stood on the pavement, a look of concern on his face. Pete didn’t realise his fist was bleeding until he looked down, and saw the skin burst. He’d hit the lamppost over and over, scaring off the two people that were sat opposite with their child in a pram. They were across the road now, caution and terror in their eyes and Pete felt disgusted in himself.
‘I…’ he struggled, looking back towards Bovver. His chest heaved heavily, mouth suddenly dry. ‘I…’ shaking his head, he sat on the bench behind him, head in his hands, Bovver coming to join him. ‘We’re going to the Millwall match, and we’re not going to fuckin’ lose. If we do… Sullivan’s men will answer for it, alright?’ he glanced up at Bovver who nodded. ‘But we need to be discrete. In and out, no playing around with fancy footwork. And no more playing nicely, you understand? Knuckle dusters… knives… whatever is cleanest but leaves the biggest mark. Get one of the boys to watch the funeral tomorrow. I want Max to understand what he’s started, and I want Dermot to be ready for war. If the boys don’t like it, they can leave, but I’m not messing around. This is the last time… and one of us is going down, for good.’
Inside, Swill had moved over towards the bar, leaning on it with a goofy smile.
‘You know him?’ Isla asked, pointing at the image of Max Sullivan before it changed onto something else. ‘You all seem quite angry about him, but he looks quite nice. Attractive actually.’
As Swill explained, Isla tried to nod in the right places that she understood. ‘It seems… intense. So he’s in charge of Millwall now? Why?’ She asked, glancing to the side as her phone vibrated. ‘It’s just my cousin.’ Isla replied when Swill asked who it was, and she declined the call. When he seemed shocked she had a family, she rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t think it’s time for you to meet them just yet.’ She teased and leaned over the bar to place a kiss on his cheek. ‘This thing, between me and you was supposed to be a secret.’ Whispering in his ear, she turned to catch his gaze and Swill was smirking like a school boy.
Her phone rang again, jittering across the bar and Swill reached out to grab it before Isla could, putting it to his ear. He had already had a pint or two and was wound up from earlier talk; cocky and excited he answered the phone.
‘Swill!’ Isla snarled and lunged for the phone. ‘You don’t do that!’ coming round the bar, her small stature was nothing for Swill who held it high in the air. ‘It’s just my cousin!’ She defended, glad to hear that they had hung up on him. When Swill finally handed her the phone, he seemed to look upset and Isla rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. ‘Look.’ She showed him the screen with the name, the caller ID an image of the two of them as children. ‘He’s younger than me, by five years, but we grew up together, that’s all.’
‘I want to get to know you better.’ Swill said sullenly and Isla pocketed her phone, coming forward to hold his hand.
‘And you think that’s the way to do it?’ she asked, tilting her head. ‘I’m just a very private person, can you understand that?’ they ended the conversation on a mutual understanding and when Pete came back in, Swill moved over to him.
It was difficult. Isla hadn’t intended on liking anyone here, especially not one of the football fans, but his naïve charm had won her over and his blue eyes left her dazed. Her dad wouldn’t have been very happy with the situation, that much she was certain. Moving back behind the bar, Isla flipped open her phone to see a message from her cousin demanding an update. Glancing across at Swill and the boys, Isla felt a sadness in her stomach but fought it off.
Calling him back, she waited for him to answer, already telling by the sound of his tone how mad he was.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
‘I do run a pub, you know?’ Isla replied, just as hotly. ‘What is it you do? A PA for some Irish wank—’
‘Just give me an update. Will Dunham be at the funeral?’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘No, he’s got to look after his kid. But I…I don’t think I can do this for you anymore.’ Isla chewed her lip, the sickness growing. ‘It’s not fair, they’re nice people, they –’
'Are you fucking serious?'
'They're not messing around anymore. I don't want to be involved in something like --'
‘Are you fucking forgetting who it was that killed your father?’ he asked darkly and Isla swallowed hard, glancing at the ground. ‘My uncle.’ The silence from Isla was all he needed and Luke Winters grinned. ‘Get better information. Fuck one of them if you have to, just find out what they’re doing, alright?’
Isla nodded dumbly, managing a small yes before Luke hung up the phone.
Isla had been fifteen years old when she’d found out who her father was. Twenty when she had met him for the first time, and twenty-six when she had been to his funeral. There wasn’t a lot she felt about Tommy Hatcher, but she soon came to realise there was a whole religious adoration for him she would never understand but had somehow been integrated into.
His wife didn’t know who she was; a love child from a fling long ended. She didn’t need to know and Isla hadn’t wanted to tell her. Seeing her at the funeral tissue to hand and swarms of people around her, as she buried her husband besides her teenage son, it seemed all too overwhelming. That was when Luke had found her, and that was when things had started to go wrong. The Dunham's and the Inter City Firm were supposedly to blame for her step-brothers death, and not too many years past that of her father. They were selfish, they were vindictive and cruel, and yet Isla hadn't seen those traits in the men before her. Looking across the pub, she saw Swill throw a grin at her and dread filled her veins.
What was she going to do now?
She had already told Luke so much information. Anything she heard, she passed on. She had been one of the first to see Jock and Nora and hadn't hesitated in breaking that truth to Max, who had started the cogs turning. Anywhere they went, any plan they had regarding Millwall, she sent it back like a carrier pigeon. She felt indebted to the Sullivans and to the Hatchers and she didn't know why. They didn't even know who she was, and if they did they wouldn't take her word. Luke was the only one that knew. He had saved her from bankruptcy; given her a home, a life, the loan to buy the Abbey as long as she helped him. Scotland had been a safe space but that dream had ended when her mind had wandered. Who was her father, and why hadn't he loved her?
Now a bigger question had settled in the debris of it all and that was, could she continue to betray the men she had suddenly become so attached to?
Max recalled one of the first times he had ever touched Lara. Really touched her. She had still been living at home them, Sarah asleep in the next room. It must have been around two in the morning and an hour earlier he had shimmied up her drainpipe and slid open the window. Lara had been sat on the bed in a thin nightdress, knees to her chest, eyes red raw from crying. Sarah had decided to have an opinion on their relationship, one which wasn’t all too flattering and Max was not going to adhere to it.
‘I told you I would come.’ He whispered and Lara smiled, throwing herself at him, light as a feather.
Max peppered kisses across her skin with such intensity as if to heal wounds. He tasted every inch of her, the sweet smell of her shampoo and the saltiness of her tears. Lara wrapped her thighs around his waist and he slammed her against the wall, earning a fit of giggles as he was warned to keep quiet.
Slowly, they made their way to the bed and Lara’s hair fanned out when he laid her down, in such an ethereal way that for a moment Max was blinded. She was younger than him, just nearing the peak of her womanhood and he was happy to have a front row seat. Curves forming in the right places and a lust for him as if he were pure honey. She was kissing his chest, his arms, both absorbing one another until they merged as one.
It was always a journey with Lara. Max always felt transported somewhere else. All he could feel after a while was the animalistic urge to devour and cum and suddenly he was pinning her down. He had done it once before, but not with as much force and he heard Lara squeak in shock.
First he had pinned her and tasted her, hot and pining for him between her thighs and he had relished in hearing her whisper his name. Then things got a little out of control; Max could no longer see Lara or the tears in her eyes, and the pleas for him to stop were stifled as one hand clasped her mouth, the other on her throat. Max hadn’t realised how hard Lara had been sobbing until the door had burst open and Sarah, Lara’s mother appeared on the scene in sickening disgust.
‘Get off her!’ Sarah launched herself at him, adamant to remove him from the situation but sturdy Max merely laughed.
‘We’re just playing, right, Lar?’
‘To hell you are! Get the fuck out.’
‘Or what?’ Max had challenged and Sarah had narrowed her eyes.
‘I’ll call the police.’
Was it that night, or a couple of nights later than he had gotten Lara to run away with him? Max shrugged at the recollection; either way, she was back here in his arms again. The police were also in his pocket and Sarah was thankfully buried six feet under. Pete was a diminished, uninterested version of himself and who else was there to stop them?
But Max had learnt, from that night, and many other more aggressive times, that Lara liked the softly-softly approach. It worked, to a degree. It was sensual, when he slid his hand around her throat, teasing the soft flesh there, managing to feel the inch of scar tissue he had created.
‘Have you missed me?’ he had purred, already knowing the answer. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be there. They called to one another, distant souls always seeking the warmth of the other. With his eyes closed Max could see the burning shadow of her anywhere in the world. Lara was his counterpart; there was no one else.
Receiving no response, Max turned Lara to face him and his hand caressed her neck slowly, hooking just beneath her jaw as he pulled her close to claim her lips. How long had it been since he’d kissed her? He could feel her trembling against his touch, yet all the same reciprocating and already growing heated Max pushed Lara back against the wall, his body flush against hers. Lara’s raw emotions inside had spilt out into tears and they were warm against his lip, the taste of whiskey a bitter after-thought.
Kissing her jaw and Neck, for once Max felt he might appreciate the slow game. Appreciate actually taking in the woman Lara was now, because it had been too many years since he had touched her in a way she hadn’t repelled. He had been too forceful in the past, perhaps; intoxicated. He couldn’t help it if Lara made him want to hurt her. Letting his hand slip between her thighs Max groaned against her throat as he felt the warmth there when suddenly her palm came hard against his cheek.
Momentarily confused, Max stilled before she shoved him roughly away and it took all his strength not to growl in frustration, or to pull her back.
‘No.’ Lara stuttered, as if unsure of her denying. ‘W-We can’t. I… I need to go.’
She was spooked like a wild horse and he put his hands out to reassure her. ‘Hey, it’s okay.’ Max found himself saying calmly, despite the desperation to touch her again. ‘We can do whatever we like, Lar. We’re both adults.’
Lara turned to him then, the tears truly falling and she looked both angry and dazed.
‘I didn’t plan this—’ he began but she cut across him.
Wiping the tears from her face, Lara advanced and shoved Max roughly and he faltered slightly, both knowing full-well how strong he was. ‘This isn’t fair!’
‘What isn’t? –’
‘You’re not being fair, why are you…?’ Lara shook her head in disbelief. ‘Why’re you doing this to me?’
‘Calm down.’ Grabbing her wrists so she couldn’t hit him again, Max wrestled with Lara for a moment before backing her into the armchair in the corner. Forcing her to sit down, Max got on his knees in front of her, still holding her hands. She was breathing erratically, tears staining her once beautiful makeup and it was both arousing and upsetting to see her like this. This was because she loved him, he knew. ‘Take a moment. Analu.’ He whispered the last word; breathe.
Looking up at her, Max had learnt that being smaller made him less intimidating. She would be more inclined to trust him, be open to him. Back in the rehabilitation facility, the nurse who came in daily would teach him these things and he’d mock her, but had taken note. Kissing her palms, Max tilted his head to the side as the sobs slowly subsided.
‘It’s okay.’ He reassured her after a moment, but when she went to stand he pushed her back down. ‘Charlie is safe. You don’t need to go anywhere.’ Kneeling up, he wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling her instinctively run her hands through his hair. ‘Do you like it shorter?’ he asked, voice low. Their noses were practically brushing and he let his eyes close gently, placing a kiss on her cheek. ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but this is me.’ He whispered. ‘Just like you are you. We’re just different now. That isn’t a bad thing, Lar.’ Chancing a kiss, Max savoured her taste for a moment before pulling away.
In the past he would’ve turned her around and fucked her against the wall. One fist in her hair, the other tight around her throat so he moans were choked. This evening required a different approach.
‘I’ll get you a glass of water.’ Max murmured, pushing away and leaving for the kitchen.
When he came back Lara was stood up, arms tight around her middle and he knew if he didn’t act now she would run away.
‘Take this.’ Handing her the water he watched as she downed it like it were her last drink on earth, and taking the empty glass he placed it on the side. ‘I’m sorry if I scared you. I just… never mind.’ He lowered his head with a gentle scoff. ‘You can leave if you want to. I said you could.’ Stepping away, Max went to let Lara leave when she faltered slightly and swayed. Reaching out for him, she dampened her bottom lip and the action made his dick hard. ‘Are you okay?’
Lara murmured something, pushing away from him but two steps more and she fell forwards, grabbing the wall for stability.
‘I think you need to lay down, Lar.’ Max warned her, coming behind her and grabbing her middle.
Lara argued, trying to push at him with words slurred, but in an instant Max had scooped her up over his shoulder, carrying her into the guest room. Placing her down on the bed, Max was catapulted to that night all those years ago and he took time to appreciate how she had changed. The dress had risen up to reveal the smoothness of her thighs and he didn’t feel inclined to readjust it. Head tilted to the side, Lara’s eyes kept fluttering shut and he smiled.
‘I just gave you something to calm you down.’ Max murmured, knowing she couldn’t hear him, or wouldn’t remember what he had said. A couple of drops of liquid gold into her water and she was gone. It was something he and Luke had been working on, a new drug to introduce to the pharmaceutical market. It was initially marketed as a cure for insomnia, but it also worked in this situation.
Within a few seconds Lara was in a daze, repeatedly murmuring his name as his hands roamed her body. Stealing a kiss, Max whispered sweet reassurances into her ear as he climbed above her, one hand between her thighs. Maybe the slow game wouldn’t have worked tonight, and Max had been foolish to think things had changed.
‘Don’t say I didn’t try it your way.’
He was torn, between leaving his mark and pretending this hadn’t happened. Bringing Lara to the brink of an orgasm, Max stilled and chewed his lip in thought. On one hand, it would really piss off Dunham to know his wife had been defiled, and yet on the other hand he didn’t want his future with Charlie ruined.
‘Kiss me, Lara.’ Max demanded, earning a small response from Lara. Urging her to touch him, he guided one of her hands down the waistband of his trousers. Mingled with the alcohol, the drug had had a stronger effect than he had intended and he was frustrated. Why had she been too afraid? This could’ve worked out perfectly and she had fucking ruined it. ‘Come on, Lara.’ He urged and groaned in impatience at the lack response. Exasperated, he flipped her over so she was face down on the bed.
Parting her thighs, Max slipped his own hand into his boxers when her phone rang. It was loud and obnoxious in her handbag, the contents spewed across the floor where she’d fallen. With a groan, Max wanted to ignore it but the sound was making Lara confused and she asked what was going on. Pulling his trousers back up, Max got up and grabbed the phone and saw Dermot’s name on the screen.
Something childish and frustrated inside of him initiated this next move and he answered the call.
‘Dearthair.’ Max breathed and heard unsure silence on the other end. After a moment, Dermot spoke and Max gave a soft chuckle. ‘Is Charlie okay?’ when asked if Lara was okay, Max nodded. ‘She’s great, we’re just having a little catch up.’ When Dermot asked if she was safe, Max narrowed his eyes and requested FaceTime.
Reluctantly, Dermot answered and Max held the camera high to show a half dressed Lara on the bed, and his shirt disposed of on the floor, toned torso on display. Before Dermot could even say anything, Max did. ‘So you’re on babysitting duty for the night, little brother. I’ll see you at the funeral.’ With that he hung up the phone and left it on the side, satisfied.
If he had been smart Max would’ve seen the message from Dermot professing how much he missed Lara, but he was too engrossed in the show of it all and climbed back onto the bed without a second thought. Lara, however, was unconscious. With a sigh, Max laid on his side and examined every inch of her. The softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair; the smooth material of her dress as he flattened down, pulling the blanket over her body. Every lash around her almond eyes was perfectly curved and her lips were puckered and tempting.
Max wanted to fuck her. He wanted to fuck Lara hard, but he also wanted her to want him. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling, but Max knew that for once he wanted to be appreciated. He wanted Lara to explore every part of his body with as much interest as he had for her. And sadly, he had wasted that opportunity, for now. Leaving the bed, he switched a lamp on and partly shut the door before heading into the shower.
His mind was frazzled and in a thousand pieces. He had wanted things to go right, and they had been. Why didn’t he just rape her? The word startled him and he lowered his head beneath the scolding water. Because she was the mother of his child, he told himself, both irritated and happy this was a fact. She would never have forgiven him, and he wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much than if she had loved him.
Towelling off, Max padded around the penthouse for around a hour, and stopping, glanced at the camera to see Ronan’s car was still in the garage. Raising an eyebrow, he listened to the dull silence around and wondered where he was. The second camera picked him up; Ronan was stood outside the spare room, his gaze transfixed on Lara. His hand reached for the door when he felt someone behind him and turning, he saw Max, arms folded.
‘You lost, Ronan?’ Max asked, reaching behind him to shut the door with a click.
Ronan merely gave a laugh. ‘I thought this room would be empty.’
‘Oh, I’d be so lucky.’ Max chuckled and both gave each other an uncertain stare. ‘I’m done with you for the night.’
Ronan hesitated for a moment before nodding swiftly. ‘Alright. I’ll see myself out.’
Watching Ronan leave, Max turned to go, to sadly go to bed alone, when he heard his name.
‘Max?’
Pushing the door open, Max peered in to see Lara was awake, running a hand through her hair with a confused expression. Somehow she still looked so sexy, one strap of her dress hanging down and her gaze sleepy. She mentioned having the weirdest dream and Max chuckled, stepping fully into the room.
‘What was it about?’ he asked and when she said him, he couldn’t help but smile. ‘Was it a good dream?’ coming to stand at the end of the bed, Max reached out and cupped her chin. ‘Are you feeling better? You passed out on me.’ He sighed as she rested her chin in his palm, momentarily closing her eyes. ‘I’ll leave you to rest.’ turning to go, Max felt his heart thump excitedly when she grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.
The look in her eyes was all the permission he needed and Max tugged his t-shirt off with one hand, his other grabbing her waist as she knelt up to kiss him. It had worked! She fucking wanted him!
Jock had been adamant she have a bath and relax but Nora could do anything but relax. He had passed her a towel, kissed her nose; reassurance and safety emanated from him in waves but somehow her stomach was in knots. Was it her fault Charlotte was dead? The question kept spinning, and even if others denied it, she couldn’t help but feel it were true. Then again, Charlotte hadn’t known her, or known she needed saving, so Nick had been her reasoning for being there. Nick was to blame for all of this, but Nora couldn’t deny she would forever regret not doing more. Not… staying.
Leave Charlotte’s voice resonated inside her head.
The scolding water was welcoming as Nora slipped into the bath, bubbles covering her bruised body and salts relaxing her muscles. She let her head slip beneath the water, scrunching her eyes shut as she listened to the thumping of her own heart.
Leave
Charlotte had looked at Nora, her hazel eyes glinting with the realisation she wouldn’t survive. The selfless sacrifice from an unknown, fierce woman – no, a fierce mother and Nora hadn’t even stopped to consider the possibility that she could have helped her too. Because as much as towards the end Charlotte accepted her fate, when she had arrived, she had carried hope.
‘You’re safe now.’ Charlotte had a small smile on her lips as she stood in the doorway, Nick cowering on the floor from the blade in his shoulder. She looked victorious, like a warrior woman and the thanks on Nora’s face shone like the sun. They were both momentarily overwhelmed, their chests heaving from the exertion of it all and within a second that fragile hope was diminished, and Charlotte was gone.
If only Nora would’ve grabbed the key sooner, freed herself and maintained her composure. Charlotte might still be here, and Nick would be in prison and Max fucking Sullivan would have nothing to take credit for.
That night played on a loop inside her mind as Nora broke through the surface, gasping for air. Her bandaged wrist rested on the side, slightly damp and she glanced at the meagre injury with narrowed eyes, angry at her own stupidity. She could hear the sound of the blade slicing through Charlotte’s flesh, and Nick’s harsh words spat disrespectfully down her neck. Jock had spent the whole time concerned for her well being, when it was truly nothing to do with Nora. She had done nothing and had nothing done to her, not really.
The reason she was even there in the first place? Max and Dermot Sullivan. Swallowing, Nora’s head felt clouded with fog as she tried to piece together everything she had ever known about them. About her ex-fiancé. Saw his signature burned into Nick’s chest as if he were the trunk of a tree and not a living soul. Struggled to comprehend how and why that had happened, and how she had been so blind.
Did that mean Dermot was to blame? The list was endless; you could struggle to understand the butterfly effect for an eternity, but the wheel had been turning since the beginning of time and blame didn’t diminish the act. Charlotte was dead and it was her funeral today.
Washing her hair and scrubbing her skin until it was practically red-raw, Nora got out of the bath. She could hear Jock and Robbie talking downstairs and it was nice to hear. Nice for him to have someone to talk to now that Dermot was gone. Did he miss that brotherly affection? Nora had wanted them to rekindle their relationship but today was making her unsure and untrusting of Dermot so she shoved the thought aside.
Slipping on one of the only few dresses she had, Nora pulled her hair back into a low, slick bun and took a moment to glance at herself in the mirror. It had been a few days before she’d truly looked at herself and hated how gaunt and pale she was. For what? A few days of darkness? Applying a light layer of makeup and a red lipstick, she flattened the hem of her dress with a sigh. It was a black, bardot lace dress and some black heels she realised Dermot had gotten her; Louis Vuitton.
Mustering up the courage to go downstairs, she grabbed a small black clutch but hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs. Jock stepped into the hall and glanced up at her; he was wearing a black waistcoat and trousers, an outfit she would’ve adored on any other occasion.
I’ll be at your side the entire time She heard his words of reassurance from last night and managed a small smile.
‘You look better.’ Nora said to Robbie as he appeared in the door frame and he nodded his head.
Goodbyes were said and they got into the car and it all seemed so surreal, the silence between them making the static in her head grow. Jock flicked on the radio and Nora tried to focus on the lyrics of the song rather than the hammering of her heart. She had gotten an email a few hours ago, from someone called Ronan and inside was attached the programme for the funeral. Seeing Charlottes face all over again had made vomit rise in her throat and she had doubted she could do this.
As if sensing the uncertainty, when they stopped at the traffic lights Jock reached out and squeezed her hand. The simple gesture brought her back to reality and she could breathe again.
‘You good?’ He asked and she focused on his big hand on her hand. ‘We don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘I do.’ Nora replied simply and turned to look back out the window. ‘But thanks.’ She added softly and squeezed his hand back before be turned the corner.
She had applied some fresh bandages to her wrist and it suddenly felt too tight, but it was a distraction she needed. Take one moment a time, she told herself as they headed through the busy streets of London. If she began to think about all the possibilities of the day she would drown, and she had things to do. Charlotte was owed this and Nora needed to talk to Max Sullivan.
When they entered the cemetery, the carpark was already threatening to reach capacity. Did all these people know Charlotte? Was she truly loved and adored, and had multiple brothers and sisters and cousins? Nora chewed her lip as she stared out the window, looked at the BMW’s and Range Rovers squeezing into spots on the crunchy gravel. Then she saw Dermot’s car, and knew Jock had to. How had she forgotten he would be here?
Jock came round to her side and opened the door, offering a hand which she took.
‘Do you need five minutes before we go in?’
She could hear his voice, but Nora was glancing around at everyone, absorbing every sound and smell of the day. It was a crisp afternoon, the leaves were slowly turning shades of gold and it was almost picturesque with the church in the midst of it all, it’s glowing stained glass and historic stone. There was a low buzz as people spoke in hushed tones; women in big hats and black gloves and men in smart suits and shining watches.
Dermot’s car was empty and Nora wondered if he was already inside. Was he here for her, or for Max? Moving her gaze back to Jock, Nora took his hand.
‘Sorry.’ She murmured, dampening her bottom lip.
When was the last time she had gone to a funeral? Was it for Lara’s mother, or was it for her own? Wait… Wasn’t it Malachi? Nora’s head hurt, the past all blurred into one and she blinked away the confusion. Then there was Max. Max had been presumed dead, but nothing had been done for him. It seemed silly now, and obvious, that of course he hadn’t really died. If he was making this much of a charade for someone he didn’t know, then no doubt his own funeral would be just as overly grand. The world would need to be reminded of their devastating loss of Max-a-fucking-millian Sullivan.
Nora was happy, however, that this day was beautiful for Charlotte. Her eyes flitted to other people, wondering just as Jock if they were placed here on purpose or truly involved.
‘There’s so many people here.’ Nora murmured, realising she hadn’t replied to his question or moved. ‘She had a young son, do you… do you think he will be here?’ she asked and felt her neck grow hot at the thought. Seeing his face on the television had been difficult enough, so how was she supposed to survive in the flesh?
Jock squeezed her hand tight and she drew herself into his chest, both of them shielding from the crowd by the car. She inhaled the musky scent of his aftershave and revelled in the warmth of his hand on her lower back. Nora had felt protected before, with Dermot, and Bovver, but there was something truly altogether distinct about Jock.
Nora could honestly say Jock had never done anything to threaten his integrity. He had always put her – and others – first. She didn’t realise at first, but she had seen it with Rosa. Too absorbed in her own jealously, she had failed to then recognise the kindness Jock had offered to the girl, the protection from the world. Then with Robbie, and with her. Jock was both soft and hard; unyielding but unselfish. The façade he wore wasn’t fake, it was a shield and tilting her head up to him, Nora saw her perfect Knight and gave a soft smile.
‘Thank you for being here.’ She said softly, unaware if she had yet to say it. Taking advantage of the fact Jock would always be where she asked. When he replied he would always support here, Nora nodded. ‘I know, I know.’ She gripped his tie with one hand, pulling him close so she could place a kiss on his lips. ‘I’m here for you too.’ She whispered. ‘I hope you know that, even if I haven’t shown it recently.’
The crowd in the entrance started to slow down as everyone took their seats inside and Nora glanced over, swallowing hard. Jock asked if she was ready to go in now and she nodded, but still hesitated. It felt wrong to be here. Nora had this weird feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her believe this was disrespectful, but that wasn’t true. It would’ve been more disrespectful to neglect this all together – to hide from those who knew her. From her son.
Following Jock into the church, Nora could see now they were inside that almost all the pews were filled. People had started to stand at the back and the sides, all coming together in a unison of silence when the piano began to play. It was truly an architects dream and Nora was glad for the distraction of the beautifully structured ceiling for a moment. There were thick, stone beams running high into the rafters. Stars and moons had been carved into them, reflecting beautifully the candles that flickered on the chandelier. Many a head was tilted back to inspect the building and with the soft melody in the background, Nora already found herself feeling emotional.
Jock stood beside her with one hand around her waist and she leaned into him for support. She could see Dermot and Max stood at the front, discussing something with the vicar and Nora felt her chest tighten. Next to them was the man from the storage facility, dark skinned, dressed smartly and beside him…
Nora gripped Jock’s hand so tight he gave a grunt of unexpected pain and she let go with an apologetic gasp. Her heart was flooding against her eardrums and for a moment it were as if the floor was moving, her chest heaving. Tristan was stood beside Benji who was holding his hand and even from this distance Nora could see Charlotte in his features. His gentle, kind eyes. The innocent face of a boy who would never see his mother again and it took all of her strength not to run away. Jock was whispering something into her ear but Nora was focusing too intensely on not fleeing that she couldn’t hear him.
‘… Her son.’ She finally managed when Jock asked her what was wrong a second time.
The both of them were staring at Tristan now and Nora could feel the tears welling in her eyes. When Jock said he looked just like her, she nodded and wiped her cheek on the back of her hand. There was a photograph of her at the front, beside the coffin. A beautiful picture with her hair curled, bouncing on her shoulders. A bright smile and natural makeup; she was gorgeous and a far cry from the woman Nora had met. The woman who had obviously been tormented by Nick Walker for far longer than she ever had.
Clearing her throat, Nora glanced down at her shoes and hated how upset she was. Hated how Max was stood at the front, orchestrating everything -- laughing with the vicar, full of false emotion. The two brothers were then asked to take their seats and Nora looked up just in time to catch Max’s gaze which she held, unwavering. He didn’t look sad, he looked… expressionless. He looked smart, in a dark three-piece-suit with his hair short and his beard gone. An overnight transformation, for who? For Lara?
Tearing her gaze away, Nora turned to the doors just as they were closing them and saw someone she truly hadn’t expected to see. Bovver was dressed in a suit, which he wore surprisingly well, all the bruises from Dermot’s beating now a sickly yellow. He looked at her, but only fleeting before taking a seat at the back and Nora couldn’t hide the shock from her face. Why was he here?
Unsure if Jock had seen, she looked up at him to find him staring ahead instead. He had been locked in a battle with Dermot who was glancing over his shoulder.
‘We should sit down.’ Nora said and nodded forward. ‘At the front.’
Jock tugged Nora through the groups of people, intending on sitting anywhere but next to Max, when the man himself stood up and halted them from going in the row behind.
‘Joshua.’ Max greeted and Nora felt him tense beside her. ‘Nora. I saved you both a seat. I know how important this is to you.’ There was no snide remark and she couldn’t quite register the expression on his face so merely nodded slowly. The two of them moved to the front and Nora wasn’t sure what to do. Would Jock want to sit next to Dermot? Did she? Deciding it was safest to separate the two, Nora sat down beside Dermot with Jock on her left side. Beside Dermot was Max and Benji and Tristan.
Glancing down, she went to catch Benji’s gaze but he was staring resolutely ahead to ensure composure. Tristan however looked down towards her and gave a small smile which all but broke her heart.
‘Hey.’ She whispered, feeling her chest tighten and Tristan gave a small wave before facing the front again.
Time was strange. Two days ago and she had been in Dermot’s room, wrapping her thighs around his middle, and two days before that, in a blackened storage facility, her life on the line. Yet now here she was, with the man she truly loved, to pay respects to her saviour. Every man she had loved in this room; Jock, Dermot and Bovver. Placing her hand on his lap, Nora squeezed Jock’s knee and took a shaky breath. What the fuck was happening?
Dermot leaned in to say something and she turned with a glazed expression. He looked good, really good, but she could tell something was bothering him. Was it them? Was it something else? Seeing him and Max together made her nervous and she wondered what had already begun to go wrong; had he already spiralled? Why were they working together and when would it end?
‘Bovver is here.’ She mouthed, unsure why she was telling him and not Jock. She could see the damage Dermot had done to him and it made her nervous. Nora wasn’t stupid, she knew that Dermot was… well… a Sullivan, but it still hurt to see what he could do. It reminded her too much of the mark she had seen on Nick. ‘Please… no trouble today.’
The music stopped then and the vicar moved onto the podium. Suddenly the room was filled with silence as if something immense was going to happen and nerves filled Nora’s stomach. They were so close to the front that she could see the gold plaque shimmering on the coffin and it made her uneasy.
Charlotte Marie Foster March 2nd 1996 – October the 3rd 2022
She had only been twenty-six. That was too young for all of this to have happened. At least she had done something with her time, had a child, been kind and generous and true and what had Nora done? Clasping Jock’s hand Nora looked forward as the ceremony began and prayed they could all get through this without any more trouble.
Two hours ago and Max Sullivan had been sat at home.
Lara had left in the early morning and he was left feeling satisfied and fulfilled as he sipped his coffee. He could still taste Lara on his lips and raised a hand to them, fingering the plump flesh for any trace of her. Things had gone better than expected. He wasn’t sure why, but Lara had really needed him last night and it had made his dick hard.
Perhaps it had been all the years suffering with an inadequate blonde cunt, or perhaps she had just missed him. He had whispered sweet Irish words against her neck and slammed himself deep inside, earning moans of satisfaction and gasps of his name. It had been different to all of the other times, and more like it had been in the beginning. He had teased and caressed and Lara had bared herself to him, no longer resisting and instead pleading for his touch. Hearing her cry out for him as she spilt against his mouth, her thighs tightening around his neck had been all Max had needed.
Throwing Lara face down on the bed he had parted her legs with his knee and slid inside her, hot and desperate and deep. One hand wound in her hair, yanking her head back as he drove himself inside, thrusting further and faster until Lara was begging as pleasure swelled.
The fact she believed this had happened on her own decision made it even better. Max had simply planted a seed, and the erotic dream she had woken from had spilled into reality. Lara would always need him, he had whispered it against her neck as they fucked for the second or third time; is feoil amhain sinn. We are one flesh.
When it was over they laid side by side to catch their breath and Max threw a glance at Lara, hair flowing over her bare back. He hadn’t hesitated in holding her hand and knew his mark would be visible in the morning. Would Dunham see? Did Max care. Lara truly was a beauty, something he had never managed to find again in this life, like a rare gem. Her body had changed, her hips wider, a few tiger marks on her thighs from their son, but she was pure magnificence.
For the first time in a long time, Max was not left wanting after an encounter. Unusually the woman would stay a while and want to talk and Max would feel himself still throbbing and restless. The sex was always good because he was good, but there had always been something missing. Now just like a gluttonous man who had downed a bottle of fine wine, Max felt content.
Lara glanced over at him then, as if sensing his gaze on her and he gave a small smile. Her lips looked red raw from all the kissing and her hair wild and untamed.
‘What is it?’ he asked as she leaned forward to kiss him. He savoured it, holding her in place for a moment with his hand on her cheek.
‘I really have to go.’ She murmured and Max nodded in understanding.
He had never really been one for the intimacy afterwards. The hand holding, cradling one another like newborns. This he was fine with. Max ordered her and Taxi and Lara left, bag in hand and with no confusion on exactly how he felt towards her. They were a family and no one touched his things.
‘This is just between us.’ Max had said as Lara stood in the doorway, a sudden protective arm around her middle. ‘Our business is ours whilst you sort out what you have to do.’ She had nodded in understanding and left. Sure, he had told Dermot, but what did that matter? Lara was nothing to do with him.
After catching a few more hours of sleep, Max then got up, showered and pressed a fresh suit. It was a fresh, dark three-piece suit with a double breasted jacket. Beneath the waistcoat he wore a thin knit, black t-shirt. His hair was styled neatly and his stubble cleanly shaven. He looked and felt good. Was it the exhilaration from a good fuck or was it just going to be a good day?
It hadn’t been his idea to plaster the funeral all over the news, but Ronan had said it would be good for publicity and Max wouldn’t argue with that. A year ago and everyone had thought him dead, so how best to come back into the public eye than with an act of warm generosity? He hoped Lara would see it and Charlie would point and declare it was his father. Putting on some aftershave Max grabbed his car keys and headed into the garage.
Ronan was stood in the garage, a take away coffee in his hand. He smiled knowingly at Max who dismissed it, throwing a pair of keys his way.
‘Take the Range Rover and follow me.’ He ordered, jumping into his Rolls.
The drove into London to Charlotte’s house and Max had to admit it was quite sweet. It looked like something Lara would’ve liked when they were younger; a family friendly area. Benji was stood in the doorway when Max approached and Tristan squeezed beside him to see what was going on. Both of them were smartly dressed and Max nodded in greeting.
‘Benji.’ Climbing out of his car, Max headed up the drive and took the keys from Ronan who had parked behind him. ‘This is yours.’ Holding them out for Benji to take, Max gestured to the black Range Rover with a small smirk. ‘You work for me, you drive in style. Isn’t that right, Tristan?’ Max turned his attention to Tristan who shrugged back behind Benji’s legs in silence. ‘See you at the church.’ He murmured before turning away, Ronan jumping into the passenger seat.
It didn’t take long to get to the church and the car park was already filling up. Max couldn’t recall the name of the building but it had the word ‘sorrow’ in the title and the dreary religious nonsense made his eyes roll. The building was stunning, though, and he couldn’t deny that as he headed inside. White lilies were hanging from various spots, incense burning in lanterns and candles flickering in every darkened corner.
At the very front of the church was a stained glass window depicting the crucifixion of Christ. Walking up the cobbled aisle, Max maintained eye contact with the bearded representation of Jesus and found himself smirking. ‘He died so we may live? So why the fuck do we die too then?’ he asked, turning to see Dermot coming up behind him. ‘Sounds like a load of old bolloga to me.’ When Dermot scolded him he merely chuckled.
‘Which one of you is Maxamillian?’ behind them the vicar was walking, a fast paced stride causing his robes to billow.
Max stepped forward, reaching out his hands and the vicar took them with his own, nodding a blessing on them. There was always such a showy display in these places that it made his skin crawl.
‘The wonderful benefactor for this lost soul.’ He smiled and they turned to see the picture of Charlotte in display. ‘Are you happy with everything that has been done for today?’
Max nodded, looking around approvingly at the building. ‘We’re very privileged to get to use such a holy establishment, Reverend.’
‘Are you a religious man yourself, Mr Sullivan?’ the vicar asked and Max nodded in reassurance.
‘Oh yes. We’re both from a catholic family. I used to be quite fond of our town Vicar when I was younger. He died recently. Very sad’ He added and Max knew that Dermot knew the story. The so called sacred man had touched both of them on one too many an occasion and Max had put an end to his wandering touch.
They chatted a little more before people started to fill in and they parted ways. Dermot took Max to one side, hushed tones threatening for nothing to go wrong today and Max couldn’t help but sense the tension in his younger brother. His guard was up, his tone bristly but Max didn’t care enough to investigate. No doubt it was something to do with Nora being here, and to be honest, the idea made Max laugh. Would she bring Jock? What a fucking delight.
The minutes trickled by as more people entered and Max suddenly had to become the grand host. People he had never even heard of were coming up to him, shaking his hand and muttering his praise which he revelled in. A few people from Lancashire were here, extended family of Charlotte’s and they asked how he knew her, to which he replied ‘from work’. It wasn’t a lie, was it? Nick Walker had been Sullivan business.
Dermot stood in the background as Max was greeted in waves of people of all kinds when out of the corner of his eye, Max saw Nora. Jock wasn’t far behind, dressed like a monkey in a suit and he didn’t waste a moments eye contact with him before dropping it back to the Vicar.
‘Your ex has brought her new boyfriend.’ Max murmured to Dermot as they took their seats. He could see his brothers back stiffen and went to place a hand on his shoulder which was shrugged off. ‘Someone pissed in your cereal, dearthair?’ Max asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Sorry if the call last night was a bit… personal.’ He lowered his voice. ‘A few drinks down, you know how it is, right? And Lara… ‘ he shook his head, smirking at the memories of it. ‘Fuck. She was something else – Joshua!’ Max cut the sentence short, turning his attention to Jock and Nora who were trying to sit anywhere else but near them. ‘Nora. I saved you both a seat. I know how important this is to you.’
Nora looked at Max but didn’t say anything and he wondered why she held so much disdain for him. She was the one who had caused all the drama and now here she was with their cousin on her arm as if she wasn’t some hypocritical slut. Why Lara was good friends with her he would never understand and for a moment he wondered if she knew what had happened last night.
Taking their seats, Max picked up some programmes and passed them down the line before looking over at Tristan. He looked smart in his little suit, his hair brushed to one side and his feet barely touching the floor. Next to him, a stoic Benji. Max wasn’t an empathetic person, but he did wonder what war was raging inside this man and how he could harness it.
‘Are you going to say some words?’ Max asked and Benji didn’t turn to him for a moment before nodding. ‘Alright, but you better have a few more to say than that.’ He murmured earning a glare.
The vicar started speaking then and the church fell into silence. Jock and Nora were clutching hands as if their life depended on it and Max risked a glance at his brother who looked just as tense as he had that morning. All the people here were all fooling themselves into thinking they cared about this woman. She had died of no other fault than her own and in some ways Max would’ve said it was suicidal. Charlotte had selfishly ended her own life, for what? To save some other slut a few seats down from him?
The speech was what you would’ve expected; as vague as a horoscope. How Charlotte was a kind soul, taken too soon. She would be remembered through her only son, Tristan, and there was another angel in sky or some bollocks. Max wasn’t listening to them, he was listening to Nora and Dermot. Bovver was here? Craning his neck, Max tried to locate him in the crowd but couldn’t. What was he doing here? Was he her for Nora, for Pete or for the GSE?
Chewing his lip, Max turned his attention back to the front as the talk came to an end.
‘Before we begin our final goodbyes for Charlotte, we will play a song chosen by her loved ones. Shortly after, Mr Maximillian Sullivan will take the podium.’
A song started to play then, filling the room with its ethereal echoes. It was strangely haunting, the strings and the far off voice. Max felt himself transported back to the cemetery in Ireland where his fathers body lay and a sickness turned in his stomach. He had always been adamant he wasn’t afraid of death, but that was before he had something worth losing. Clenching his fist, Max kept his gaze forward.
"And no one will ever move me from this land,
Until the Lord calls me to sit at his hand,
For this is my Eden, and I’m not alone"
Beside him, Tristan was giving hiccupping sobs and suddenly Nora was out of her seat. Moving past all of them, she knelt on the floor in front of Tristan and handed him a tissue which he took with a sniff. Big round eyes looked at her, not too unlike Charlie and Max felt suddenly uncomfortable.
‘Hey.’ Nora whispered, tears glistening in her own eyes.
Her heart was aching to be anywhere but here, to not be listening to this song or to feel this pain. She could see Tristan trying to control his emotions throughout the whole speech but the music had made him explode. Benji had an arm around his shoulder and was holding him tight but he was shaking his head, desperate for his mum. ‘I’m Nora.’ She smiled, wiping a tear from his small, red cheek. ‘I met your mummy a few days ago, she was such a lovely person, wasn’t she?’ Tristan nodded his head, still crying but managing to control himself. ‘Do you think I could sit next to you?’ she asked and glanced over at Benji.
Seeing the pain on his face made her want to both throw up and run away. The ceremony had only just started and she already felt shattered. With his permission, Nora settled herself between Max and Tristan, purposely turning her back on the sullen Sullivan.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Nora mouthed to Benji over the top of Tristan’s head, as they both listened to the song play out. Her chest felt tight and hot but she tried to stay focused. Not for herself, but for Charlotte’s son. ‘Are you okay? Is it... alright that I'm here?'
Was it?
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Sept 27, 2022 12:09:45 GMT -5
Bov hated seeing Pete like this. In all the years he’d known him, throughout all the shit they’d been through, he’d never seen Pete looking so broken, so low. It wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t fair. How had it come to this? They’d been together through everything. From being grubby-kneed schoolboys at primary, climbing trees and running away from girls, to secondary, where they’d dominated the football field at lunch and breaks and chased girls rather than run from them. Even when Pete had left for Uni, he’d still crash at Bov’s every weekend after a major sesh at the Abbey and he’d never missed a match.
Pete had always had the GSE at heart. When he’d finally graduated Uni with a teaching degree under his belt, he’d been right back at Bov’s side and together, they’d taken the firm and risen to the top. Theyd been unstoppable. In fact, they’d been at their peak when Lara had stumbled into their lives and changed everything, and it felt like in the blink of his eye, everything had crumbled into ashes. Their legacy in tatters. Their name now mocked instead of relished.
Bov had done a lot of thinking this past few days. Like how strange it was how they’d both met women who’d destroy their hearts on the same night. Had it been a coincidence? He liked to think not. Not with Nora anyway. They’d had something, something that had been special and theirs. It had been shaky at first, as they’d figured each other out, but they’d come to depend on each other. And truthfully, Bovver had never imagined he would have fallen in love. He’d been with plenty of girls before, but never long enough for it to become serious. Bov didn’t do serious. He hadn’t, until Nora.
Had that been his downfall? Trusting a bird? How had everything gone so well between them, only for it to all shatter? Well, he knew the reason. Dermot fuckin’ Sullivan. The man was a capital-C cunt and it was almost incredible how easily he had dismantled their lives. It had been planned from the start, Bov knew it. Max had known about the GSE, he’d been involved long before Dermot had appeared and taken Nora from right beneath his nose. It was a plan. He could see it clearly. Max had probably sent Lara to fuck with Pete, and Dermot to steal Bov’s own woman. To bring down the GSE from the inside. It was the only thing that made sense and he actually felt sorry for Nora. She’d been brainwashed, was now stuck with an inbred cousin she believed she was in love with. It was fuckin’ stupid.
They couldn’t trust Lara, though, that was for sure. For all they knew, the Sullivan brothers had been using Lara as a human spit-roast for years, and if it wasn’t for Charlie being an exact replica of Max, Bov would have questioned which one was actually the father.
“It was always at the back of my mind. But I can’t one hundred percent agree with you that it was all for nothin’.” Pete chewed his lip, then sighed heavily. “Because then what am I fighting for? She did love me. You can’t… you can’t fake that, for so long… she isn’t a psycho, Bov, she’s just… I don’t know.”
A traitorous fuckin’ whore, Bov thought, but decided it was best not to say. He tried to make Pete see sense though, unable to let his friend live in denial anymore. The truth hurt but sometimes that plaster needed to be torn off, whether he liked it or not.
“I know what you’re tryin’ to do, Bruv. You don’t’ need to make me angrier than I already am… I’m fuckin’ livid. But she’s still the mother of my child… I still need to be smart, for Kimmy’s sake. If you think I should keep custody of her, I can’t get my record tarnished, do you understand?”
Bov looked down at Kimmy, who was happily chewing her fingers on Pete’s lap. He’d never paid her much mind before, seeing her as just another sprog, but now he really looked, he could see Pete. He saw him in her blazing blue eyes and the bright smile that stretched her chubby cheeks. Bov didn’t have children, but he knew if he had, he would do anything to protect them. He would have done everything his parents hadn’t, and he couldn’t fault Pete for wanting to do the same. He was a good man, a great man really, and that’s why he was Bov’s best friend. He truly was somebody to look up to and Bov had been a fool to think he could Major the GSE on his own.
They were stronger together.
“I want to take the Sullivan’s down, but we need to really think before we act on this occasion. My whole life is at stake.”
Bov lifted his gaze from Kimmy to meet Pete’s and nodded, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. ‘’You don’t ‘ave to do anythin’, I swear. You won’t need to get your hands dirty at all.” And he meant it. Bovver would give his life for Pete, he’d end a dozen lives if it meant giving his friend the life he deserved. A life with his daughter. Pete nodded at him, a mutual agreement forming without words. Whatever had to be done, Bov would do and he’d do it without question. Any further conversation was broken by Isla turning on the TV and both their heads swivelled to look at the same time.
Max Sullivan smirked back at them.
It was a photograph. The newsreader was talking about some funeral he had so graciously organised, and their end of the bar seemed to go silent. Swill and Dave exchanged glances. Bov looked back at Pete, a fearful excitement fluttering beneath his ribs. The other man was staring hard at the screen, jaw clenched hard, a vein throbbing in his throat. Bov knew without looking that his fists were clenched.
Dave moved to scoop Kimmy off his lap and it seemed to jolt Pete back to his senses. A hot flush had creeped up the back of his neck and he pushed away from the table. “Sorry. I just need a moment.” Bov’s eyes trailed him as he weaved his way out the Abbey, the doors swinging shut behind him. Dave cleared his throat softly.
“This ain’t lookin’ good, son.”
“Yeah,” Bovver murmured before he also pulled himself to his feet, hand automatically moving to clench his ribs. “You ain’t wrong. Get us another round in, will ya.” He followed Pete’s path, pushing open the doors to find Pete punching a lamppost with ringing force. A couple were hurrying across the street with a pushchair, and there was an upturned picnic table on the path behind him. Bovver stepped forward. “Bruv?”
Blood spilled from Pete’s knuckles as he turned around, a mix of surprise and disgust marring his features. And Bov hadn’t realised how devastating a blow Lara and the Sullivans had struck until this very moment. “I... I...” Chest heaving, Pete shook his head and sank back on one of the benches. Without a word, Bovver moved to his side and sat down beside him. Pete sat, hands clasped between his knees, head bowed. “We’re going to the Millwall match, and we’re not going to fuckin’ lose. If we do… Sullivan’s men will answer for it, alright?” He looked up, catching Bov’s eye and he nodded in return. There was no questioning it. “But we need to be discrete. In and out, no playing around with fancy footwork. And no more playing nicely, you understand? Knuckle dusters… knives… whatever is cleanest but leaves the biggest mark.”
Again, Bov nodded, his mind already ahead of him. He could have all the boys armed by tonight and he didn’t think a single one of them would back down now. The GSE were a brotherhood; they’d have each other’s backs no matter the circumstance.
“Get one of the boys to watch the funeral tomorrow. I want Max to understand what he’s started, and I want Dermot to be ready for war. If the boys don’t like it, they can leave, but I’m not messing around. This is the last time… and one of us is going down, for good.”
Bovver exhaled heavily and sat back, ribs twanging in protest. Rooting for his cigarette, he freed one and lit it. “I never thought I’d ‘ear you say the words, but I’m fuckin’ glad you ‘ave, bruv. I’m tired of those cunts, I’m tired of all it. It has to end with us.” Bov hesitated, pondering his next words as he smoked his cigarette. Letting smoke billow, he looked back at Pete. “Dermot Sullivan needs to pay for what he’s done. That night at the warehouse will be nothin’ compared to what I’ve got planned for him. Who the fuck does that cunt think he is? Nah.” Bov shook his head and stared off down the street. “We end this. I’ll go to the funeral tomorrow. You just focus on Kimmy, yeah?”
—-
Swill was pretty sure he was in love. He’d dreamt about Isla every day this week and when he wasn’t dreaming about Isla, he was thinking about Isla and when he wasn’t thinking about Isla, he was talking about her. All in all, he was pretty obsessed. And quite honestly, he couldn’t believe his luck. She was beautiful. She had the perfect brown eyes and glossy red hair, her lips were absolutely fuckin’ succulent and Swill would have happily given up everything to be with her for the rest of his days.
Yeah. Swill was in love.
He knew she was just teasing when she said Max Sullivan was attractive, and he’d wrinkled his nose at her playfully before he’d explained who the fuck the dickhead was. It was a long history, considering, and he was pleased to have Isla’s rapt attention the entire time. God, had he already said how beautiful she was?
“It seems... intense. So he’s in charge of Millwall now? Why?”
“Oh, well, Bov might ‘ave had something to do with Hatcher croakin’ it and Max just seemed to take over, I don’t even know where the slimy cunt came from, honestly.” He was interrupted by her phone vibrating on the bar and he cast it an interested look, grin widening. “Who’s that?” Was it her mum? They hadn’t spoken about family yet, but he’d already spent a good deal of time imagining what it might be like to meet them. Would they approve? Isla gave it a quick glance, then declined the call.
“It’s just my cousin.”
Swill raised a playful eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had family,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think it’s time for you to meet them just yet.” Isla smirked, voice teasing as she leaned across the bar to kiss his cheek. Swill got a breathful of her perfume and she smelt gooood. “This thing between me and you was supposed to be a secret.” Her words were a whisper in his ear and he felt a pleasurable shiver run down his spine when she pulled back a little to meet his gaze.
“I’m not good at keepin’ secrets,” Swill murmured, smirking. Then, her phone began to buzz again and he grabbed it without thinking, hitting the answer button. “You ‘ave reached-“
“Swill! You don’t do that!” She actually snarled his name as she lunged over the bar, trying to grab it back, and Swill didn’t even register the fact the caller hung up without saying anything at all. He watched Isla match around the bar, her face as red as her hair, and quickly lifted the phone out of reach when she tried to grab it. “It’s just my cousin!” Swill’s teasing smile faded when he realised she was actually pretty furious and he felt a stab of hurt that she didn’t trust him. He handed it back, downcast.
“Sorry. I was just playin’.”
Isla sighed, rolling her eyes before she showed him the screen. There was a picture of two children stood together, one unmistakably Isla, the other a blond-haired boy. “Look. He’s younger than me by five years, but we grew up together, that’s all.”
“I wasn’t sayin’ that you had anythin’ to hide,” Swill replied sullenly. “I want to get to know you better.”
Isla slid her phone into her pocket and moved closer to take his hand. “And you think that’s the way to do it?” She tilted her head to study him and Swill felt a pang of guilt. “I’m just a very private person, can you understand that?” Swill nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“I know. I’m sorry, I’m a bit of a cunt sometimes. Just... you can trust me, y’know?” He tilted his head to match her slant, then flashed her a toothy grin. “Forgive me, yeah?” Pete returned, followed by Bov, and after giving Isla another small smile, he left to join them. If Isla wanted to take it slow, keep them on the down low, then he could deal with that. He was just happy to have such an ethereal beauty in his life instead of his hand and PornHub. Why should he be worried about some mystery cousin?
—-
Bovver sat in the car outside the church and stared at the mass of black-attired people streaming in. It was midday, the sun was surprisingly bright, and Charlotte Foster’s funeral was being held in one of the most beautiful churches in London. To be honest, he hadn’t kept up with the news unless it was football related, so he wasn’t sure why Max was organising this woman’s funeral in the first place. It was strange. From what they’d grown to know of him, Max was a private person, always working from the shadows. Now he was putting himself in the spotlight, his smarmy face from the TV still burning behind his retinas. What had changed? And was this just a ploy to cover up something else?
Bovver waited until the others had gone inside before getting out the car. He’d scrubbed up well, leaving his hoodies and jeans at home and now wearing a shark grey suit and tie. He hadn’t been able to do much about the bruises though, which had, in the days since the attack, gone from a angry purple to an ugly yellow. His eye was less swollen though and he could open it, but every breath still ached his chest. At least Nora could see the damage Dermot had done and with any luck, it would be enough to change her mind.
The gravel crunched beneath his shiny black shoes as Bov limped towards the large wooden door, adorned with a large wreath of white lilies. Bov took a moment before he entered, a few people looking over to see who had just walked in. There were a lot of people he didn’t recognise, but it was easy to spot the faces he did. Dermot and Max were close to the front, talking to the vicar as people took their seats. Jock was standing by a large stained-glass window, looking uncomfortably out of place, Nora close beside him. He caught her gaze, seeing the shock in her eyes before he turned away and found a seat at the back. He’d let them come to him.
He was only here to pay his respects, after all.
—-
“Calm down.”
Lara had been on the verge of a panic attack when Max grabbed her hands and fought to still her. It took a moment but he managed to ease her back into the armchair in the corner. Swallowing hard, she tried desperately to slow the tears as Max sank to his knees in front of her. His hands were still encasing her and they were still so warm. Her sobs had faded to erratic gasps and she could see Max tracing every inch of her face, before searching her soul through her eyes. Lara had known tonight wasn’t going to be easy, but this... the confusion of feelings was overwhelming and she barely knew what to think.
“Take a moment. Analu.”
Lara nodded, forcing herself to take a breath. His softly whispered words seemed to linger in the air and she hated the way he had the ability to soothe her as much as he had the ability to put her on edge. He lowered his hand, pressing kisses to her palms in a way that made her stomach tighten. He murmured that everything was okay, but when she made to stand, he put out his hand to stop her, and Lara watched him, uncertainly. She felt sick and dizzy and was already regretting the alcohol she’d consumed tonight.
“Charlie is safe. You don’t need to go anywhere.”
Lara bit back the words on her tongue. She knew Charlie was safe, because Dermot would never let a thing happen to him, but there was no way to explain her actual worries. That she was worried she wouldn’t be able to stop herself, that she’d end up betraying yet another man she loved. She was a fucking mess. Max kneeled up, sliding her arms around his neck and she couldn’t help but toy with the short hairs on the back of his head, feeling the thick, but freshly cut curls beneath her fingertips. His face was close to hers, she could feel his cool breath on her skin and the intimacy of the moment made her want to cry again.
“Do you like it shorter?” She did. It had always suited him, made him look less intimidating. His words were a soft murmur and at her nod, he shut his eyes, lips grazing against her cheek. She swallowed hard, trying not to become overwhelmed again. “I know it’s hard to believe, but this is me. Just like you are you. We’re just different now. That isn’t a bad thing, Lar.” His mouth edged to hers and she felt the tiny bit of resistance she had ebb away; the kiss was savoured before he pulled away and got to his feet. “I’ll get you a glass of water,” he said before leaving.
A little dazed, Lara watched him go. Max had never taken no for an answer before and her mind was struggling to keep up. He had changed, there was no doubt about it. She looked around the room, at the effort he’d put in; the toys and the images on the wall and the damn scan photo... Standing, Lara moved back towards it. Beneath the scan was her son’s name and she hadn’t missed that he’d put Charlie Sullivan instead of Charlie Dunham. Did Max want to be a family? Was this what this was all about? Her lips were still tingling from the kiss and she could taste him in her lower lip, could still smell him on her skin. Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around her middle and turned when she heard Max re-enter the room.
“Take this.” He handed her a glass of water, which she downed without hesitation. She needed to clear her head, seriously regretting the whiskey as the room began to spin. She shouldn’t have drunk at all, then she would have had no excuse to drive. She should have been home right now, with Dermot. Max took the empty glass and set it aside. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just... never mind.” He scoffed lightly, glancing away and Lara felt her heart ache at the look on his face. This wasn’t the crazed Max Sullivan she had left behind all those years ago, but before she could speak, she felt a pang of lightheadedness and swayed. “You can leave if you want to. I said you could.” He stepped away to let her pass and she frowned at him, opening her mouth to tell him she didn’t feel well. All that came out was a slurred murmur, the room beginning to spin. She took an unsteady step forward, reaching for him. He looked at her carefully. “Are you okay?”
She wasn’t even sure what she tried to say next, but she pushed away from him and tried to head for the door. She barely made two steps before she was leaning against the wall, stomach churning. Max said something about her lying down, coming behind her to take her waist, and she tried to push him away and tell him she was fine, that she just needed a moment... and then everything went black.
Lara didn’t realise she was dreaming at first. She was back at the restaurant and she and Max were getting into his car. Except this time, there was no Ronan. Max crammed her back against the window, mouth on hers, his hand already pressing between her thighs. And Lara couldn’t fight it. She didn’t want to fight it. She moaned softly, head falling back against the glass as he sucked and nipped at her throat and her jaw. His hands were everywhere at once, mapping her body as if he was trying to memorise it.
His was speaking to her in Irish, low and husky and desperate, and they couldn’t seem to shed their clothes fast enough. Bare skin against bare skin and a moment later, he was sinking into her and Lara was crying out, her body throbbing with pleasure, his name falling from her lips over and over...
When Lara finally stirred, it took a moment for her to realise she was in a bed. The sheets smelt fresh and crisp, the room darkened, the only light spilling from a gap in the doorway. Her heart jolted when she realised there was a figure stood in the hall, watching her. Ronan. He was unmistakeable, even if she couldn’t see the detail of his face. She shut her eyes again, feigning sleep and praying he wouldn’t come in. Where was Max? Why was Ronan still here? A moment later she heard a voice and strained to listen. “You lost, Ronan?”
She heard his dry laugh in response. “I thought this room would be empty.”
Lying bastard, Lara thought furiously. The light from the hallway disappeared as Max shut the door with a click, and Lara released the breath she had been holding.
“Oh, I’d be so lucky.” There was a pause, long enough to tell Lara the men were staring at each other. “I’m done with you for the night.”
“Alright. I’ll see myself out.” Lara listened to the sound of Ronan’s footsteps fading, before she sat up, shrugging the duvet from above her.
“Max?” She’d called his name before considering what she actually wanted to say. She felt embarrassed that she’d passed out, but he’d put her to bed and... she was pretty certain he’d just protected her from Ronan too. Not to mention the dream. It was been so vivid and intense, she could still feel his hands on her. The door creaked opened and he appeared. He’d changed his clothes and he was barefoot, looking relaxed and slightly amused. She felt heat prickle her cheeks, though her eyes never left his face. “I had the weirdest dream.”
Max gave a soft chuckle and stepped into the room. “What was it about?”
“... You.”
His smile broadened. “Was it a good dream?” Max moved to the end of the bed, reaching to cup her chin and she nodded slowly, as if afraid to admit how good it had actually been. “Are you feeling better? You passed out on me.”
“I shouldn’t have drank so much,” she admitted softly, resting her chin in his palm. She shut her eyes for a moment, savouring the warmth. Why couldn’t it have always been like this? Why couldn’t Max have been this man back then? It was all she’d craved and now it was here, it was harder to fight. He was harder to fight. But that was the problem. He wasn’t fighting her, he wasn’t forcing her, and as he took a step back and told her he’d leave her to rest, Lara couldn’t stop herself. She reached for his wrist as he turned away, eyes intent on his as he looked back at her. She leaned up, hand sliding up his neck, lips finding his, and Max didn’t hesitate in pulling off his tee and grabbing her by the waist.
The kiss grew fierce quickly. Laid on her back with Max above her, pressed hard between her thighs, Lara knew she was playing a dangerous game. She knew this would never end well, that it couldn’t, but it didn’t stop her running her hands over his bare torso, feeling every taunt muscle and small scar. His shoulders were broad, he felt so familiar and reassuring, and she moaned just as loudly as she had in her dream when he began to mouth her throat and collarbone. With a little shuffling, Max freed her of her dress, sitting back on his knees to look at her. Really look at her. His eyes trailed every inch of her body, quickly followed by his hands and his mouth, and she could feel the blazing trail he left behind.
Pulling down the cup of her lace bra, he didn’t hesitate in taking her breast into his mouth, tonguing the nipple into a hard nub, and Lara arched her back, hand coming up to grab his hair. “Max...” His name an uttered groan as he continued to kiss his way down her body until he buried himself between her thighs. He knew her body too well and within minutes she was tumbling into her climax, the otherwise quiet room filled with soft gasps. He didn’t stop his ministrations until she had to push his head away and he smirked at her, licking his bottom lip as he clambered back above her.
Max’s hands slid up her arms to pin her wrists firmly above her head with one hand, and the wicked gleam in his eyes made her shiver pleasurably. Using his knees, he forced her thighs apart and settled between them, free hand moving to touch her. He curled his fingers into her, feeling how wet she was, and he spoke, telling her in a low voice how much he’d wanted this. Wanted her. Words hoarse and low and... intense, as if he really needed her to hear them. She could feel him, hard against her thigh and he lowered himself to kiss her, gripping her jaw before he finally sank into her. Lara moaned against his mouth at the sudden intrusion, thighs already tightening around his waist as they began to move together.
Lara wasn’t sure how long they fucked for. After a while, he turned her over and teased the ends of her hair with his fingers as he thrust hard from behind, his fingers leaving bruises on her waist and thighs. Eventually, the two lay amongst the crumpled sheets beside each other, breathing heavy as they fought to steady themselves. And slowly, the guilt crept in, and the regret, and Lara sat up. How was she going to explain this to Dermot? She looked over at Max to find him watching her and she offered him a small smile to show him she was okay, even if it wasn’t how she felt on the inside. Then, she leaned over and kissed him again, feeling his palm against her cheek. “I really have to go,” she murmured against his lips and she felt him nod before she eased herself away.
Her phone was on the side, but she resisted the urge to check it and just slid it into her bag. The alarm clock on the side told her it was the early hours and she felt nauseous at the fact that Dermot had been waiting for her for so long already. By the time she was getting into the taxi Max had called, the sun was beginning to stain the horizon, and Lara slumped in the back and began to cry.
What the fuck had she just done?
—-
It was nearly 10pm and Lara wasn’t back yet.
Dermot and Charlie had had dinner, watched Encanto and the boy had finally gone to sleep after no less than seven bedtime stories, but that had been hours ago now and there was still no sign of her. No messages on his phone that she might be late, no missed calls. And Dermot began to worry. Why wouldn’t she have text by now? What if Max had hurt her? What if he’d taken her somewhere else? He hadn’t wanted to risk a message earlier, in case Max happened to see it, but in the end, he couldn’t resist sending just one. Hope everything is okay. Let me know. I miss you a ridiculous amount x
There’d been no reply.
It was a little past midnight when Dermot decided he couldn’t take anymore. He’d paced downstairs for hours, tried to distract himself with late night chat shows, but he couldn’t take his mind from Lara. A hundred scenarios filling his mind of things that could have gone wrong. Why did he let her go? It wasn’t as if she’d even wanted to. He was the one who’d told her it would be alright, to humour Max. Had he sent her straight into danger? Grabbing his phone off the coffee table, Dermot found her number and called it. After a few long torturous rings, it finally connected, but it wasn’t Lara’s voice at the end of the line and his heart sank.
“Dearthair.”
Dermot hesitated, uncertainty churning in his stomach. His brother sounded breathless. “Max.” He sat forward on the sofa, phone clenched in his hand. Max chuckled softly.
“Is Charlie okay?”
Dermot rolled his eyes. “He’s fine. Is Lara okay?”
“She’s great, we’re just having a little catch up.”
Dermot strained to hear anything but the sound of Max’s voice, but wherever he was, it was quiet. Weren’t they supposed to be at a restaurant? Though even Dermot wasn’t stupid enough to believe they’d been there all this time. “... Is she safe?”
There was silence for a moment before Max requested video call. Dermot lowered the phone and stared at the screen, unsure for a moment if he should accept. What did Max want to show him? But he needed to know if Lara was safe, so he did. A second later, Max’s face bloomed onto the screen. He held the phone high, giving Dermot a clear view of himself, topless. Behind him on the bed laid Lara; he couldn’t see her face in the brief second before Max reappeared, a smirk toying on his lips.
“So you’re on babysitting duty for the night, little brother. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
He hung up. With a growl, Dermot launched his phone and it hit the wall opposite, shattering on impact. Scrubbing his face with his hands, Dermot stood and paced, unable to shift the sudden anger welling up inside. Had Lara even been fucking conscious? He’d only had a split second to look at her, but she hadn’t been stirring. Heading into the kitchen, Dermot poured himself a whiskey and knocked it back, the burn bringing him to his senses a little.
If Lara had slept with him, did he have the right to be mad? They hadn’t exactly put a label on what they were, but he was still stupidly surprised that Max had been able to work his charm so quickly. How long had it taken him to win her over? An hour? Two? And that’s if she was agreeable. He knew they were at the penthouse, he recognised the room. And he knew he should head over there, to really make sure she was all right, but Charlie was fast asleep upstairs and he couldn’t leave him. Waking him at this hour wouldn’t be fair and once again, Dermot felt the frustration growing. He shouldn’t have let her go. Even if he didn’t have a right to stop her. But what if she was hurt?
Forcing these thoughts from his mind, Dermot took his glass and the whiskey bottle and headed back for the front room. There wasn’t much he could do but wait. And it was going to be a long fucking night.
—-
Lara felt like a cunt. She stood outside the front door, unable to bring herself to knock. Her body ached. When she’d finally dried her tears in the cab, she had pulled out her phone and seen the message and the call from Dermot. The call that had been answered. She wasn’t sure when, but she knew it must have been when she was asleep. She hoped Max had told him she was okay, just a little sick. But it didn’t make up for what she’d done after she’d woken, she and Max entwined above the sheets. She hadn’t been fair. All this time she’d blamed Max, but in reality it had been her. She’d slept with Dermot and hurt Pete, and now she’d slept with Max... She felt so out of control, it terrified her.
Lara knocked. There was no answer. Swallowing, she tried the handle to find it unlocked and she pushed her way inside. It was barely 5am, too early for Charlie to be awake, and the house was quiet. The kitchen was empty but the living room door was open and she made her way in. As she crossed the threshold, she saw Dermot sprawled asleep on the sofa, and something crunched beneath her foot. Looking down, she saw his phone in pieces and felt a lump work its way up her throat. Dropping her bag down, she crossed the room and sank down on the edge of the sofa beside him. She shook his shoulder gently, heart pounding uncomfortably against her ribs. “Dermot?”
He stirred, rubbing his eyes and blinking before he realised it was her. He looked at the quarter-full whiskey bottle on the coffee table and cursed softly before he quickly sat up. “Shit.”
“Dermot-“
“I know. It’s... It’s okay, Lara.” He didn’t quite look at her though and she shifted out the way so he could swing his long legs from the couch. “Did he hurt you?”
Lara shook her head, staring down at her hands which were clasped together on her lap. She could see several fingermarks on her inner knees where Max had wrenched her thighs apart. Silence filled the room. She wanted to say something, anything, but her mind was entirely blank and there was a loud buzzing in her ears. She could feel Dermot’s warmth against her, his thigh solid and sure; an anchor point. “I’m sorry.”
“No. No, no,” Dermot said quickly, turning to her, hand sliding beneath her jaw as he lifted her face to his. He looked as exhausted as he had the night at the Abbey, on their night, hair mussed and untidy, and she knew she looked no better. “No. Lara...” He shook his head faintly, searching her eyes. “I know and I understand.” He suddenly looked emotional, thumb gliding over her cheekbone. “I was just terrified he’d hurt you. I know... I know what you had to do, but when it got late and... I was scared. But, he answered the phone, I saw you both, I... I know what he’s like, I know how he twists things, I...”
Dermot was still drunk, she realised, and rambling, but he’d brought up the call and she seized the chance to ask. “What call?”
Dermot’s brow furrowed as he explained how he’d rang, only for Max to answer. When he mentioned the video call, Lara shifted uncomfortably. She’d definitely been passed out, but why would Max go to such lengths to fake he was sleeping with her? It seemed odd and spontaneous, but she knew Dermot wasn’t lying. He’d looked devastated when he’d spoken about it and despite his reassurances, Lara couldn’t help but feel like a massive piece of shit. She could never let that happen again.
“That was the last time,” she murmured and Dermot nodded, watching her in the same way he had when she’d driven him home. Then, he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against hers. And it felt so right. It surprised her how different it felt to kissing Max; whereas he had a rougher, more assertive kiss, Dermot was much softer, explorative and sensual. She leaned into him and Dermot shifted an arm around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. “I’m still sorry,” she murmured against his lips, reaching to brush a tear from his cheek. “I... he was so different.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
At this, he kissed her harder, drawing her above him and Lara gasped against his mouth, hand trailing down his throat. “I love you too,” he murmured, over and over between kisses. “I love you more.”
Lara pulled back a little to meet his eye, hand against his chest. She could feel the sure beat of his heart against her palm, steadying her. “Do you think we’ll ever be-“ Suddenly, they heard a door bang upstairs and footsteps banging down each step, and by the time Charlie burst into the room, both Dermot and Lara were on their feet, the taste of each other still on their lips.
“Mummy!!” Charlie ran across the room and Lara couldn’t help but smile at the brilliant grin on his face. She knelt to catch him, hugging him tight. She looked up, catching Dermot’s eye. “Love you,” she mouthed and he smiled, reaching down to ruffle Charlie’s curls.
“I should shower. I smell like a brewery.” Dermot moved to pick up the whiskey bottle and glass, leading them through into the kitchen. “There’s cereal in the cupboard. I bought a few. I wasn’t sure what he liked.”
Lara nodded, lifting Charlie to sit on the counter while she rifled through the cupboard. Once Charlie was settled at the table, munching a bowl of CocoPops, Lara headed upstairs. Dermot was in the bedroom, a towel around his waist, hair wet. He looked at her as she came to lean in the doorway, smiling when her eyes trailed his figure. Teasingly, he loosened the towel and she came forward, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Visit me tonight,” he told her, bringing her close, hand running down the small of her back. “Please?” He pouted, making her giggle. “I miss you.”
“I’ll be here. I promise. But get a phone sorted, okay?”
They spent another hour there, Lara filling Dermot in on exactly what had happened last night. He hadn’t liked the sound of Ronan’s being there, going into thoughtful silence for a while. Lara studied him. “Are you going to be okay today?”
Dermot looked at her, then at Charlie, who was pulling on his Velcro-strapped trainers at the door. Then, he nodded. “I’ll get through it.” Looking back at her, he smirked playfully. “At least I have something to look forward to.” By the time they left, Dermot only had an few hours to get himself ready. He’d already picked out a suit, which hung in its protective case on the wardrobe, but he needed to pick up the flowers he’d ordered from the boutique, so he left early.
It was difficult to settle his thoughts. He’d known it was going to happen. Lara and Max. He understood their complicated history as well as his own, but he didn’t like it. It didn’t sit well with him. Knowing Max had had his hands all over her. He’d never felt threatened by Pete, though perhaps because that relationship had clearly met its end, but with Max... that was competition, that was rivalry. Max was his only real threat and if Lara decided to choose his brother in the end, there’d be absolutely nothing Dermot could do about it.
—-
Dermot arrived not long after Max, while the car park was still filling up. His head still ached from the remnants of his hangover, which he’d tried to smother with pills before he’d arrived. Cutting the Rhine, Dermot took a moment just to breathe. It was a stunning autumn morning; the trees that shadowed the church were starting to turn a crisp yellow, brightened by the low, dazzling sun. Each marble headstone in the cemetery gleamed as if polished and he could see people wandering, visiting graves and the peaceful sanctuary of the place. It was eerie how relaxing a churchyard could be, but Dermot could never feel settled in a place like this. There were too many bad memories.
When he stepped out of the car, bouquet of lilies in his hand, he could cold only stare up in awe at the huge church, with its weather-worn stone and large stained-glass windows, and it was with a jolt that he realised what had struck him. How could he have forgotten? In three days, he and Nora would have gotten married here, in this exact church.
The wedding had been long since cancelled, of course, their spot no doubt already filled by another excited, but nervous young couple. For a moment, he tried to imagine what life might be like today if he and Nora were still together, if none of that had happened at all. There would have been no Nick attack, there would have been no funeral to attend. Perhaps right now, Dermot would be with Jock somewhere on his stag do and Nora would be with Lara somewhere on her hen night. He wouldn’t have been with Lara. She wouldn’t have been with Jock. It was an strange nostalgic feeling that washed over him, but for the first time, he felt no sadness. Losing Nora hadn’t been easy, and seeing fragments of what had been was worse, but Dermot knew it was time. To move on, to think of the future. He had Lara to look after and protect, and Nora was safe. That was the one thing he didn’t doubt. Jock would look after her, forever. That’s what made him such a good person and Dermot severely missed him.
Pulling himself together, Dermot crossed the gravel, passing Max’s car, and headed towards the entrance. There was a figure by the door, one who Dermot didn’t recognise until he turned around. Ronan. Dermot’s back instantly stiffened as he recalled what Lara had said. He’d aged a lot since the last time Dermot had seen him, and the years hadn’t been kind. His face was scarred and the prosthetic hand hung unnervingly still at his side. He didn’t know the man as well as his brother, as Ronan had been out of Ireland while Dermot was still young, but he’d heard plenty of stories from Max. They were associates, as far as Dermot knew, but it didn’t mean he trusted him. It was hard to trust anybody affiliated with his brother. Catching Ronan’s eye, he simply nodded as he passed and headed inside.
It was cooler in the church, voices hushed, the coffin resting at the front. It was beautiful, the most expensive wood and a gleaming plaque. Flowers spilled over the sides, a mix of white, yellows and the faintest pinks. Max was stood between the first two pews, staring up at a figure of Christ on the cross in the stained glass, and he spoke as Dermot approached.
“He died so we may live? So why the fuck do we die too then?” He turned, meeting Dermot’s eye. “Sounds like a load of old bolloga to me.”
“Have a bit of respect,” Dermot muttered, earning a chuckle from Max. He glanced back at the people slowly beginning to fill the pews. An old woman was crying into a tissue, being helped into an aisle by whom he presumed to be her husband, and there were more people behind them, waiting to squeeze past. Truthfully, Dermot was just watching them so he didn’t have to look at Max. He hadn’t seen him since yesterday, since that fucking phone call, and he felt uneasy. Did he assume he was back with Lara now? That things would return to the way they were? It had been hard not to imagine the things that may have gone on in that bed, but those thoughts brought overwhelming guilt. This was exactly how Pete must have felt when he’d found out. Pushing that uncomfortable thought aside, Dermot rubbed the back of his neck and hoped Max didn’t pick up on his tension.
“Which one of you is Maxamilian?” They both looked up as the vicar approached, robes billowing at his feet, and Dermot felt a repulsed shiver run down his spine. Like his brother, he’d turned his back on religion a long time ago and even seeing a vicar left ice in the pit of his stomach. They were all dirty fuckers in his eyes and he wouldn’t trust one as far as he could throw them. Max stepped forward, allowing the man to take his hands and bless them and how Max was able to keep such composure, he’d never know. “The wonderful benefactor for this lost soul.”
They glanced towards Charlotte’s photo, printed large so everybody could see; her beaming smile, the flashing dimple, the sheer vibrancy. It was sad that Nick had managed to end a life before his had been taken from him, but at the same time, Dermot couldn’t help but be relieved it wasn’t Nora in that box. That, he wouldn’t have been able to handle.
“Are you happy with everything that has been done for today?”
Max nodded, looking around as if he were thoroughly impressed. “We’re very privileged to get to use such a holy establishment, Reverend.”
“Are you a religious man yourself, Mr Sullivan?”
Dermot had to look away to hide the smirk suddenly creeping onto his face.
“Oh yes. We’re both from a Catholic family. I used to be quite fond of our town Vicar when I was younger. He died recently. Very sad.”
Died in the most brutal, painful fashion, Dermot added in thought, composing himself before he looked back at the Vicar; he was old, with liver-spots on his face and hands, his eyes watery behind his circular glasses. The same kind of hands that had caressed Dermot’s thighs when he’d been too young to even understand what was happening. It was always a Sunday, in the cold side-room of their local church. They’d sing hymns with the other boys, but often, a favoured boy would be selected to stay behind for biscuits.
“You like treats, don’t you?” Reverend O’Hara would ask, his smile stretched over crooked yellow teeth. Dermot had nodded. He was six. Of course he’d liked treats. The Reverend had nodded, taking his shoulder and guiding him into the back room. It was always freezing in here, a room used to store extra seats for Mass. “You sang beautifully today,” he’d said casually, setting a tin of biscuits on the table and popping open the top. Dermot had come forward eagerly, but the Reverend had turned, wagging a finger. “Aha. First, we must pray.” Giving another impatient nod, Dermot had sank to his knees and clasped his hands, but looked up with a frown when the Reverend didn’t kneel beside him. He looked up.
O’Hara smiled, reaching to gently ruffle his hair. “You’re a good lad, aren’t you, Dermot?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Shut your eyes and pray. When you’re done, I’ll give you a treat. Now don’t open your eyes.” Dermot began to pray, hands high, lips moving as he murmured. He heard the rustling of cloth and it threw him from his words. “Don’t open your eyes,” the priest snapped. “Pray.” Dermot resumed his prayers uncertainly, trying to keep track while straining to figure out the strange noises. But before Dermot could begin the next line, the door burst open and he jumped, opening his eyes.
The first thing he saw was O’Hara with his robes hitched up and his cock to hand. Dermot screamed and recoiled, and the second thing he saw was Max colliding with the man. He had something in his hand, smashing the man repeatedly across the head. O’Hara’s cries had been quickly silenced and as he lay still, Max had stood and dropped the small marble statue of Christ. Blood splattered his face and his white robes, black curls brushing the collar as he turned his head to face Dermot.
Then, he approached, reaching to take his hand and pull him to his feet. “Nobody touches you, dearthair. I’ll always be here to protect you. Do you understand?”
The Reverend had survived, but was disgraced, living his years in fear until Max had felt ready to end it. Nobody had attended the funeral and if there was a Hell, Dermot knew he was burning in it. But memories like that made him remember why he’d supported his brother for so long in the first place; with the priest, with Da, with Susie and with Nick... he’d always fixed problems, had always kept Dermot on his feet. Max wouldn’t take Dermot’s betrayal well, he knew that deep in his heart. He had never intended to fall in love with Lara, but it had happened and he’d stand by that. Even if it meant Max would no longer have his back.
He turned away, eyes scanning the crowd. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before the Vicar moved away, and Dermot led Max to one side, brow creased. “Listen, Max, nothing can go wrong today. You’ve put yourself right into the public eye.” Though, of course, Max loved nothing more than adoration and this was a guaranteed way to get it. Who could find anything bad to say about such a kind benefactor after such a tragedy?
It irritated him, that no matter what happened, Max always came out smelling of fucking roses, all the while the rest of them drowned beneath his boot as he kept them smothered beneath the surface. To be honest, Dermot wasn’t even sure why he was bothering to utter such warnings; as if Max would mess this opportunity up.
His brother didn’t seem to be paying much attention either, his gaze on the people flowing in through the door. Hundreds of them. Many of them came up to speak to Max and he greeted each one with a warm handshake and the sincerest of smiles, practised to perfection. He was good, Dermot had to admit. If he’d met him today, he’d believe the kindness behind his words and the gentle way he somehow managed to soothe each of them, no matter how upset they appeared. Right now, Max was the finest fucking actor in London. Eventually, Dermot had shadowed himself to one side, eyes scanning the crowd. Would Nora show? He knew she’d received an invite as he’d seen the list on Max’s desk the day before.
A new face emerged from the crowd and greeted Max with a murmur; dark skinned, suited expensively. He was stood beside a young boy Dermot recognised from the TV and he realised it was Charlotte’s son. He was only a little bit older than Charlie. The idea of him losing a mother so young made his stomach turn and Dermot really had to force composure when Max introduced him. Benji eyes him warily, before leading Tristan off to the front pew. “Poor little bastard,” he muttered to Max once they were out of earshot. As the Vicar asked everybody to take their seats, a harmonic melody beginning to play, Max leaned into him.
“Your ex has brought her new boyfriend.”
Instantly, Dermot looked up, searching then out. Nora wasn’t looking his way, distracted by something else, but Jock was staring right at him. Eyes hard, jaw set. Dermot narrowed his eyes a little, despite the dismay swirling in his stomach. It was obvious Jock wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, though to be sure honest, Dermot had long since forgotten who owed who an apology at this point. Max must have noticed his reaction as he reached to touch his shoulder and Dermot was quick to shrug him off. For many reasons, he was finding it especially difficult to be around his brother. Lara being the main one.
Max glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “Someone pissed in your cereal, dearthair?” When he didn’t answer, he looked away. “Sorry if the call last night was a bit... personal.” Dermot felt his blood run cold as Max lowered his voice. This was the last fucking thing he wanted to talk about. “A few drinks down, you know how it is, right? And Lara...” He shook his head and Dermot caught the smirk curving his lip. “Fuck. She was something else - Joshua!”
Dermot had been glaring at Max’s profile, not even realising his fists had balled. He could punch him now, maybe even knock him clean out if he was lucky, but then Jock and Nora were in front of them and Dermot shoved his fists into his trouser pockets.
“Nora. I saved you both a seat. I know how important this is to you.”
She didn’t said a word, only nodded slowly. Jock didn’t say a word either, his jaw as hard as stone. It was awkward as they all took their seats, Nora purposefully putting herself between him and Jock. Max was on his other side, Tristan and Benji beside him. As the vicar took to the podium, Nora leaned forward,murmuring a soft hello to Tristan, who managed to smile back and wave. Dermot glanced at Nora and caught the upset on her face as she sat back, and his hands actually itched to reassure her, to take her hand and tell her it would be okay.
But she had Jock for that, their hands entwined on his knee as they focused on what the vicar was saying. It was harder for Dermot to concentrate. At the risk of being disrespectful, he didn’t want to be in this fucking church anymore. The vicar was creeping him out, Jock could easily launch a fist from how close he was sat, and Max had used everything he had to seduce Lara last night and he couldn’t even do anything about it. When had his life gotten so fucked up? Why would things start going right for him? His whiskey-induced headache was returning as well, throbbing at the back of his head and behind his eyes.
It didn’t help that he could feel Nora’s warmth against his thigh. The last time they’d been this close had been a few days before, in his bedroom, Nora crammed against the wall wrapped tight around him. He couldn’t help but glance at her now, desperate to shift some of the awkward tension that had built around them. “How are you feeling?” He murmured, leaning close. Nora caught his eye and he saw hers were glistening with unshed tears. This must have been awful for her. Charlotte had died and ultimately saved her life, and Dermot knew there was such thing as survivors guilt. He just hoped Nora wasn’t suffering.
“Bovver is here,” she mouthed and he frowned, glancing over his shoulder. He hadn’t seen the scruffy little chav come in, but he didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. He glanced down at his hands, knuckles still bruised and grazed from pummelling Bov in... he tried his best to cover the worst of it with his other hand so Nora wouldn’t see. “Please... no trouble today.”
Dermot nodded his agreement. “No trouble,” he murmured. The vicar was still droning on, but he cleared his throat softly and spread his hands towards them.
“Before we begin our final goodbyes for Charlotte, we will play a song chosen by her loved ones. Shortly after, Mr Maximillian Sullivan will take the podium.”
Unable to resist, Dermot leaned into Max. “Fucking Maximillian? Since when?”
Before he could respond, a second song began to play, feeling the stone room with eerily beautiful music. There were sniffles from the crowd behind, but suddenly, Tristan gave a small wail and Dermot looked over to see the poor kid absolutely distraught. Instantly, Nora was on her feet, shuffling past them all to reach him. She handed him a tissue, kneeling down in front of him, her murmured words of reassurance unheard by the rest of them because of the song. Dermot pulled his gaze away, looking across at Jock. Jock looked at him. They both looked away again.
This was actually turning out to be one of the shittiest days of his life so far. Why had he even come? He didn’t need to be here, he didn’t know this woman, yet here he was, front and centre with that fucking vicar giving him the jeebies. Jock on one side, Max on the other, literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. Nora squeezed in beside Max and Tristan, giving Dermot no choice but to shift into Nora’s vacated seat. He heard Jock clear his throat softly. Dermot didn’t look at him, but when he spoke, it was directed to him, voice quiet so Max wouldn’t hear.
“Bov’s over there,” he said softly, eyes fixed to the coffin. “At the back somewhere. Nora spotted him.”
“And?” He replied out the corner of his mouth.
“Just telling you.”
“I don’t need you to tell me shit, Dermot.”
Dermot gave him a hard look. “I’m fucking sorry. I said sorry. What else do you want me to do?”
Jock’s eyes were still fixed ahead, and Dermot could see he was trying his best to restrain himself. He wished he wasn’t. If he wanted a fight, Dermot would happily give him one. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. Just stay the fuck away from Nora.” He looked at Dermot, lip curled in distaste, and Dermot stared back just as hard. And then Max was on his feet, making his way past to reach the podium and the two men fell silent. Everybody’s eyes were on Max, the whole church waiting to hear what he had to say. It was insane how easily he could captivate an audience. Dermot turned his attention back to Jock.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Jock shifted in his seat, looking away. “Seriously, Dermot, shut the fuck up.”
“No. I fucking won’t.” Nora must have heard their hissed whispers as she looked over at them uncertainly, little Tristan nestled in the crook of her arm. Dermot shook his head at her, before looking back at Jock. “If I could change what happened, then I would. But I can’t. But you won’t even give me a chance to make amends. You-“
“You really think you can fix this?” Jock asked, barely remembering to keep his voice low. Max shot them a glance, cleared his throat and continued talking. “You’re fucked in the head, pal. The fact you’re even still playing errand boy for that piece of shit up there says it all.” Jock shook his head. “You betrayed me. You betrayed us.”
Knowing he was getting nowhere, Dermot felt silent, glaring ahead of him. Neither said a word for the rest of Max’s speech, and then it was time for Benji to take to the podium, so he sat back to listen.
—-
“There’s so many people here. She had a young son, do you... do you think he will be here?”
Nora’s voice was faint and unsteady, and when Jock gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, she turned into his chest. Drawing her close, Jock gave her back a gentle rub, eyes fixed to the crowds ahead. “Perhaps.” Some people believed children should be exposed young, whereas others preferred to shield them from the harsher facts of life. His Da had been the former. He’d only been seven when he’d stood beside his Ma’s open casket and peered in at her remains. Cancer had ravished her, taking away the long blonde hair he’d loved; it had always reminded him of a princess.
She’d looked nothing like that in the coffin.
Would he have subjected his child to that? Seeing his Da hunched over, body wrecked with agonised sobs, helpless to offer any support. Funerals weren’t places for kids and he hoped they’d had the sense to leave him at home. He would have preferred to keep his memories of the youthful woman with the bright smile and the gleaming blue eyes than everything that had happened after. Glancing down, he caught Nora’s look and offered her a smile.
“Thank you for being here.”
Jock gently rubbed her lower back. “You know I’ll always support you, milseán.”
“I know, I know.” She grabbed his neck and tugged him until she could kiss his mouth and he savoured it as if it were a slice of heaven itself. He’d missed her incredibly in those long four days. It had been worse than the three years they’d spent apart, not even knowing if she was alive. “I’m here for you too. I hope you know that, even if I haven’t shown it recently.”
Jock smiled wistfully. “You don’t have to show it. I know.” He placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth, before the two of them headed inside. The church was already filling rapidly and they stood to one side for a moment to gather their bearings. Automatically, he sought out the only faces he was looking for; Dermot and Max. They were stood at the front, speaking to the vicar, and just seeing Max set his blood boiling. How easy it was for everybody to forget what had happened all those years ago, who that man was. A fucking bastard, a psychopath, who didn’t deserve the air he breathed.
Suddenly, Nora squeezed his hand hard enough to elicit a grunt of pain and he glanced at her in confusion. She was staring straight ahead, chest heaving, and he wondered if it was because she’d spotted his cousins. “What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer, her entire body rigid, eyes suddenly glistening with tears. Jock frowned, leaning closer. “Nora, what’s wrong?” He asked again, urgently.
“... Her son.”
Jock looked up, catching sight of the boy stood not too far from Max. He was stood beside a black man, both dressed for the occasion, and his eyes looked huge in his pale face. He looked daunted, eyes darting between the three men and the vicar conversing above him. He was only eight, at a guess. Dark hair and brown eyes, he looked just like his Ma. And Jock felt a wrenching pain in his chest, his own inner child crying out in anguish. It wasn’t fair. He was so young. “He looks just like her,” he said quietly and Nora nodded.
Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she looked at the coffin for a few moments, before becoming overwhelmed again, looking down at her feet. They were both quite aware that it could have been her in there. The vicar asked for seats to be taken and Jock looked up just as Dermot caught his eye from across the hall. He didn’t catch Nora’s inaudible gasp as she spotted Bov, giving Dermot’s the coldest look he could muster. Despite his apologies, Jock wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet. Not while he was still pining for Nora, and especially not while he was back in Max’s pocket.
“We should sit down,” Nora said, drawing his attention. “At the front.” Slipping her hand into his, Jock led her through the crowds of people all merging towards the pews, looking for a spare space that was as far away from those cunts as they could manage. Unfortunately, Max had other plans, as he called out, and Jock reluctantly slowed to a stop in front of him. For some reason, Dermot was giving Max a look Jock knew too well, brow furrowing slightly, and he didn’t miss the way he stuffed his fists away. What was going on?
“Joshua. Nora.” He looked between them both, as if he were generally sincere, and Jock bit back a scoff. “I saved you both a seat. I know how important this is to you.” It was a fucking facade. Jock thought it best not to open his mouth at all, leaving it to Nora to nod her acknowledgement, before she guided him into the pew. Benji and Tristan were at the far end and Max had taken his place beside them. Dermot was seated on his other side and for a moment, Nora hesitated before she sat. Dermot shifted uncertainly but Jock forced himself to focus on the coffin as they settled in their seats. Pretending he didn’t exist was better than slamming his head into the flagstone, Jock guessed.
Nora leaned forward, whispering a soft hello to Tristan, whose feet didn’t even reach the floor from where he was sat. Fuck. Poor kid. Nora squeezed his hand as he looked away and he squeezed it back, thumb trailing her knuckles. Once the melodic hymn faded out, the vicar made his way onto the podium and Jock risked a glance at Dermot. He was hunched forward, leg jittering, and his eyes were shadowed. A night on the whiskey? Or something harder? Fuck knew what he was getting up to now. Or what Max was making him do. Dermot looked at Nora then, leaning close to murmur something to her and Jock stared resolutely ahead, tension in his shoulders. He was like a kicked fucking puppy and Jock wished he’d let it go already. Nora was his. She’d chosen him, the only woman he’d ever loved had chosen him. The underdog, the fucking black sheep, had managed to take something from the Golden Boy and he’d be damned if he’d let her go without a fight.
Their conversation ended and they listened to the last of what the vicar had some say. Rattling on about Heaven gaining an angel and God receiving one of his children. Then, he announced a song would be played before Maximillian took the podium. Cunt. The song began to play, an enchanting yet sorrowful song, which Jock vaguely recognised. He’d definitely heard it back home, sometime in his youth. At the other end of the pew, Tristan began to sob, face already wet with tears when they all looked at him. Nora was on her feet in an instant, shifting past the others until she reached him. Kneeling down, she handed him a tissue, speaking soft words unheard because of the music.
Jock’s adoration for her seemed to grow in that very moment. No matter what demons she was facing, she’d braved it all to be here and to face the one person she had been worried about the most. She was stronger and more courageous than she gave herself credit for and she’d survived through things that would break most people, and he loved her so much more because of it.
Dermot was watching her too. A moment later, he looked over, meeting Jock’s gaze before they both looked away. The song was reaching its climax now, echoing off the high stone ceiling in the most haunting way and many people behind them were in tears. Even Jock had to reluctantly give credit to Max; he’d really pulled out all the stops for this one. The only question was why? To his dismay, Nora didn’t return, but squeezed in between Max and Tristan, her back purposefully towards the older man. But this meant they were all forced up and Dermot shifted into the spot beside him. Jock stiffened. No fucking way. Clearing his throat softly, he stared ahead and tried to pretend he didn’t exist.
“Bov’s over there,” Dermot murmured, directed towards him, and Jock sensed he was trying to be discreet. This news was surprising though. “At the back somewhere. Nora spotted him.”
Jock tried not to let the frown flicker across his face. Why hadn’t she told him? He kept his gaze ahead. “And?”
“Just telling you.”
“I don’t need you to tell me shit, Dermot.” He really wished Dermot would stop talking. He was trying to concentrate on the song and not the steady rising of heat in his chest. That runt Bovver wasn’t a threat to him, he didn’t need Dermot to have his back. He saw Dermot glare at him from the corner of his eye, but he refused to look away from the flora spilling from the coffin.
“I’m fucking sorry. I said sorry. What else do you want me to do?”
Jock grit his jaw, hard. Nora wouldn’t want him to kill Dermot, he reminded himself fiercely. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from you,” he hissed, desperate to constrain his anger. “Just stay the fuck away from Nora.” He turned his head to look at Dermot, unable to hide his disgust as the song ended. His cousin held his gaze unwaveringly and Jock could sense the fight inside of him. But before anything could boil over, Max cut the eye contact by pushing past them. Jock followed his path to the podium, a confident air about him, reminding him of those church pastors in backwater American films. Everybody was focused on him and as he began to speak, it was clear Max was in his element.
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Jock shifted in his seat, looking over at the pew adjacent to them, anything to keep composed. Dermot was pissing Jock off. Why couldn’t he stop talking? “Seriously, Dermot, shut the fuck up.”
“No. I fucking won’t,” came his petulant hiss. Nora looked over at them with a frown and Jock exhaled heavily. This wasn’t the time or place and he wished Dermot would stop trying to make it so. “If I could change what happened, then I would. But I can’t. But you won’t even give me a chance to make amends. You-“
“You really think you can fix this?” Jock shot back hotly. Max glanced their way, so he lowered his voice, leaning close. “You’re fucked in the head, pal. The fact you’re even still playing errand boy for that piece of shit up there says it all.” Jock shook his head. “You betrayed me. You betrayed us.”
Finally, Dermot took the hint and shut his fucking maw. The silence was loud and unbearable, a physical entity between them, punctured by the ending words of Max’s speech. He’d be glad when this fucking thing was over.
—-
“I can’t do my tie.”
Benji looked up from where he was lacing his shiny black shoes to see Tristan stood in front of the bedroom mirror. He had the ends of the tie in his hands and was staring down at it in bewilderment. Yet another reminder of how young he was. Of how he shouldn’t have even been having to do this. The day of the funeral had come in the blink of an eye and neither were ready. Mentally nor emotionally. Getting to his feet, Benji crossed the room and took the silk from his hand. “‘Ere. Let me.”
Tristan stood patiently as Benji worked the tie, easing the knot until it rested just beneath the collar of his white shirt. Max had had two suits delivered the day before and Benji could honestly say he’d never worn anything so pricey before. It even blew his Nike collection out the window, when he’d googled the tailor and realised both suits together cost well over a thousand bags. He’d known the Sullivans were big money, but he didn’t realise how vastly wealthy they were until they turned up outside his house in a smart black Range Rover and a Rolls Royce. The fuck. He and Tristan had been waiting by the door at that point and even Tristan’s eyes widened at the sight.
“Benji.” Max had taken the Range Rover keys from his companion, a square-set man with a prosthetic hand peeking from beneath his sleeve. His face and neck were also scarred, burned by the looks. Benji wondered briefly what happened, then decided he didn’t really care. It had been a hard enough morning as it was. Last night, Tristan’s night terrors had returned with vengeance and neither had slept well. Whenever Benji had shut his eyes, he’d seen the inside of the storage unit and in the early hours, he ended up calling Lucien to talk.
“They’re demons, cuz. Your demons. If being with the kid is too hard, maybe you should change your plan.”
“What do you mean?” Benji had asked, stiffly. Lucien had hesitated.
“It’s gettin’ in your head, fam. This whole murder. You’re lettin’ it affect you.”
“And you wouldn’t?” Benji had snapped. “The kid has nobody else, cuz. Nobody.” Nobody from Charlotte’s family had called or turned up at the door, concerned for his welfare, and Benji wondered how good a terms she had been on with her family. How had she managed to get sucked in with Nick in the first place? In the end, Lucien had apologised, but Benji didn’t feel any better after the call and it took a couple of bourbons before he could sleep again.
Now, outside the house, watching Max approach, he wondered once again whether he was making the right choice. Turning his back on everything he knew to become Max Sullivan’s lapdog. Max held out the keys, a smirk lingering on his lips. “This is yours. You work for me, you drive in style. Isn’t that right, Tristan?” He looked down at the boy, who shrank back behind Benji’s legs, and Benji couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that Tristan trusted him to protect him. “See you at the church.”
He got back into the Rolls, his friend getting into the passenger seat as the engine purred into life. Benji watched them back out the driveway before looking down at Tristan. “Ready?” Tristan shook his head. “Me neither. Come on.“ Guiding Tristan by the shoulder, he led him to the Range Rover and helped him climb the step into the passenger seat. The car smelt brand new; crisp leather, with an undertone of a masculine musk from the air freshener that hung from the rear view mirror. The seat absolutely swamped Tristan, and Benji leaned around to fix his seatbelt.
“Is there going to be lots of people there?” He asked; the first real thing he’d said all day. Benji nodded.
“I think so. Your mum touched a lot of people’s lives.”
“What does that mean?”
Benji straightened a little, eyes soft as he studied Tristan. “It means she was so lovely and kind and beautiful that loads of people liked her. Loved her. And they miss her.”
Tristan looked away. “Not as much as me.”
Dampening his bottom lip, Benji nodded, reaching to touch his head. “I know, Triss. I know.” Shutting the door, he made his way around to the driver’s side and climbed in. The engine came to life at a simple touch of a button and then they were off, leaving Charlotte’s house and headed across the city to the church. He kept the radio on low the entire time, to give Tristan a distraction from his thoughts, but whether it worked, it wasn’t sure. Tristan just stared solemnly out the window, just as he had the day he found out his mum had been murdered. It was a surprisingly quick drive to the church; every light seemed to turn green as he approached, and the part of him that was desperate for reassurance told him it was Charlotte, making sure they got there safe. And on time.
The car park was filling rapidly by the time they arrived and even Tristan craned his neck over the dashboard to gawk at the crowds swarming the church entrance. “Are they here for Mummy?”
“I think so, kid.”
Tristan’s lips parted a little as he continued to stare. “... Lots of people really do love Mummy, don’t they?” He said quietly. Benji nodded.
“Of course. She was a great person.” He watched as Tristan sat back, a small frown on his face before he looked at Benji, searching his face.
“But, Mummy loves us the best. You stayed late and Mummy never lets anybody stay late.” Then he scowled. “Except Nick, but he didn’t ask. He wasn’t allowed to stay, he just did. He made Mummy sad all the time. At night time, I used to hear her cry a lot. And then you came and I liked it. Because it made Mummy smile again.” He paused, eyes still fixed to Benji’s. “Mummy loved you because she smiled at us the same. Do you know what I mean?”
Benji was still. Tristan hadn’t really opened up to him yet and he hadn’t quite expected it right now, outside the church. It was hard not to feel emotional; the mention of Walker had chilled him, but what he’d said about Charlotte had soothed any upset he’d felt. Charlotte had loved him. Kids were observant and clever, and it was clear Tristan wasn’t to be fooled.
“Sorry I made you sad,” Tristan murmured after a moment, and Benji looked at him, eyes glazed. Reaching out, he ruffled his hair softly.
“You didn’t. You were being honest.” Benji paused, throat working. “I’m sorry you had to deal with ‘im alone. You and your mum. And... thanks for trustin’ me, Triss. I know it isn’t easy.” Tristan nodded and the two looked back out the window. “I think we should go in.”
“Okay.”
Benji climbed down from the Range Rover and shut the door, straightening his suit as he looked around. He could see the Rolls parked next to a silver Mercedes and felt the anxious stirring in the pit of his stomach again. But he couldn’t worry about that today, he had to get him and Tristan through this fucking funeral. Moving around the front of the car, Benji opened the passenger side door and helped Tristan jump down. “Stick wit’ me, yeah? There’s a space for us at the front.” Tristan took his hand, holding it tightly, and together they walked towards the church.
It was a truly glorious day. The autumn sun beamed and a light breeze rippled the leaves of the trees overhead. The church itself was a magnificent structure he’d never paid much attention before. Growing up in London, the landmarks were of no more interest than your local Post Office, but now Benji found himself taking in every detail of the stone, every colour of the stained glass windows. This was Charlotte’s final resting place and he committed every moment to memory, heart pounding in his throat the entire way.
They passed Max’s companion in the entrance, the one with the fake hand. Benji made no motion of recognition as he led Tristan inside; he didn’t know who he was, nor cared. Inside the church, there was somber air as people huddled together, softly murmuring in groups. Others were passing down the aisle to murmur their condolences to Max. And behind Max...
Charlotte’s coffin.
He and Tristan both froze as they turned into the aisle, eyes fixed on the gleaming wood and the light glinting off the golden plaque. He couldn’t see the name from here, but he already knew what it read. Charlotte Foster. Taking a deep breath, Benji gave Tristan’s hand a gentle tug; they continued towards Max. He was standing with the vicar, exchanging solemn pleasantries with other mourners. He wasn’t alone. There was a tall man beside him, dark haired, though his eyes were lighter than his brother’s; hazel. Benji didn’t need to ask questions, the facial similarities were answer enough, to know that this was the second Sullivan of the infamous trio - Dermot.
He looked moody, casting an eye around the room and only pausing to murmur some words when Max introduced them. Benji was pleased his assumption was right. If both brothers were here, did that mean the cousin was too? Benji led Tristan into the front pew, Benji right at the far end, and they both look at the coffin. Gentle music was playing in the background and people were beginning to gather their seats. Max and Dermot sat, along with the woman he’d seen at the storage unit. Benji did a double take when he saw her; her wrist was cast and she looked a little daunted. As she sat, she caught sight of Tristan and leaned forward to give him a smile and a soft hello. Tristan, to give him his credit, smiled and waved back. She was holding the hand of a red haired man, who was tall and broad and took up the most of two seats on his own.
Once everybody was seated, Max passed programmes down the row and while Tristan opened it up to read, Benji sat, staring at her picture, blown up large on the coffin. Max looked at him over the boy’s head. “Are you going to say some words?” Benji didn’t look at him for a moment, struggling to pull his eyes away from her smile; a smile reserved only for the ones she loved. Glancing at Max, he nodded. “Alright, but you better have a few more to say than that.” At this, Benji glared but the vicar began to speak then and their attention was drawn.
What he said wasn’t anything Benji hadn’t heard off the TV and he found himself restless. He hadn’t planned what he’d intended to say, just that he wanted to say something, but he knew whatever he came up with would be better than this. The only thing the vicar did get right was that she would continue to live through Tristan, which he could already see clearly as the days passed. Soon, the vicar announced Max would speak after a song had been played, and everybody went silent as the first notes struck the air. It was hauntingly beautiful, resounding off the high ceiling and Benji felt goose bumps rise.
At his side, he heard Tristan sob and looked down to see tears streaming down his face. Benji slid an arm around his shoulders to bring him close, but Tristan couldn’t take his eyes from the coffin. The woman from the storage unit was quick on her feet, moving to kneel in front of him, and Benji flashed her an appreciative glance. “Hey. I’m Nora.” She reached to wipe a tear from his face, the gesture so motherly that it reduced Tristan from sobs to sniffles. “I met your mummy a few days ago, she was such a lovely person, wasn’t she?”
Tristan nodded, bottom lip still trembling. Benji gave his arm a soft rub.
“Do you think I could sit next to you?” Nora asked, glancing at Benji for permission. He nodded, unable to question exactly how he was feeling. This was the woman who Charlotte had saved, this was another victim of Walker’s, yet here she was, here to pay her respects. More than that, here to comfort the boy who’d lost a mother, despite her own trauma. She slid in beside Max and Tristan, forcing the others up, her body crowding round Tristan to shield him from the rest of the mourners. Nora caught his eye over the top of Tristan’s head; he was slumped against her, eyes wide and distant. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed to him and he could feel the tears stinging his eyes. He was barely keeping it together, in all honesty. “Are you okay? Is it... alright that I’m here?”
“I’m glad you are,” he told her honestly. “And I hope you’re doin’ alright, too.”
The song came to an end and it was time for Max to take to the podium. Nora had given Tristan a tissue, which he had wedged against his nose, eyes fixed to Max. He began to talk, thanking everybody for their attendance, and Benji was reminded strongly of the business man he was. “It actually feels strange to be speaking here today. I didn’t know Charlotte well, but what I did know of her was she was brave. She certainly would be holding steadfast if she were here today. So, I will keep my words brief.”
Benji looked away from him, to the large photograph of Charlotte, and wished she was here and that they were far away from this church. None of this was right. None of this made sense. “I want to say goodbye. I want to say goodbye to someone who was frightened, but always curious and I want to say goodbye to a mother who fiercely loved her son.” At this, Tristan gave a shaky exhale. “I want to remind you all that grief is an expression of love, and you are all welcome to express that pain here today, free from judgement and shame.”
Nodding, Max took a moment to compose himself as he glanced away, and all around them, Benji could hear sobs and sniffles. “Most of all I want to remind you all to move forward. Time doesn’t slow for anyone. I of all people know that.” Benji felt like these words had a meaning, and noticed the way he glanced towards his brother. “You see me stood here as a business man. Some of you may think I’m simply here for publicity. Some of you thought I was still dead! And some of you may think I enjoy rallying a crowd, but the real reason I’m here is for my son.” Benji shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes narrowing on Max. Was this a speech for Charlotte or a fuckin’ political rally? He’d been too hasty in agreeing to the deal, he realised. What he’d thought was an act of kindness - loosely termed - was indeed just a publicity stunt for the biggest crook in London.
“Charlotte has reminded me that life is brief and I will thank her every morning for waking me up to all the opportunities I almost let slip by.” He turned to look at her picture, taking a moment before he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose, and Benji was surprised to see genuine emotion on his face. He turned back to the mourners, before searching Benji out, and he swallowed hard to compose himself. “Now… The man who you really want to listen to will now. Benji Johnson.”
It was time. Benji got to his feet, squeezing Tristan’s shoulder lightly and giving Nora another weak smile. As he passed Max, the man locked eyes with him, reaching to give his shoulder a supporting touch. Benji nodded at him, honestly grateful for the gesture. He felt unsteady and sick. Not to mention the fact he hated speaking in front of an audience and hadn’t done that shit since school. Stepping up to the podium, Benji took a moment to steady his breathing. He glanced at Charlotte’s photo, then back out at the sea of faces before him. He looked away again and tried to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. Somebody blew into a tissue somewhere at the back.
Clearing his throat softly, Benji tried to forget the fact there were over a hundred sets of eyes on him. “Um, not many of you know me. Hardly any of you, to be honest. And... I didn’t know Charlotte for as long as I should have. The first time I met her...” He trailed off, eyes distant for a moment as he recalled that day; Nick and Charlotte by the car as he threatened her. He hated that what memories he did have of her were tainted by Walker, but today was about her and he had to find the silver lining somewhere. “The first time I met Charlotte...”
His gaze darted to Tristan who was watching him intently, nestled beneath Nora’s arm, his eyes red and glistening. “Your mum changed my life,” he said, directly to Tristan. “It was like when it’s a wet, miserable day and you’re drenched and cold and then all of a sudden the rain stops and the sun comes out... your mum was like the sun. It was hard not to smile when I was around her. She made everything better. That smile...” He glanced at the photograph on the coffin and felt the lump form in his throat, the pain taking his words. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.
“... That smile was one of the most wonderful I’ve ever seen. It was the kind of smile that lit up her eyes and made you feel... joyful.” He looked back at the boy in the front row. “But, if there was one thing that made her smile more than anything, it was you, Tristan. Everything she did was for you. You made her life complete in a way nobody else could. I may not have known her very long, but I know that becoming a mother was the making of her. You were the making of her, Triss. And she might not be here now, but she’ll... she’ll...” Swallowing hard, Benji tried not to let the tears overwhelm him as he put his palm against his chest. “She’ll always be here, okay? Always. Every step of the way, she’s there.”
Tristan was suddenly on his feet, rushing towards the podium and Benji stepped down to grab him; the boy collided with him hard, arms tight around his middle as he sobbed, and Benji shut his eyes for a moment, willing himself not to lose it in front of everybody. Straightening, he wiped his nose in the back of his hand and stood with Tristan tight around him, looking at the coffin.
“I made a promise to you that I’d look after Tristan and I swear to you now, Charlotte, I will never break it. No harm will ever come to him while I’m around and we’re both going to do you proud... I love you.” His last words were a murmur. They moved closer to the coffin and Benji placed his hand on the top and felt the cool wood against his palm. Then, Tristan reached up and touched it too, palm flat against the side.
“I love you, Mummy. I miss you so much.”
Both Benji and Tristan looked exhausted as they sat back down, the vicar taking to the podium to conduct the final hymns. Nobody else stood to make a speech and it angered him. All this family, all these people here for her... where were they when it mattered? Where were they when they’d really needed her? Benji might not have gotten there in time, but at least he’d been trying. At least he’d been doing something.
—-
As Benji and Tristan left the podium, there was barely a dry eye in the church. Except for Bov’s. He’d felt no pity, no tugging of his heart strings the entire time Benji was speaking. In fact, he’d barely paid attention to what the man had to say, as he’d still been lingering, infuriated, on Max’s speech.
“Most of all I want to remind you all to move forward. Time doesn’t slow for anyone. I of all people know that.”
Move forward? As if it was that simple? As if he hadn’t burst into their lives on the back of Tommy Hatcher and done everything he could to ruin them? Bovver had no idea if the words were directed at him, whether Max knew he was there or not, but Bov’s glare had been dark the entire time he’d been making his grand speech. It was pathetic, the amount of fawning people were doing over the simple fact he’d been generous enough to pay for the funeral. The funeral of a woman he didn’t even know! It was fake, a fucking act, and Bov wanted nothing more than to lamp him. Smash his face in until he was unrecognisable.
Never mind the fact he was a psychopathic killer. Never mind the fact that he’d faked his own death for years, just to come back worse than before. Everything the GSE had been through because of him... they’d been through some lows, but nothing compared to the shit they’d had to deal with from Max and his family. The Sullivans were the scum of the earth, gypsy inbreds, and the sooner they were dead and buried, the better.
Bov’s eyes found Dermot at the front. The main reason why he was here. Whereas Pete’s fight had always been against Max, it was Dermot who’d single-handedly destroyed Bov’s life, it was Dermot who he had his sights set on. First Nora, then Lara? Who would be next? Fucking Alice? Isla? All those years of him trying to prove he was better than Bov, that he was a good person... it was about time the wool was taken from people’s eyes and the truth known.
Did Max know what his brother had been up to? A small smirk alighted his lips. He doubted it. If anything, Dermot was keeping the whole thing under wraps, a secret. Shame Lara had such a big gob, she hadn’t been able to resist telling. Now Pete knew, the GSE knew, and it was only a matter of time before Max knew too. And Bov couldn’t fucking wait. As the vicar led the mourners in a final hymn, Bov thought about the second part of the speech which had pissed him off.
“... the real reason I’m here is for my son.”
If Pete had been here, how would he have reacted? Max preaching about his son, as if he had the right. As if he’d raised him all these years, fed him, clothed him. Pete had been the one to do all that, to take another man’s son as his own, and he was a better man than Bov because of it. Max was using this entire event to his benefit, so when the time came to strike, nobody would question it. The last ringing notes died out and after a few moments, people began to stir and leave the seats.
Getting to his feet, his injuries still protesting, Bov cast a look over to the Sullivans before he turned and followed the flow of mourners from the church.
—-
“I appreciated your attention, dearthair.”
Max hissed as he sat down beside him, holding his stare for a long moment, but Dermot didn’t break it. Benji had just taken to the podium, looking uncertain and out of place, but truthfully, Dermot was finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than his own worries. He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not my attention you want,” he muttered, unsure if Max even heard him or not. Because it wasn’t. Max didn’t need his attention, nor his awe, nor to be idolised by him. These were things he craved off other people, nobodies, people so irrelevant that they weren’t even noticeable. He didn’t need Dermot’s validation, so what the fuck was his problem?
“I liked your speech,” he heard Nora said, glancing over at the same time Max did. “But I don’t believe a fucking word of it.” Before he could respond, she shifted herself and Tristan down the pew to generate some space, and Dermot would have found the exchange amusing if it wasn’t for the dark way Max glared at her, fist balling on his lap. He wanted to hurt her, Dermot just knew. It rolled off him in waves and for a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, he furiously loosened his tie and glanced at Dermot, catching his eye.
“She’s a fucking street rat,” he murmured darkly, then added, “I’m losing patience with her.”
Dermot felt himself tense, eyes never leaving Max’s face, and when he spoke, his words were low and dangerous. “Is that a threat?” Max shrugged without answering. But Dermot didn’t need an answer. “You don’t fucking touch her.” The two brothers stared at each other for a long moment, Benji’s voice nothing but background noise as it echoed off the stone. “She’s been through enough.” No matter what had happened, he’d still protect Nora if she needed it, and truthfully, he was glad Jock hadn’t overheard Max’s words. There would have been a fight and Charlotte’s funeral would have forever been tainted by the Sullivan’s warring.
Max made some comment about his attitude today and Dermot shook his head, glancing away. It was hard to look at Max, afraid he’d read the truth in his eyes. The real reason why he felt so pent-up and frustrated. He was poking the bear and he knew it. Anything else was left unsaid when Tristan suddenly jumped to his feet and ran to Benji. They all watched, Dermot feeling as if he was intruding on a personal moment. As Benji addressed the coffin, it was clear how distraught he truly was and how he managed not to break down, Dermot had no idea. What if this was him one day, saying his goodbyes to Lara? Would Max kill her when he found out? Or would it be Dermot in the coffin, Lara weeping beside an emotionless Max?
It made him sick to think.
When Benji and Tristan had resumed their seats beside Nora, the vicar led them all in final hymn. Dermot didn’t sing, didn’t even attempt to make it look like he was. He’d heard this one before and he hated it; everything here reminded him of that perverted priest. But he could hear Nora’s high clear tune and Tristan’s wavering one and listened solemnly until the hymn ended. Slowly, people began to gather themselves, the pews beginning to empty. It was time to lay Charlotte to rest.
Jock pushed past them without a word to stand with Nora, but Dermot was more than ready to get out of there. He left Max behind, joining the throng of people, desperate for some fresh air. Churches always had that old stale smell and he couldn’t bear it a moment longer. Outside in the car park, he headed to his car and stood by the bonnet to light a cigarette. Most of the congregation were following the white stone path around to the cemetery where Charlotte would be buried, but he kept his back to them and smoked. He’d barely had a couple of drags when he heard steps approaching across the gravel. Instantly, his mood darkened. Couldn’t Max just fuck off.
“There’s nothing wrong with my attitude, so save me the lecture,” he muttered, as the footsteps paused behind him. As soon as he heard the obnoxious sniff, he knew it wasn’t Max.
“I think your attitude is the least of your fuckin’ problems, bruv.”
Dermot turned around, taking a slow drag as he looked Bovver up and down. He was standing straight enough, despite the beating, and his bruises were a grotesque mix of colours. He’d shed his usual chavvy gear for a smart suit Dermot suspected wasn’t his. Not that it mattered. The cunt was clearly stupid, simply for the fact he was standing here right now. “I take it you’re not here on the social, Bov, so just spit it out.”
Frustratingly, Bov merely smiled, tilting his head. “You’re right. I’m just ‘ere to pass on a little message, to you and your precious fuckin’ brother.”
Dermot took a disinterested drag and let the smoke billow. The nicotine was really having little effect on his temper. “Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
“War’s been declared. The GSE are-“
“Oh, for fuck sake, Bov,” Dermot spat, a look of disgust creeping onto his face. “You think I give a single shit about your fucking football firm? Stop wasting my time.”
Bovver glowered at him, stepping forward. “You and your brother ‘ave been trampling on us for too long. Max is going to pay for what he’s done and so are you. You really think Pete’s gonna let him walk away with Charlie, all hunky dory? Nah. I’m here to let you know you better be watching your back. Both of you.”
“You came all this way to say that?” Dermot curled his lip, took a final drag of his cigarette and flicked it at Bov’s feet. “You couldn’t even fight me one on one, and the one time you did best me, you had to knock me unconscious and tie me to a fucking chair. I’ll pay attention when you actually do something, instead of running your fucking little mouth.” Done with conversation, Dermot pushed past him.
“I know you fucked Lara,” Bov hissed when he’d gone a few steps. “We all do. Made it easy for her, did ya?” Dermot froze, that heavy feeling of unease returning to his gut. He’d wondered if Pete had spilled and now he had his answer. He looked at Bov to find him smirking. “Not so chatty now, are you, bruv? Does Max know you’ve been fuckin’ with his things?”
“She isn’t an object,” Dermot breathed. Bov barked a laugh, genuine humour in his eyes, as he lifted his brows.
“Fuckin’ give over. I know the two of yous ‘ave been playin’ Pass The Parcel with that slag for years. Was Lara always such a filthy whore or is it just for -“ He didn’t finish. Dermot slammed him hard into the side of the neighbouring car by the lapels of his suit, Bov’s air escaping him with a grunt. Dermot’s face was crammed close to his as he held him in place.
“Don’t you fucking dare say her name,” he spat. “I swear to God, I will kill you right now.” Before he could make good of his promise, somebody else loomed behind and grabbed him back. It was Jock, and he had to use a bit of force to keep Dermot from lunging at Bov again. “You’re a fucking dead man walking, Bov, I fucking promise you.”
Bovver shrugged away from the car, still smirking, much to Dermot’s frustration as he glowered back at him. “Don’t worry, bruv,” Bov said softly, brushing down the front of his suit. He looked up, meeting his eye, smiling. “Your secret’s safe with me... For now.” He glanced at Jock with a nod, then walked off, unable to disguise his limp. Dermot watched him go and Jock could see the darkness in his face.
“The cunt’s not worth it.”
“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”
Jock gave a dry chuckle, slipping his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. “Somebody had to.” It fell quiet between the two of them, Dermot pulling out a second cigarette and lighting it. He offered the packet to Jock, who sighed and took one. “What’s going on with you, D?” He knew there was something eating away at his cousin and he raised an eyebrow, letting Dermot know he wasn’t about to accept any bullshit with a look. “What secret does Bov know?”
Dermot wouldn’t look at him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” Jock sighed and lit his cigarette. “Has it got anything to do with Nora?” Dermot shook his head and once again, the silence stretched. Finally, Jock leaned back against the bonnet and stared at him. “You’re a messed up cunt, Dermot, you know that?”
Dermot surprised him with a laugh. “... Yeah. If only you knew.”
“So tell me.”
“I can’t.” Dermot looked up and the anguish in his eyes was startling. “Not right now.” Jock looked at him for a few moments linger, then nodded and stretched his legs.
“Fine.” Tossing the half-smoked cigarette, Jock straightened. “I’m going to find Nora. I’ll uh... see you around.”
Dermot watched him leave in the direction of the burial. Unbeknownst to him, on the other side of the church, Max had just received some surprising - and not so welcome - news of his own. By the time Dermot took his place beside Max, the coffin was already getting lowered into the ground as the vicar read rites and sprinkled the wood with earth.
—
“Can’t I come?” Daisy asked that morning, popping her head around the bedroom door. Bruce was stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, fixing his tie, and Moira was at her vanity table, applying her make-up. Setting down her mascara, she shifted in her chair to face their little girl, a slight frown on her face.
“Not today, Dais. It’s not really for children.”
Daisy pouted, sidling into the room, her favourite teddy hanging from her hand. She was wearing a pink bandana on her head, printed with white daisies. “Whose funeral is it?”
“Who said we’re going to a funeral?” Moira asked and Daisy flashed Bruce a sly look.
“I heard Daddy talking on the phone. Whose died?”
“Daisy,” Moira warned, but she wasn’t to be deterred.
“Well, that’s what happens at funerals,” she retorted, matter-of-factly. “Someone dies and they go in a box. I saw it on TV.”
“Then no more TV for you,” came her mother’s reply as she turned back to the mirror. Bruce tightened his tie, then turned and crossed the room to pick Daisy up.
“Mummy and Daddy won’t be long. A few hours tops. And anyway, you like staying with Beth. You always have fun.”
“I do like Beth,” Daisy agreed, referring to the seventeen year old that lived next door and often babysat. “But I still wanna come.” Then, she pouted, for added effect. Bruce smiled and kissed the side of her head.
“Still a no. But, we’ll bring you a Happy Meal home. How does that sound?” Daisy brightened with an eager nod. Setting her down on her feet, Bruce patted her bandana. “Go play. I want to speak to your Mummy a minute.” Watching his daughter leave the room, Bruce gave a small sigh and looked over at Moira. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Oh, I’m ready,” Moira replied, applying a thick coat of red lipstick. “I knew Charlotte. We’d go for drinks together sometimes. I can’t believe...” She pursed her lips and swallowed. “She deserves justice. I don’t know what went on in that storage unit, but this funeral stinks, Bruce.” She looked over at him and he saw the tears glittering. “You know what I mean?”
Bruce nodded and moved closer to touch her chin. “I know. We’ll get to the bottom of it. For her.”
“Why is Brian so interested in the Sullivans?” She asked and Bruce shook his head softly, glancing towards the door. They could hear Daisy giggling at the children’s channel in the front room. “If he’s interested, it’s never a good thing.” Bruce looked back at her.
“I don’t know. But I have my theories. The Sullivans hold a lot of power in their respective circles. I think Brian’s getting greedy.”
“He’s got his fingers in a lot of pies, but it’s never enough,” Moira agreed with a soft murmur, then sighed and shook her head. “Anything you find out, tell me first. I started building the case as soon as I heard what happened to Charlotte. We need to be careful about what you tell Brian.”
“Don’t worry.” Bruce knelt down, taking her hands as he met her eye; her brow was creased in that stubborn little way it always was when she had a plan. He saw so much of his wife in Daisy, her fight, her dogged determination, that it took his breath away sometimes and reminded him of how much he loved them. And how everything he was doing was for them. “We can do this.”
“For Charlotte.”
“For Charlotte.”
Moira’s lower lip wobbled and she looked across at herself in the mirror, squeezing his hands tightly as she forced composure. “It was a trick I learnt at law school,” she’d told him once. “If you ever find yourself getting emotional in a courtroom, excuse yourself to the restroom and stare into the mirror. Nobody likes seeing themselves cry. Those tears dry up in seconds.”
The doorbell rang in the hall. “I’m ready,” Moira said and he helped her to her feet and together, they headed through to house to greet the Beth, the babysitter.
—
The church was packed. It felt like everybody had flooded in to pay their respects, the pews filling rapidly as Bruce and Moira joined the of mourners at the back of the church. It was actually the Sullivan cousin he spotted first. He was standing off to one side, a petite, dark-haired woman with a cast-wrist hugging into him. Jock Sullivan. The one who’d snuck Robbie Croft out of hospital.
Bruce had been on watch that night. He’d seen enough mugshots in the case-files to know exactly what they all looked like, but he’d still been surprised to see Jock. He’d been sat in his unmarked car when he’d watched him help the injured young officer to his own car. And for a moment, he was sure Jock had sensed he’d been seen. The moment passed and the two disappeared into the night. And Bruce did nothing. If Brian knew he’d done nothing, he’d surely but a bullet between his eyes. Daisy wouldn’t get her treatment and Moira would have to somehow cope with the loss of both of them.
Why hadn’t he told Brian? Mainly because Croft had been innocent in this. It hadn’t felt right and technically, Bruce had stepped in to stop Brian shooting him again. He’d been contemplating doing the same, conscious torn between the health of his daughter and the money Brian could offer, or saving an innocent man’s life. Bruce hadn’t come onto the Force to help breed the corruption and he’d been grateful that Jock had done the work for him.
Bruce was pulled from his thoughts when Moira shook his arm gently and nodded towards the front. That’s when he saw them; Max was stood at the front of the church, greeting the stream of people before they took their seats. He was suited expensively, hair shorter than the photographs Bruce had seen. He was clean-shaven now too, but his eyes seemed to grab his attention the most; one a dark brown and the other a blinding blue which seemed to pierce you the moment it grazed you.
He hadn’t always been like that. For the past week, Bruce had traveled through countless case files and had been in contact with the Garda to piece together the Sullivan’s dark family history. The blue eye had only appeared in recent years, due to an accident Bruce was yet to find information about.
He’d found out other stuff though, things Brian was particularly interested in. Max and Dermot were brothers, born and raised in Dublin. Their father had died when the youngest had only been fifteen. Blown himself up in an IRA pipe bomb accident by the riverside. Patrick Sullivan also had a criminal record longer than his arm, from petty theft to suspected murder, and how the bastard had managed to evade capture for so long was pretty astounding. By the sounds of it, the Sullivans had been such big business in Ireland that even the Garda didn’t want to touch them.
Max’s record was surprisingly clean. Not so much as a speeding ticket. Dermot’s was the same and Jock apparently had spent one night in a cell for being drunk and disorderly back when he was only a late teen. Bruce had known instantly what this meant. They had connections in the force covering for them and whoever that was, they’d kept beneath Brian Shaw’s radar. Bruce was in no doubt that these people had done some heinous crimes and though it would take a little digging, Bruce would get to the bottom of it. Unless Brian already knew? Was that why he was so interested?
They approached Max; Moira dabbing her mascara-streaked face with a folded tissue as Bruce soothingly rubbed her lower back. Dermot wasn’t paying them any attention, but Max greeted them with a soft murmur, reaching to shake their hands in turn. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot.”
“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Moira replied with a tearful glance at the coffin. “I knew her from the school run. I just can’t... such a tragedy.” She stifled a sob, which Bruce had a hard time telling whether it was feigned or genuine. Dabbing her eyes again, she looked back at Max. “How did you know her? If you don’t mind me asking?” She looked over at the large photograph of Charlotte, shaking her head sorrowfully.
Max gave a smile that was purposefully sincere. “I worked with her.”
“You’ve done so much for her,” Moira replied, managing a smile as her eyes welled with tears again. “Thank you.” She began to cry again and Bruce made a soothing noise and flashed Max an apologetic smile. Rubbing Moira’s back, he turned and guided her away so the people behind could relay their gratitude to the oldest Sullivan. They took their seats towards the back beside an elderly couple who smelt over-powerfully of rose perfume. Bruce scratched his nose as Moira wiped her eyes. Then, she dabbed her nose, covering her lips in case anybody could lipread. “Complete bullshit.”
“Which bit?”
“All of it,” she muttered. “He’s never worked with Charlotte. I checked through her work computer last night, there’s no connection whatsoever.”
“Why would he lie?” Bruce murmured and she shot him a look.
“I don’t know. That’s your job.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Isn’t it yours?”
Moira looked back to the front, fierce determination in her eyes. “When the case lands on my desk, it will be.”
The funeral went as most funerals go and Bruce only really paid attention when Max took to the podium. Everything about him reminded Bruce of a predator; charming and alluring, enticing you in until he could kill you. It was in his eyes. The brown held the passion, the charm, but the blue held ice, a fixed shark-like look Bruce had only seen in the most psychotic of criminals. While he spoke, Bruce tried to piece together what he already knew about Charlotte’s death.
A petty criminal called Benji Johnson had brought her to St. George’s not long after her death at an industrial storage facility. She’d been stabbed multiple times and had, Bruce assumed, bled out pretty quickly. He’d yet to see the autopsy reports, which wouldn’t be released until Monday, but he did know from forensics that it wasn’t just her blood found in the storage unit, but three peoples. Charlotte’s made up the majority, but there was also a mixture of blood from another man, Nick Walker. Nick’s charred body had been found in Charlotte’s burnt-out car outside and no evidence could be found to who set the fire. They theorised Nick may have set it himself.
The third blood indicator was from an unknown woman; this was found out by DNA taken from residue flesh on the handcuff hanging from the blood. As if, perhaps, she had injured her hand trying to escape. There was no matches on the database however, but Bruce’s eyes slid back to the woman sat beside Jock, recalling the cast on her wrist. Was that why the Sullivans were involved? Had Charlotte actually worked for them? There were too many unanswered questions and Bruce shifted, frustrated.
Moira scoffed beneath her breath at something Max said and then he was leaving the podium and Benji was taking the stand. His speech was a lot more emotional and heartfelt and even Moira had to start dabbing with her tissue again. Once the funeral had ended and they were back outside, Bruce reached into his pocket. “I’m going to have a wander around.”
“Don’t be late for the burial,” Moira warned.
“Five minutes,” he promised, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. He watched her turn and walk away, before moving off and heading towards the car park. He heard the voices before he saw them; Jock restraining Dermot as he pinned another man against the side of a car. Bruce slowed instantly, taking a step back behind a marble tombstone so he wouldn’t be seen. He leaned as close as he dared to catch the snippets of conversation.
“Don’t worry, bruv. Your secret’s safe with me... For now.” A moment later, footsteps crunched the gravel and Bruce drew back against the stone as the man who’d been pinned against the car limped past. He’d clearly been beaten, not even a week ago by the state of those bruises and Bruce wondered what secret he knew. Was it related to Charlotte?
“The cunt’s not worth it.” That must have been Jock.
“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”
A low chuckle. “Somebody had to.” It went quiet for a while, the only sound heard being the striking of lighters. Then, Jock spoke again. “What’s going on with you, D? What secret does Bov know?”
So Jock wasn’t privy to that information either. This perked Bruce’s interest even more. Another thing he noted was how stilted and awkward the conversation seemed. Was there tension in the family?
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it? ...Has it got anything to do with Nora?” Nora must have been the woman with the cast and he stored the name in his memory. Bruce wasn’t sure if Dermot gave a non-verbal answer, or didn’t answer at all, but a moment later Jock spoke again. “You’re a messed up cunt, Dermot, you know that?”
Dermot laughed. “... Yeah. If only you knew.”
“So tell me.”
“I can’t... Not right now.”
“...Fine. I’m going to find Nora. I’ll uh... see you around.”
Definitely tension. By the time Jock rounded the corner, Bruce was already merging in with the crowd gathering in the cemetery, searching out Moira. She caught his eye and beckoned him over with a nod of her head. Shoulder to shoulder, they watched the coffin get lowered.
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Post by katherinesullivan on Sept 30, 2022 10:11:26 GMT -5
Max didn’t care much for funerals. The previous thought swum around his head that he truly hadn’t acknowledged death. He hadn’t feared it, or even really accepted what it represented. Fragility; certainty. Certainty because there was nothingness afterwards, for that he was certain. There was nothing else, because it didn’t make any sense for there to be. Hell was on earth, so surely there was nowhere further to go. To heaven? He scoffed at the idea, looking at the simple beings in the world and unable to imagine any of them ascending somewhere greater. The human race were worthless, and life and death were black and white.
You were born and either you made something of yourself, or you died trying. What else was there?
Well, now there was… family. And not just Dermot, because that had been different. Max had had a mother and a father, but their attention to him was limited and unwelcome. He could also be cruel to them all – especially Dermot, but the idea of being cruel to Charlie seemed impossible. Unforgiveable. The idea then that his son could die made him feel an uncertain twisting in his stomach. That couldn’t happen, and to ensure that didn’t happen, Max couldn’t die either.
‘Before we begin our final goodbyes for Charlotte, we will play a song chosen by her loved ones. Shortly after, Maximilian Sullivan will take to the podium.’
Max looked up as the vicar mentioned his name and gave a brief nod, turning when he heard his brothers hushed tones.
‘Fucking Maximillian? Since when?’
Max opened his mouth but soft music started to fill the room and he swallowed back his remark. Dermot had been strange all morning and Max didn’t know what had gotten into him but it was pissing him off. He was supposed to be here to help with the family name but all he had done was sit and look bitter and pout. Max had a feeling he was hungover, but why? What reason had he to drink last night, and whilst looking after his son?
Chewing his lip he watched as Nora got from her chair and went to Tristan, her eyes already welling with tears she felt required to shed. She felt selfish guilt, seeking absolution, nothing more. But watching her interact made him think of Lara appeasing an upset Charlie and a sensation he rarely felt blocked his throat. It was sadness and doubt and relatability. Glancing down at her, he watched as she handed him a tissue and he took it in his small hand and wiped his nose.
Missing the first few years of Charlie’s life had really hurt Max and he regretted everything that had stopped him being there. He had been seeking someone to blame and realising it had potentially been himself was hard. Pete could be shifted the blame, or Dermot, or even naïve Nora, but somehow Max knew he had created this situation for himself, yet there hadn’t been another way out. Faking his own death hadn’t been as enthralling as he’d hoped it would be. Max had long imagined the idea, but all it had done was distance him from where he hadn’t even realised he wanted to be.
He wanted to be with his son, to protect him in ways no one had ever protected him when he was younger. To make sure he didn’t end up like Tristan. To multiply the love and security he had shown Dermot by ten-fold, and if Lara would let him, then her too.
Before his thoughts had chance to spiral he could hear Dermot and Jock talking and craned his ear to listen. Nora wasn’t worth all the dramatics and Max had guessed from the beginning that this would happen. Well, had /hoped/ and had been right. Nora wasn’t the right type of woman for his brother and neither was Susie; they were both fickle and lacking ambition. Jock liked to have someone inadequate, who made him then feel adequate and that was fine; they were entitled to one another.
Once the music stopped, Max got to his feet and headed for the podium. The sudden silence that filled the room was empowering and he relished in it with each step he took. His shoes echoed on the cobbled floor until he got to the front and turned to face the crowd. Row after row of faces, all eyes on him; he felt like a true dictator. This was a mere indication of his power and how easy people were to manipulate. They were all looking at him as some grand saviour, when they had no idea whose blood had once covered his hands.
Taking a moment, Max took a breath, his eyes still skimming the crowds. Dermot was turning to face Jock, desperate to grab his attention and it irked him in that instant. He was always so involved in things that didn’t matter; always flogging a dead horse.
‘Good Afternoon, everyone.’ Max announced, his voice booming through the microphone.
What was he going to say? Earlier Dermot had told him not to mess this up, but then Max hadn’t even bothered to rehearse. It was always more believable if you made it up on the spot. When people lied, or recited, they tended to lack eye contact and depth and Max wanted these people to lap up his every word.
‘Thank you all for coming today. What can I say? You all look wonderful – Charlotte would be pleased!’ He smiled warmly at them all. Max had lied for a lifetime, he knew how to fluff a sentence, how to get to someones heart. ‘It actually feels strange to be speaking here today. I didn’t know Charlotte well, but what I did know of her was she was brave. She certainly would be holding steadfast if she were here today. So, I will keep my words brief. I want to say goodbye. I want to say goodbye to someone who was frightened, but always curious and I want to say goodbye to a mother who fiercely loved her son. I want to remind you all that grief is an expression of love, and you are all welcome to express that pain here today, free from judgement and shame.’ Nodding, Max swallowed and glanced away, expressing sadness but feeling nothing but control. ‘Most of all I want to remind you all to move forward. Time doesn’t slow for anyone. I of all people know that.’ Turning back to the crowd he flashed a warning at Dermot who was still hissing in Jock’s ear.
‘You see me stood here as a business man. Some of you may think I’m simply here for publicity. Some of you thought I was still dead! And some of you may think I enjoy rallying a crowd, but the real reason I’m here is for my son. Charlotte has reminded me that life is brief and I will thank her every morning for waking me up to all the opportunities I almost let slip by.’ Turning to the photograph of her Max gave a gentle smile and actually felt a sharp pang in his chest. For a moment he had seen Lara there and hearing Tristan cry had made him think of Charlie.
Clearing his throat Max took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. All these feelings were new to him and he hated how threatened her felt by his own emotions. Looking over at Benji, Max gauged whether he was ready before moving on.
‘Now… The man who you really want to listen to will now. Benji Johnson.’
Stepping from the platform, Max locked eyes with Benji as he passed and found himself reaching out to touch his shoulder in support. Max was not an affectionate man, but he could already see the hurt and the darkness swirling inside Benji’s gaze. The fury at the injustice of it all. Max wanted Benji to speak freely, to release the demons raging inside so he could become the man he needed him to be. Plus, with Dermot slipping Max would be the first to admit he was missing that brother bond. Taking his seat back next to Dermot, Max clenched his jaw, aware he couldn’t do anything that wasn’t being watched.
‘I appreciated your attention, dearthair.’ Max hissed and held his gaze for a moment longer before turning away to find Nora was looking at him.
She had Tristan beneath her arm, her eyes narrowed uncertainly. Raising an eyebrow, Max waited for her to speak, feeling strangely unsettled.
‘I liked your speech.’ Nora replied after a while and Max opened his mouth when she spoke again. ‘But I don’t believe a fucking word of it.’ Turning back to the front she shifted down the pew so there was space between them, her eyes focused on Benji.
What a raging bitch. Max hated her. Who was she? Taking a deep breath he glared at the back of Nora’s head for a moment, a fist clenched on his lap to stop himself from grabbing her. The two of them had barely had any interaction, yet when she did, she acted like she knew him. As if she knew him down to his very bones, when in fact she knew whispers, just like everyone else. The only stories she ever heard were biased; Jock, Dermot, Lara, everyone muttered their annoyances and their pains but no one shared their highs.
How many times had Max saved her ex-fiancé? How many times had he pleased Lara to the point she had seen the almighty himself? She was opinionated and cruel and she and Jock belonged in the gutter. Loosening his tie he turned to look at Dermot who had heard the brief exchanged.
‘She’s a fucking street rat.’ Max murmured before Benji cleared his throat into the microphone. 'I'm losing my patience with her.' he added and when Dermot asked if that was a threat Max merely shrugged his shoulders. Yes.
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