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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 19, 2022 6:32:56 GMT -5
Nora felt her anger inside growing like a lit flame, and Max Sullivans words were the gasoline. Admittedly what he was saying blurred in and out of perspective like a dull buzzing, but the fragments she heard made her sick. Tristan besides her was the only thing stopping her from walking out and she glanced down at him; his big, wide eyes taking in the seductive words that smooth Irish tones teased, caressing the ears of everyone here.
Max knew how to play a room, how to manipulate and caress. It was no wonder Lara had grown confused, no doubt urged back off the cliff she had perched upon many a time by his honey coated lies. All Nora saw, however, was ugliness and the disgust churned her insides. His freshly shaved face, slicked back, shorter hair; it was all a façade and it made her frustrated she had to play to it. No amount of beauty could cover the devil that lay inside of him, and the world deserved to know.
Lara deserved to know and Charlotte didn’t deserve this symbolic fucking messiah to be preaching words about her when the only time he had seen her body, it had been cold.
In the midst of her anger, her own thoughts had startled her and Nora pulled her gaze away. She shouldn’t have thought such a thing about Charlotte and the gnawing guilt she already felt suddenly multiplied. Then Max was finished and sat besides her, and her snipped comment couldn’t be contained.
‘I liked your speech.’ She breathed and he actually looked as if he were about to accept a compliment. Her expression quickly darkened. ‘But I don’t believe a fucking word of it.’
When she turned her back, Nora felt a streak of adrenaline and fear stir and she hated herself for it. How did he always have this power, as if he were this all seeing, all knowing being and no one could ever challenge him. He was terrifying, if you truly thought about it, but there were greater things at stake. Nora didn’t want Lara to become another Charlotte.
Benji got to his feet and both she and Tristan gave him a small smile. The look on his face was enough to already shatter her heart, and this terrified her more than anything Max Sullivan could currently do. What if this was Lara’s funeral? What if it was hers? Taking a deep breath, Nora shifted her arm around Tristan’s shoulder and leaned into his small frame. There was a moments hesitation on the podium but the silence around was respectful, yet expectant. They wanted to hear some more beautiful words, now set to be compared to those Max had just poured out.
Did they not know that Benji knew Charlotte more than this liar ever could? Didn’t they know that he obviously loved and cherished her, and had been there before Max to save her. Benji was the true hero and yet he was cast aside, a second hand thought, a second best speech drowning beneath the previous show. Nora hoped Benji’s words were welcomed and believed, and made people see sense. See that this man who had rightly admitted to faking his death mere moments ago, was in fact nothing more than an egotistical conman.
When he started speaking, Nora automatically felt her breath catch, her eyes unable to move from his face. She could see the pain settled there, beneath the disappointment that he couldn’t have stopped what had happened. Guilt was a vile thing and it could eat you alive if you didn’t keep you head above the water. Benji was no doubt merely surviving for Tristan, but what a wonderful reason to live.
‘The first time I met Charlotte…’
Nora wondered when that was. How many weeks or months ago? The concept of time was difficult to comprehend; you could know someone two days and love them more than someone of two years. Nora knew that from Jock. Their initial meeting hadn’t been romantic, filled with flowers and music and calming circumstances but it had been filled with the same electric she could still feel in her bones when they touched now. She bet Beni and Charlotte had been stung with the force of a lightning bolt with how he spoke about her on the podium, his personal speech making her feel included where she hadn’t been. Nora had barely known Charlotte, but more than Max, at least.
‘Your mum changed my life.’
Benji was looking at Tristan now. No one else here existed; the room was empty, echoey and free. It was just the two of them, intimate and heartfelt and it was a privilege to listen.
‘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, as did every other head in the room. That smile. The one of a woman who inspired hope in a world full of dread. The one that could reassure you, even as a stranger. The one that Nick Walker had taken advantage of, and the one Max Sullivan was using as a front for his own interest. Nora felt her throat tighten, eyes transfixed on Charlotte in a way that made her feel she was being watched.
If there was a heaven, Nora felt in that moment, Charlotte was there and she was watching them all. Taking a shaky breath she turned back to Benji, the raw emotion suddenly emitting from him like beams of light. This was different to what Max had said; this was pure. It was… unfiltered, it was… spontaneous. Benji hadn’t sat all night and decided what he was going to say to best appease the crowd. He was speaking from his heart, to the one that had captivated his heart and Nora couldn’t stop thinking how she felt to blame.
Tears filling her eyes, Nora pulled herself back to reality. Benji had a hand to his chest – his heart -- eyes still on the small boy beside her.
‘She’ll always be here, okay? Always. Every step of the way, she’s there.’
As the emotion swelled in her chest, Tristan too felt compelled by the words and sprung to his feet. Nora didn’t know what to do, a small gasp escaping as he shot towards the podium and instantly wrapped his arms around Benji’s middle. He was so small and fragile in comparison, holding on as if his life depended on it. Breath shaky, Nora dabbed at the tears spilling down her cheek and hated herself for being so overwhelmed. Jock was a few seats down from her but she had a feeling everyone was in the same position she was; entranced, frozen to the spot, encased in this strange feeling of unison.
‘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 whilst I’m around and we’re both going to do your proud… I love you.’
Benji’s words directed to Charlotte had scorched straight through her heart and Nora struggled hard to remain composed. Stray tears streaked down her cheek and she sniffed up with a sigh. Benji had loved Charlotte with his whole being, that much was evident. He was protective and strong, and hadn’t asked for any of this. He was going to be a father to a child he obviously hadn’t known long, but who openly respected and adored him.
Benji placed his hand on the cool wood of the coffin and Tristan did the same, the two of them unaware of the stillness around them, the sniffles and the sobs in the pews. It was just them, with the woman they had both loved, saying their goodbyes.
‘I love you, Mummy. I miss you so much.’
Fuck. Nora could feel her chest swelling with all the tears she had held back and she wanted nothing more than to leave. Such a private conversation had been open for her to witness and she felt wrong for having done so, now. Undeserving. This was her fault. No… This was… whose fault? Dermot’s? Nicks? No, Max. He’d gotten under the skin of every single one of them, his whispers motivating their movements.
The final song played and for a moment Nora couldn’t seem to find the words to sing. Her whole body felt numb as if concrete had seeped into her veins. A family had been destroyed here. If she were the dead one, would it matter? Jock would be sad, but he would recover. Who else? She had no children, no one who depended on her. All she did was cause destruction. Well, now was the time to stop it before it began.
Jock came to her side and Nora looked up briefly before turning to leave.
‘I need some air.’ She murmured, gripping his hand and taking her with him.
Politeness overtook her as people began to shift out of the pews, most of them talking about what they’d just heard and almost all of them a little broken from it. They shuffled slowly, shoulders brushing shoulders, tall backs of men in her way. What started out as gentle patience grew into frustration and suffocation and Nora began to push people aside, pulling Jock through the wave behind her. When they finally broke into the crisp air Nora felt a weight lifted from her chest and sighed, tucking herself to the side.
There was a small, stone alcove at the head of the church and the two of them waited there as the masses left to head to the grave. Jock asked Nora if she was okay and she nodded slowly, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
‘Sorry… I… I just need a moment.’
He reached out and pulled her close, as he always did when she needed reassurance and Nora held the back of his jacket tight. So many emotions were threatening to overpower her that she wasn’t sure what she wanted right now. Pulling back, she looked up at him and the concern in his eyes made her want to cry all over again.
‘I’m fine.’ She reassured him. ‘You go. I’ll be there in a minute.’
Jock hesitated but Nora was insistent and slowly he walked off after the crowds. Perhaps he was thinking of the last time she had promised she wouldn’t be long, and days had stretched by and Nick Walker had happened. This had happened. Jock turned back to look at her and she smiled, mouthing ‘I love you’ to show it was different. /She/ was different. She didn’t want to leave this time, she just didn’t think she was ready to finally say goodbye to Charlotte just yet.
Rummaging through her bag Nora found a packet of cigarettes and took one out with a shaky hand. She didn’t smoke, not really. It had just become a new relaxant now that alcohol was off the table; it kept your hands busy, your mind distracted as it struggled to process the nicotine. Reaching in for a lighter, Nora found nothing but a lipstick, a packet of tissues and stick of gum. ‘Fuck’ she whispered, upturning her bag in her haste, the contents spilling onto the floor.
Unlit cigarette in mouth, Nora knelt down with a huff and stuffed everything back inside, only looking up when she saw a pair of polished black shoes crunch the gravel before her. Following the shape, she swallowed to see Max Sullivan looking down at her, a lighter in his outstretched hand.
Standing straight, Nora shifted her bag on her shoulder and hesitated before letting him light it. Her gaze never left his face the whole time, examining every feature as if she would later need to describe him to the police. Max too lit a cigarette and both of them stood against the alcove, looking out at the people still slowly making their way to the grave.
Max had stopped behind to talk to people who caught him before he had a chance to deny them. Thanking him for his speech, gripping his arm and hand, desperate for some of the strength they could see he carried. Dermot had left before he could say anything else and the bitterness from their brief conversation was still irking him.
‘You don’t fucking touch her.’
They had glared at one another, each one unwavering and Max realised then he could never understand his brothers urge to protect Nora. How obvious did she need to make it that she didn’t feel the same for him?
‘Nor do you, dearthair. She isn’t yours anymore, remember?’
‘She’s been through enough.’
‘She’s been through nothing yet.’ He muttered under his breath, drowned out by the sound of Tristan’s shoes clattering the cobbled floor as he ran to the podium. ‘Is there something we need to talk about, huh?’ Max was trying to grab Dermot’s gaze but he was refusing it. Leaning in close he sighed. ‘You’re not yourself today, you’ve got this attitude that I don’t quite appreciate.’ His voice was low, but when he realised Dermot wouldn’t acknowledge him he turned back to the front.
Back outside, Max found himself looking at Nora as she dragged on the cigarette. What was it about her that had everyone so intrigued?
‘How does it feel?’ he found himself asking and he could see her tense but not turn to him. She flicked some cigarette ash on the floor and took another slow drag. ‘How does it feel, to know it should’ve been you in there?’
Nora turned to him then, sharp and furious. ‘What did you just say?’ she asked and Max gave a slow smirk.
‘Your wedding, it was supposed to be here, no?’ he tilted his head to the side in a way Nora knew other women found endearing but she just found it patronising.
Then she realised she hadn’t even considered that today. This was the church. She should’ve been stood here, adorned in silver jewellery and a white veil. She would have been saying her vows to Dermot, promising herself to him eternally. Max would’ve been the best man and maybe Jock too… Lara would’ve been her maid of honour. Things had truly changed to the point that none of these ideas seemed to make sense. It all seemed so twisted and wrong, a part of a different life in a different reality. Swallowing she threw her cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out.
Life had seemed somehow simpler when she was with Dermot. It had been easy to play happy family midst of all the lies both of them had concealed. It was so much safer to play pretend, but she wouldn’t have gone back in time for the world. Nora loved Jock – had always loved Jock.
‘Don’t act like you’re upset that it didn’t go ahead.’ Nora mumbled, unsure what else to say. Ending an engagement was embarrassing, especially under these circumstances.
Max shrugged his shoulders at her reply, pushing his cigarette out against the brick work between them. ‘Well, it’s not like you’re straying too far from the family, are you?’ he raised an eyebrow as Nora turned to him. ‘Our dear cousin?’
‘What game are you playing? Nora demanded, voice suddenly dark and Max had to hold back a chuckle. It appeared he had touched a nerve.
‘What?’ he humoured her.
‘Why are you even here?’ her eyes were narrowed, heat creeping up the back of her neck. ‘Why did you pay for all of this? You didn’t even know Charlotte –’
‘Neither did you, leanbh.’
‘I owe her my life!’ Nora spat and Max chuckled in a way that made her blood boil. ‘She saved me, s-she –'
‘You owe her nothing –’
‘Yes, I do! I owe her everything –'
‘Survivors guilt?’ Max purred and suddenly Nora lost all sense of control. Shoving him hard in the chest she wanted to push him off the nearest cliff. The heat coursing through her veins was enough to make her sick.
‘At least I have a fucking conscience!’ Nora spat and went to shove him again when he gripped her arms, slamming her non too kindly back against the wall. The full weight of his body was pressed against her, his hold squeezing her broken wrist and Nora gave a cry of pain, struggling to break free. The searing pain was blinding and her chest rose as she struggled to calm herself.
Seeing Max so close, she could see all the intricacies in his eyes. The blue, marled with streaks of white and grey, so piercing in comparison to his other dark features. The structure of his sharp, shaved jaw and the faint scar streaking down one side of his face. He was a man put together in so many places he was barely the same anymore; held together by scar tissue and determination. Nora could see no resemblance of an actual man in his eyes and merely a monster, forever confused to the reasonings her friend was so easily persuaded by this figure.
And Max examined her just as closely, the hatred he held for her swelling in his chest. The communication the both of them had had, had been brief, but enough for him to know he detested her. Nora was no Susie, yet somehow she was worse. At least Susie had been open about the cunt of a woman she was – Nora however played the martyr as if it was what she was born to do. His breath was heavy against her neck and he could see the pain piercing through her glare; he wanted to fracture her into a million pieces but the sound of someone behind them made him pull back.
Nora gave a gasp of relief and held her injured wrist to her chest, swallowing back the bile in her throat. He was still close, his body covering hers but the hold was lifted. For a moment she had been scared, but the fear had dipped before it had had chance to live.
‘You’ve always been so arrogant, Nora.’ Max hissed and Nora turned to him, their noses practically brushing.
‘Pot, kettle.’ Nora replied back just as sharply, thankful when he pulled away. ‘I want you to leave Lara alone.’ She said firmly and Max shook his head, disbelieving smirk on his face.
‘What?’
‘Y-you heard me.’ Nora swallowed, unsure where she was going to go from here.
‘Oh, I heard you.’ Max nodded in agreement. ‘I just don’t know who the fuck you think you are, telling me what to do.’ He hung close again and Nora turned away, jaw clenched.
‘I’m her best friend –’
‘I’m the father of her child –’
You raped her!’ Nora said loudly and Max gripped her face between his hand, squeezing her jaw tight.
‘I would get your facts straight before you start saying shit like that.’ His voice was low and he wondered what would happen if he just snapped her neck. Nora gripped his wrist so Max loosened his hold. ‘Plus… she didn’t say no last night.’
The boasting school boy inside him had swelled and Max knew it wouldn’t end well to declare this, but Nora had been pushing him.
‘You’re lying.’ Nora breathed and Max laughed, running a hand through his hair at the disbelief in her face. ‘She wouldn’t.’
‘Oh, she did.’
‘N-no…’ Nora chewed her lip, mind whirring with confusion. ‘No… she’s seeing someone else.’
The confusion took its turn on Max’s features and his brow furrowed. ‘Yes, me.’ Right?
‘No.’
‘Yes –’
‘No!’ Nora said more surely and smiled at the concern on Max’s face. ‘No, not you. She hates you. We all hate you.’ Nora looked up to hold his gaze and relished as she could see the cogs turning. ‘If she did sleep with you, I don’t think she made that decision herself… She wouldn’t leave Pete for you. She never did, through all those years. Why would she change her mind now? It’s someone else –’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m fucking glad it isn’t you –’
Max went to grab Nora as she moved away but then Jock appeared, calling her name and he stilled.
‘Nora?’
Nora practically ran towards Jock and took his hand, tugging him away as he glared at Max. Slowly turning, Max caught Jock’s gaze and flashed a warning glare. Was Lara seeing someone else? Was she in fact the one playing him? No, what did Nora know? Too wrapped up in her own problems, she had just been trying to anger him with false situations. Lara had slept with him last night, multiple times; she had called his name, cried his name as they both climaxed together. Why would she need someone else? Max was everything – Max was everyone and he was everywhere. If there was someone else, he would soon find out about it and put an end to whatever cunt thought he could steal his things.
Running a hand through his hair, Max watched the two of them walk off before he followed and took his position besides Charlotte’s grave. A moment later and Dermot appeared, looking just as frazzled. Something was wrong, he could sense it in the air. Glancing at his brother, Max frowned to see him looking resolutely at the grave and raised an eyebrow. Did he know? Across from him, Nora and Jock were holding hands and he rolled his eyes.
Jock asked if Nora was okay and she nodded her head, her gaze transfixed on the vicar as he poured some soil onto the coffin. Tristan and Benji were stood besides him, both their eyes welling with tears and the sickness in her stomach was back.
‘I just went for a cigarette.’ She whispered apologetically and Jock admitted he had gone to do the same.
‘… we therefore commit this body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…’
There was a respectful silence around them all as the coffin was finally lowered and the hole began to be filled in. Tristan was wailing but Nora couldn’t find it in herself to comfort him in that moment. Benji was holding him tightly, and she knew they didn’t need her help. They were a family unit now. They would protect one another, as long as Max Sullivan had nothing to do with it.
‘If anyone would like to continue to pay their respects to Charlotte, you are welcome to join us across the road for the rest of the day. There is food and an open bar, a time to come together and get to know one another.’ Max called and Nora found herself glaring at him. He flashed a dangerous look towards her and she turned away with a sigh.
Jock asked if she wanted to go and Nora nodded. ‘We should.’ She shrugged, actually wanting nothing more than to go back to the safety of their home. ‘If you don’t mind?’
Rubbing her shoulders, Nora felt Jock slip his arms around her and she sunk back into him. Dermot was across from them, a lost look on his face and he glanced up, meeting her gaze. She offered a small smile in return but wasn’t sure what else to do. Had he been thinking about their wedding too?
‘Come on, dearthair.’ Max called, slinging an arm around his brothers shoulder and tearing him away from the plot. ‘You need a drink, and we need to talk.’
The wake was just across the road in a hotel with a couple of function rooms. Most of the people had already piled in, a few of them choosing instead to go home as their cars pulled out and sped away. Tristan and Benji were holding hands a little in front of him and Max filled the gap, clasping a hand on Benji’s shoulder.
‘Moving speech.’ Max gave a smile. ‘Genuine. I liked it.’ He glanced down at Tristan who was rubbing his nose, his face red and blotchy. ‘He did your mother proud, hey?’ as usual Tristan didn’t respond and it was really starting to grate on Max. Children loved him; Charlie loved him, so what was wrong with this brat? ‘First drinks on me –’
‘It’s an open bar.’ Nora’s voice called behind them and back felt his jaw clench.
‘And who do you think is paying for that open bar, mislean?’ he raised an eyebrow and Nora didn’t reply.
‘I hate him.’ She whispered to Jock as they fell back slightly, stopping in the carpark of the hotel. ‘Earlier… he said…’ chewing her lip, Nora wasn’t sure if she loved or loathed that she couldn’t keep anything from Jock. ‘He said he’d slept with Lara, last night. She isn’t safe, Jock.’
Listening to his reply, Nora nodded, both of them looking up as a motorcycle ripped past them and Bovver headed back into central London. At least he was gone and hadn’t caused any issues, right?
Wrong.
Jock asked why Nora hadn’t told her about Bovver and she frowned. ‘Did he speak to you?’
He spoke to Dermot? Nora’s brow furrowed in confusion. What would he have to talk to him about? So he wasn’t here to ruin their relationship? Jock asked why she didn’t tell him again and Nora sighed, pulling him to the side, away from the waves of people. Dermot glanced back at them but carried on walking.
‘I’m… sorry.’ Nora started and found herself playing with Jock’s tie. ‘I didn’t tell you, because I… I don’t have to worry about you. Dermot, he…’ swallowing, Nora struggled to find the words and chewed her lip nervously. ‘Nick… the reason I was there was because of Dermot. A few weeks before Dermot had broken into Nick’s home, trashed his things, no doubt because of Max and tried to kill him. He carved this… this S into his chest… it was disgusting, Jock. He left him for dead, it was on the news and everything, I remember now. His whole chest was red raw from where he’d cut his initial and I…’ shaking her head, Nora could feel tears welling again and rubbed at her eyes angrily. ‘I just don’t know what he’s capable of anymore, and I didn’t want you to know, because I want you to be friends…. I think. I mean… I thought I did… I don’t know.’ Taking a breath, Nora looked up apologetically. ‘I didn’t want Dermot to cause a scene, which I knew you wouldn’t, because you love me.’
Wiping her eyes Nora felt her shoulders sag. ‘I don’t know what Max is doing to him, but it scares me, Jock.’
Inside, Max had ordered him and Dermot a whiskey and leaned on the bar with a sigh. His brother looked exhausted and when he refused the drink, Max shoved it in his hand.
'Hair of the dog.' he urged and took a sip of his own. 'I was speaking to Nora earlier --' Dermot instantly jumped on the defence and Max raised a hand to silence him. 'She's still alive, isn't she? What do you take me for?' eyebrow raised he waited for any more argument before continuing. 'She seems to think Lara is seeing someone else. Someone who isn't me, but she's wrong, isn't she?' he asked as Dermot downed his drink. 'If you knew, you'd tell me, right, dearthair? We're brothers. We tell each other everything--'
'Mr Sullivan?'
A woman appeared behind them, wearing a tight black dress and stilettos. Her blonde hair was pulled into a slick ponytail and she smiled brightly. She was looking at Max expectantly.
'Can I get you a drink?' she asked and then saw the open bar sign and sighed embarrassedly. 'I'm Charlotte's cousin. Your speech... It was so moving, I just wanted to say... thankyou.' her eyes flashed that the thanks would go further than a mere drink so Max nodded with a smile. He ordered her a wine and passed it over.
'Of course. Excuse me, Dermot. We'll continue this conversation later.' he placed his hand on the small of the womans back and lead her away to a table in the corner.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 24, 2022 13:57:39 GMT -5
“...we therefore commit this body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…”
Dermot couldn’t really look at anybody as slowly, the earth filled in the hole, smothered the coffin and buried Charlotte Foster’s body forever. People were sniffling and sobbing all around him, but the loudest and most painful had to be Tristan. The boy was heartbroken. Dermot had been to the funeral of one parent, so he understood the pain, he could empathise. But part of him wondered how it must feel to lose a parent that actually loved and cared for you. When his Da had killed himself, albeit accidentally, Dermot hadn’t cried. He hadn’t shed a single tear as he’d stood at the mucky graveside, rain pouring down around them, Max on one side and their Ma on the other.
He’d felt nothing. He’d concentrated on the chill of the rain rolling down the back of his neck and into his collar, trying to ignore the fact that he felt no desperation or sadness or anything. He didn’t even feel angry. If anything, he’d felt relieved. A numb relief, the kind that came from finally soothing a terrible toothache.
His Ma had been crying. He hadn’t known why. Patrick had clearly never loved her. Max had given her a disgusted look at one point and walked off, and even Dermot hadn’t been able to bring himself to comfort her. If she hadn’t stuck around all those years, would he and Max’s life been different? Happier? Would they have made better choices? Choices that didn’t involve the attempted murder of the woman you loved? Choices that didn’t involve carving your initial onto somebody’s chest?
It wasn’t the first time Dermot had realised the darkness the Sullivans spread in the world, like some disease there wasn’t a cure for. It hit him now, at Charlotte’s graveside, knowing that if they hadn’t been involved, this woman would still be alive. An innocent mother, raising her innocent child. He doubted Tristan had ever had a bad day in his life before this. Because that’s what good mothers did. They protected their children no matter what.
And Dermot and Max had never been protected.
“If anyone would like to continue to pay their respects to Charlotte, you are welcome to join us across the road for the rest of the day,” Max called out, as slowly, people began to move away from the grave. “There is food and an open bar, a time to come together and get to know one another.”
For a moment, Dermot didn’t move, unable to take his eyes from the grave. Bov’s words were still ringing in his ears, the threat of impending war both laughable and concerning. How many more lives would be lost before the year was out? Glancing up, he caught Nora’s eye and she offered him a small smile he could only just return. He took comfort in the fact that she was okay and safe, and happy. That was the most important thing. Nora was happy. But how long for? What exactly did Bov and the GSE have planned?
“Come on, dearthair,” Max said, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling Dermot from the grave. “You need a drink, and we need to talk.”
Knowing he couldn’t put off the inevitable, Dermot fell into step beside him. Inside the church, the tension between them had grown fraught. If it hadn’t been obvious Dermot had a problem, it certainly had been after their little spat about Nora. “Is there something we need to talk about, huh?” Max had hissed in the church, trying to catch his eye and it took Dermot all of his courage not to meet it. “You’re not yourself today, you’ve got this attitude that I don’t quite appreciate.”
Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything yet, as Max caught sight of Benji and Tristan ahead of them and went ahead to walk with them. Dermot let himself linger behind a little, hands stuffed deep into his trouser pockets. He wondered what Lara was doing now. Was she with Pete? Perhaps trying to lay plans in place when it came to their children? He knew Lara was fair, that she wouldn’t want to disrupt the kids’ lives anymore than necessary, but what about Pete? With Bovver declaring war, with the knowledge of what he and Lara had done burning at the GSE’s fingertips... Would Pete even bother to protect her?
Turmoil churned within and Dermot felt a severe longing to be at her side.
“First drinks on me –,” Max announced up ahead, though he was quickly cut off by Nora calling out behind them. Dermot felt himself tense.
“It’s an open bar.”
From where he was stood, Dermot saw Max stiffen before he looked behind, raising an eyebrow. “And who do you think is paying for that open bar, mislean?”
Nora didn’t reply, though Dermot heard her murmur something to Jock. Half of Dermot was pleased to see that Nora wasn’t seemingly afraid, but that’s what deeply troubled the other half of him; he had to keep Max away from her tonight. Distracted. Glancing behind him as he neared the hotel entrance, he noticed Nora and Jock had lingered back to talk, and he recognised the looks on both their faces as if it were his own; Jock was frowning and Nora looked ready to impart some knowledge he might not necessarily want to know. Dermot forced himself to head inside. It was none of his business now.
Max was waiting for him in the lobby and together, they headed for the bar. Dermot had already decided that he wasn’t going to drink, still feeling like shite from the night before, but Max didn’t even bother asking as he ordered two glasses of whiskey. Then, he leaned against the bar with a sigh and briefly, Dermot saw a hint of weakness, an exhaustion at keeping up the front. It barely lasted a second though, and Max straightened to pass Dermot the whiskey. Dermot shook his head, taking the stool beside him. “I’m not drinking tonight.”
“Hair of the dog.” Max spoke over him nonchalantly, lifting his own glass to his lips to take a sip. Dermot sighed; was it any use protesting? “I was speaking to Nora earlier -”
Dermot’s head snapped up; it must have been while he was dealing with Bov. “I told you to fucking stay-“
Max raised a hand to silent him. “She's still alive, isn't she? What do you take me for?” He raised an eyebrow and Dermot settled back in his stool. “She seems to think Lara is seeing someone else. Someone who isn't me, but she's wrong, isn't she?”
Dermot had never been more thankful for a fucking whiskey and he didn’t hesitate in knocking it back. Fuck fuck fuck. How did Nora know?! Did she know it was him? Had Bov told her? A thousand questions sprang through his mind in half a heartbeat and as he lowered the glass, there was a carefully-placed look of concern on his face. Max wasn’t looking at him, eyes distant as he tried to fathom any new face coming onto the scene. Max was like a dog with a fucking bone when it came to things like this and he wouldn’t stop now, not until he had answers. His and Lara’s time was rapidly dwindling and Dermot didn’t know what the fuck to do. Max focused on him.
“If you knew, you'd tell me, right, dearthair? We're brothers. We tell each other everything--”
Dermot had just opened his mouth to respond - what he’d been about to say, even he had no idea - when a young blonde woman appeared behind them, inches gained by the stilettos she was wearing. “Mr Sullivan?” Dermot mentally thanked God and vowed he’d make up for any bad deed he’d ever done, somehow. The woman’s eyes were on Max, as they usually were, and she batted them now as she spoke. “Can I get you a drink?” Catching sight of the sign, she gave an embarrassed sigh, before turning back to his brother. “I'm Charlotte's cousin. Your speech... It was so moving, I just wanted to say... thankyou.”
Jesus Christ. At her own cousin’s funeral? That was tacky. Dermot quickly turned and gestured to the bartender for a refill, and he brought it over, along with the wine Max ordered. He passed it over to her.
“Of course. Excuse me, Dermot. We'll continue this conversation later.”
Was he serious? Dermot turned and watched as Max placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her away. He hadn’t actually thought Max would accept, not now he was in love with Lara. Sipping his whiskey, he watched as they settled in the corner, consoling himself in the fact that Max wasn’t serious. He didn’t love Lara like Dermot did and this proved it. Last night had been... an ending. A finale. And something Max would never experience again. And even if everything came to life tomorrow and he’d find himself on his knees, Max pressing a gun between his eyes... he’d never regret it. His love for Lara would be worth sacrificing his life for. Something Max would never do.
Nora and Jock came in at that point and Dermot turned away, knocking back the rest of the tumbler. Waving a hand, he ordered a few vodka shots and another whiskey without ice. He’d regret this later, he knew, but at this point, there was little else he could do. He went to grab his phone to text Lara, then cursed when he remembered he’d smashed it last night. “Lost something?” Dermot jumped a little when Jock appeared at his side, quickly pulling his hand out his pocket and glancing to see Nora at his shoulder.
“Uh. No... I broke my phone last night.”
Jock nodded, an eyebrow raised, as if this was the most unfortunate news he’d ever heard. “Need to use mine?”
“Uh... No.” He glanced at Nora again, then back to Jock, brow furrowed. “Why do I feel like you’re both up to something?”
Jock sighed, dampening his bottom lip. “We need to talk. About that cunt, Bovver. About your little secret.”
Dermot quickly looked around, but Max was still entertaining the blonde; his arm around her shoulders, as she giggled at something he said. He looked back at Jock with a glare. “Not here,” he hissed.
“We’re worried about you, Dermot,” Nora said softly and Dermot felt his heart wrench when he looked at her. He nodded, brows knitted.
“I know. I’ll...” He glanced at Max again; he was leaning in to whisper something in Blonde’s ear. “I’ll come to yours tomorrow. I’ll... I’ll explain everything.” They both reluctantly agreed, watching as Dermot downed the three shots in a row. Jock exchanged looks with Nora, leaning close to Dermot when he slammed the last glass down.
“Dermot. Stop.”
“Jock.” Dermot held out a hand, swaying a little. “Don’t let Nora out of your sight. Even better, take her home.”
“Mr Sullivan?” Another voice, another mourner there to pay his respects. An older man, in his seventies at least, with huge tufty white eyebrows he could barely see beneath. Nora and Jock both stepped aside, as Dermot rose to greet... whoever the fuck he was. “Dermot, I presume? I’m...” And he launched into some dribble about being a councillor on some board or another, and Dermot waved off Jock’s further attempt at conversation.
“Excuse me,” Dermot said to Nora and Jock as he pushed away from the bar. “Duty calls.” He walked off with the councillor to join another group of equally old men with boring job titles, drink in hand. For the next hour, he kept an eye on Max, watching the wine bottle sink lower, as quickly as Blonde’s bra strap. How could he claim to love Lara? How can he decide he was going to be a family, yet humiliate her and betray her by even contemplating another woman? Dermot just didn’t understand it.
He drank and mingled and drank some more, and he happened to be standing close to Max’s table, when some uncle of a father of a cousin had asked about Maximillian’s generosity and Dermot had given a loud laugh of disbelief. “Oh, Maximillian is incredibly generous. Paying for this whole funeral out the kindness of his own heart. Cad bastard iontach. Oh, wait, you don’t speak my tongue. You fucking English cu- Max!”
He caught sight of his brother and Blonde just behind him and gave a bright grin. “There he is! The man of the fucking hour -“
“Dermot,” Max uttered the warning, a stiff smile on his face. Dermot gave his shoulder a playful shove and turned, arms open, to the crowd - reminiscent of Max himself back at the podium.
“Maximillian fucking Sullivan, ladies and gentleman! Not only has he paid for this poor poor woman’s funeral -“
“Oi, what you doin’?” Benji pushed his way out of the crowd, a deep frown on his face, but Dermot ignored him.
“He’s also managed to resurrect himself as a new man entirely!” Max was on his feet, coming around the bench. “Isn’t it a fucking miracle?!”
“Dearthair,” Max growled, grabbing his forearm, but Dermot shook him off, squaring up to him.
“You’re disrespectful,” Dermot hissed, voice dropping low, eyes never leaving his. “That,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Is disrespectful.” He looked over at Blonde, who was still sat at the table, disgust evident. “You’re own cousin’s funeral? What are you? A whore?” Max lunged for him, but Jock was suddenly forcing his way between them. Dermot glared at Max, oblivious. “And we both know who else you’re being disrespectful to, Max, and she’s sitting at home with your fucking child.”
—
"I need some air."
Jock was more than happy to leave the church; the atmosphere incredibly stifling, sadness thickening the air. It had been tough to listen to Benji's speech. His grief had been depressingly apparent, and Jock was all too aware it could have been Nora laid up cold in that box. Tristan running to join him, the pair of them reaching to touch the coffin... Even Jock had to look away, discretely wiping the corner of his eye as he lightly cleared his throat. Poor little shite.
Now, with the final notes of the hymn still ringing off the stone, Nora clenched his hand tight and led him through the crowds. At first, she gave quiet murmurs of Excuse me, please, but soon she was merely shoving people out the way in an effort to get outside. He'd seen the tight expression on her face only minutes before and knew she was only a few moments from being completely overwhelmed.
The air was sharp when they got outside, refreshing his senses instantly. The wind had picked up a little, bringing with it the smell of damp and decay from the leaves that littered the ground. Nora led him into a small alcove, tucked away from the stream of people passing into the churchyard. He looked at her; tears brimmed in her eyes and there was a faint tremble to her bottom lip. "Are you okay?" he asked her softly. She gave a slow nod, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek.
"Sorry… I… I just need a moment."
Nodding, he reached out and gently drew her against him, arms sliding protectively around her, and Nora let out a small sigh and clung to him, fisting the back of his jacket as if her life depended on it. God, if he could take these feelings away from her, the guilt she was carrying... It was a heavy burden and he could see how much it was affecting her. Yet she was still here, resolute to see it through to the end. "We can leave now, if you want," he reminded her quietly. As proud as he was to see her strength, he didn't want her pushing herself too far. Nora pulled back, still looking close to tears.
"I’m fine,” she told him, voice a soft caress. "You go. I’ll be there in a minute." Jock hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Nora alone; not after what had happened with Nick, and especially not with Dermot and Max prowling around. On the other hand, Max had made such a show of today that it wouldn't make sense for him to jeopardise his newfound image. Nora's look was steady. "I'll be right behind you."
Trying not to show his reluctance, Jock slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and slowly walked off, merging into the rest of the crowd as they flooded towards the cemetery. Glancing back, he found Nora still watching him; she smiled, an actual genuine smile, and mouthed I love you. He returned the smile, then rounded the corner of the church. The rest of the car park spilled ahead of him and that's when he caught sight of Dermot, exchanging words with the scruffy chav, Bovver. Fucking daft name, in Jock's opinion.
Perhaps it was fate but Jock felt compelled to intervene. As he approached, he caught the tail-end of the conversation, though it did little to enlighten him. He quickened to a jog as Dermot rammed Bov against the side of a car. “Don’t you fucking dare say her name,” he was snarling, and Jock assumed it was about Nora. Who else would it be when it came to these two? “I swear to God, I will kill you right now.” Jock grabbed him by the arms, but Dermot barely gave him a second glance as he tried to haul him off, too intent on Bov. “You’re a fucking dead man walking, Bov, I fucking promise you.” Managing to put some space between Dermot and Bov, Jock watched as the Londoner pushed away from the car, though there was a malicious glint in his eyes and an unsettling smirk on his lips. What was going on?
“Don’t worry, bruv. Your secret’s safe with me... For now.” He looked across at Jock, giving him a single nod before he turned and limped away. Jock glanced at his cousin; Dermot’s features were dark, a vein throbbing in his throat. He would made good on his promise, Jock didn’t doubt. However, he could release him without Dermot surging after Bov, and he sighed, pushing his hands back into his pockets.
“The cunt’s not worth it.”
“You shouldn’t have stopped me.”
They smoked together, leaning against the car, but Dermot was reluctant to give up his secret, and in the end, Jock had no choice but to leave him to it. He wasn’t even sure if Dermot was lying when he said it had nothing to do with Nora. Don’t you fucking dare say her name. Who else could he have been talking about? Truthfully, Jock felt torn. Before the fall out, Dermot had been the only family he’d had. He had never imagined anything to have ever come between them, but it had, and the downward spiral his cousin was now riding unsettled Jock no end. The drinking, the drugs, beating Bov within an inch of his life... these were things Dermot had left behind years ago, so what the fuck was he doing? Surely Max hadn’t gotten into his head that easily?
And despite his anger, Jock did still care for him. He didn’t like seeing Dermot like this, lost and angry, lashing out at the world. It had been painful, but he couldn’t deny Dermot had just been trying to do the right thing. Everything since that day had just grown messier. Unable to ease his frustrations, Jock cast around the graveside for Nora, only to realise with a start, that she wasn’t amongst the crowds. He headed back for the church, towards the alcove where he’d left her. He could hear Nora before he rounded the corner and hastened his step.
“...I don’t think she made that decision herself… She wouldn’t leave Pete for you. She never did, through all those years. Why would she change her mind now? It’s someone else –”
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but I’m fucking glad it isn’t you –”
“Nora?” Jock rounded the corner just as Max went to snatch her wrist, but Nora was already moving away and Max stilled at the sight of him. Nora hurried to his side, grabbing Jock’s hand tight. She pulled sharply, but Jock’s hard gaze was set right on his cousin. Slowly, Max caught his gaze, an equally dark glare on his own face. Allowing Nora to tug him away, Jock took a deep breath and tried to steady the heat rising in waves. Why the fuck had he even been near her? Neither said a word as they approached the grave and took their place on one side. A few moments later, Max appeared on the other and it wasn’t long until Dermot joined him. It felt ridiculously metaphorical; he and Nora on one side, Dermot and Max on the other, and the gaping maw of a grave opened up in the earth between them.
“Are you okay?” Jock murmured, glancing down at Nora, her hand still tight in his. She nodded, eyes fixed to the vicar’s face as he spoke, soil pouring through his fingers to hit heavily against the wood beneath. At their side, Tristan began to sob and Benji held him close, murmuring soft words Jock couldn’t catch. He honestly couldn’t wait for this day to come to an end. He also wanted nothing more than to know exactly what Max had said to her.
“I just went for a cigarette,” Nora whispered after a moment, glancing apologetically up at him, and he gave a small nod.
“I did the same.” It was almost funny, how they both tried to protect each other; at least it was a cigarette and not alcohol, he reasoned. Sometimes it scared him, how easy it had been to change for her. To break the old habits that had held him in a vice for so many years. That what was he loved best about her; she made life easy, tolerable. With her love, he truly felt he could face anything.
“... we therefore commit this body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…”
Jock watched in silence as the coffin was lowered into the grave and as everybody began to slowly move away, two men with spades came forward and began to fill it in. Tristan was still wailing, a sound Jock knew he wouldn’t get out of his head for years. He watched as Benji picked him up, the two moving away. Then, he looked back over the grave as Max spoke up. “If anyone would like to continue to pay their respects to Charlotte, you are welcome to join us across the road for the rest of the day. There is food and an open bar, a time to come together and get to know one another.”
Jaw tight, Jock deliberately turned away. Yet another excuse for Max to play the perfect host and play the minds of those in attendance at the same time. The last thing he needed was to get to know Max any more than he did. The man may have been family in the eyes of some, but he didn’t share Jock’s blood and he knew evil creeped through his cousin’s veins. Nora sighed and he caught her chin gently. “Do you want to go?” He knew what the answer was going to be, but it didn’t make it any easier; he’d have to hold onto his restraint for a little while longer.
“We should,” she said with a small shrug and a nod; as if she were urging herself to do it, and he understood why this was important to her. She needed closure and with Nick dead, this was the only way she would get it. “If you don’t mind?”
“I’m happy to do whatever you want,” he told her, sliding his arms around her. Nora sank against him and he pulled strength from her warmth. “Just don’t push yourself, milseán, okay?” She nodded and they stood for a moment, the graveside rapidly clearing.
“Come on, dearthair,” Max said, across the plot, and Jock watched as he slung an arm around Dermot’s shoulders and pulled him away. “You need a drink, and we need to talk.” Gaze following them as they passed, Jock couldn’t help but feel uneasy. In silence, he and Nora turned and followed, heading for the hotel over the road.
Ahead of them, Benji walked beside Tristan, his small hand clenched tight in his. The boy had managed to stop crying, though his eyes looked red and sore and he was still sniffling. He looked exhausted and Benji felt the stirrings of guilt returning. If it hadn’t been his own mum they were laying to rest, Benji would never have brought him, but he hadn’t wanted Tristan to grow up with regret, to grow up with the idea that he’d never said a final goodbye.
It was hard, fucking insane, and today might scar him in ways that Benji couldn’t fathom, but he had done it for Triss. Out of everybody here, he was the one who deserved the chance to say goodbye. He was the one who’d loved Charlotte most in the world, and Tristan himself had been Charlotte’s world, that he never doubted.
“You did good, kid,” Benji said, looking down at him. Tristan nodded, but didn’t look up; there was a small frown lingering on his face. A moment later and Max came up behind them, clasping his shoulder as he fell into step.
“Moving speech.” Max smiled at him and there was no fakery. “Genuine. I liked it.” Benji nodded in return, unable to muster much of a smile. No doubt he looked as exhausted as Tristan did. Max glanced down at the boy. “He did your mother proud, hey?” Once again, Triss gave him no reply and Benji noticed the flicker of a frown on Max’s face; he gave the small hand in his a gentle squeeze. “First drinks on me-”
“It’s an open bar,” Nora suddenly called out at his side and Jock looked down at her in surprise; there was something in her eyes, a fire he hadn’t noticed was burning until now. Max glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow.
“And who do you think is paying for that open bar, mislean?”
Jock glared at him, but he’d already turned away. He and Nora slowed to a stop in the car park and let them get ahead. “I hate him,” she whispered, a fierce undertone to her voice and he could see how much Max had infuriated her. “Earlier... he said...” Nora bit her bottom lip and Jock tensed, anxious to know what she was about to say. “He said he’d slept with Lara, last night. She isn’t safe, Jock.”
Jesus Christ. Rubbing his jaw, Jock glanced away for a moment. There was so much going on; Lara and Pete’s break up, Dermot harbouring secrets with the head of the GSE, and now Lara supposedly sleeping with Max. It was a fucking shit-show. “He’s probably lying. To piss you off.” Nora nodded, brow puckered, but before he could say anymore, the sound of a motorbike engine broke the silence and a moment later, Bov passed them and disappeared down the street. Jock looked back at Nora. “Why didn’t you tell me Bov was here?”
She frowned, bringing her gaze up to his. “Did he speak to you?”
“No, but he spoke to Dermot.” Confused, she didn’t speak for a moment as she tried to fathom why. “Why didn’t you tell me, Nora?” he pressed. Why had she felt need to warn Dermot and not himself? Sighing, she took his hand and pulled him to one side to let people pass.
“I’m… sorry.” She began to fiddle with his tie, a faint blush tinging her cheeks. “I didn’t tell you, because I… I don’t have to worry about you. Dermot, he…” She trailed off, worrying her bottom lip. “Nick… the reason I was there was because of Dermot. A few weeks before Dermot had broken into Nick’s home, trashed his things, no doubt because of Max and tried to kill him.”
Because of Dermot. It all made sense now. Why he’d been so adamant to leave Jock behind and fix it. Jock’s fists clenched. What the fuck was his cousin involved in that he’d tried to commit murder? What had Dermot had to do with Nick in the first place? He’d assumed he’d only saved Nora in some weird attempt at wooing her back, but apparently it was a lot deeper than that. Things had been happening behind the scenes that Jock knew nothing about and it was becoming more apparent that he literally had no idea what Dermot was involved in these days.
“He carved this… this S into his chest… it was disgusting, Jock. He left him for dead, it was on the news and everything, I remember now. His whole chest was red raw from where he’d cut his initial and I…” She fell quiet with a shake of her head, eyes glistening.
“The Mark?” Jock frowned. “...Dermot wouldn’t do that,” he added uncertainly, but the look on Nora’s face said it all. She’d seen the damage first hand and it felt like the blood in his veins had suddenly turned to ice. The Mark had been Paddy’s trademark and there were still some unfortunate cunts back in Dublin walking around with the exact same scarring.
Frustrated, Nora swiped at her tears. “I just don’t know what he’s capable of anymore, and I didn’t want you to know, because I want you to be friends…. I think. I mean… I thought I did… I don’t know.” Jock nodded to show his understanding, but his jaw was clenched hard and he couldn’t trust himself to speak at that moment. She looked up at him apologetically. “I didn’t want Dermot to cause a scene, which I knew you wouldn’t, because you love me.” He felt his chest soften at her words, heart aching a little as he saw her shoulders sag dejectedly. “I don’t know what Max is doing to him, but it scares me, Jock.”
Dampening his bottom lip, Jock pulled Nora close - making sure to watch her cast - and rubbed her back softly. “It scares me too,” he admitted, voice a low grumble. “When we were younger, after his Da died... Dermot went off the rails. I don’t know if he was trying to prove the old cunt wrong, or perhaps Max had something to do with it... Aoife was the one who brought him to his senses, so to speak. Stopped him doing some stupid enough to get locked away for the rest of his life.” He hesitated, eyes fixed on the hotel entrance. “It scares me to see him becoming that person again.”
They made their way inside, a solemn oppression weighing heavy on them. It was time to put his pride aside. Dermot needed Jock, whether he wanted the help or not. The bar was pretty packed and they spotted Dermot and Max, a young blonde woman speaking to them. A moment later, Max escorted the woman to a table in the back corner, leaving Dermot knocking back whiskey alone.
“I think you’re right,” he told Nora, as they stood off to one side, watching people carry drinks back to tables, Charlotte’s name on the lips of everybody as they passed. “We need to get Dermot away from Max. For his own good. Outside, when you were speaking to Max...” Nora gave him a questioning look. “I caught Dermot and Bov arguing in the car park. Bovver told him that his secret was safe with him, but Dermot wouldn’t tell me what it was about. It fucking worries me, Nora.”
Nora nodded, and after a moment, followed as he made his way over to the bar. Dermot had just reached into his pocket and sworn when he’d found it empty. “Lost something?” Jock asked, pushing his way against the bar next to him and giving no mind to the couple he’d just barged out the way. Dermot jumped a little, looking at him and then at Nora, who was stood at his shoulder.
“Uh. No... I broke my phone last night.”
Jock nodded, raising an eyebrow. “Need to use mine?”
“Uh... No.” Dermot looked uncomfortably suspicious. “Why do I feel like you’re both up to something?”
“We need to talk,” Jock sighed. “About that cunt, Bovver. About your little secret.”
Dermot glanced around, no doubt to check Max wasn’t in listening distance. Something he didn’t want his brother to know? He glared at Jock, voice dropping to a low hiss. “Not here.”
“We’re worried about you, Dermot,” Nora said softly and Jock nodded his agreement. As much as he hated Dermot for what he had done, he also loved him too much to watch him destroy his life.
“I know. I’ll...” He glanced at Max again. “I’ll come to yours tomorrow. I’ll... I’ll explain everything.” Jock glanced at Nora and she nodded faintly; it was probably the best they were going to get right now, even if Jock was itching for answers.
“Fine. Tomorrow.” The bartender set down three shots, which Dermot wasted no time in downing, and both Jock and Nora flashed each other an alarmed look. The fuck was the idiot doing now? Jock leaned close, frowning. “Dermot. Stop.”
“Jock.” Dermot held out a hand, swaying a little. “Don’t let Nora out of your sight. Even better, take her home.”
“Mr Sullivan?” They were interrupted by some white haired old cunt and Jock barely bit back his growl of frustration; he hated being so far out of the loop. He wanted to know why Dermot thought it best Nora not even being here. Was she in danger? Was something about happen?
“Dermot-“ Jock attempted, but Dermot waved him off.
“Excuse me. Duty calls.”
They both watched as he walked off, Nora giving a heavy sigh. “We can’t leave,” she stated firmly and he nodded in agreement. Rolling his shoulders, he turned to order two half-pints of coke. Taking their drinks, he led her to a table where they could keep an eye on Dermot at a distance. Max was still talking to his new blonde friend at the table and the body language was easy to read.
“See. He’s bullshitting you. Lara wouldn’t go there again.”
They sat, drinking quietly and talking; about the funeral, about Benji, about Max and Dermot, and even Robbie sat at home. It was weird not to be having a drink, especially when they were surrounded by it, but Jock didn’t say anything. All the while, Dermot circled the room, his glass never empty thanks to the numerous offers of refills, and Max got more intimate with his mystery woman. At one point, they caught sight of Benji and Tristan sat at a table alone; Benji was leaning over the table, words unheard, and Tristan was nodding as he picked at the wooden table edge. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Jock found himself asking, nodding to Tristan when Nora looked at him.
“There he is! The man of the fucking hour-“ Dermot’s voice broke through their conversation and both he and Nora looked up at the same time; Max looked irritated, and Dermot had clearly had too much to drink, words loud and slurred. “Maximillian fucking Sullivan, ladies and gentlemen! Not only has he paid for this poor poor woman’s funeral -“
They hadn’t noticed Benji get to his feet, pushing his way towards the younger Sullivan brother; at the table behind, Tristan watched him, eyes wide. “Oi, what you doin’?”
“He’s also managed to resurrect himself as a new man entirely!” Dermot continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Isn’t it a fucking miracle?!”
“Dearthair.” Max had come around the bench to grab his forearm, and by the time Dermot had shook him off, Jock was already on his feet, weaving his way towards them. Dermot was hissing into his brother’s face before he turned to call his blonde friend a whore, and the whole room seemed to go silent and then break into hushed whispers. Jesus H Christ on a fucking cross, what was he doing?! He forced his way between Dermot and Max, unsure if either noticed him.
“And we both know who else you’re being disrespectful to, Max, and she’s sitting at home with your fucking child.”
Lara? Jock didn’t have time to sit in confusion as Max lunged for his brother. “Dermot, that’s enough,” he hissed, knowing his warning was merely falling on deaf ears.
—-
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 25, 2022 9:18:15 GMT -5
Isla ran a cloth across the bar with a sigh.
The Abbey wasn’t open yet, it was around ten-thirty in the morning and all the shutters had been pulled down on the windows from the night before. There was something strangely comforting about an unopen pub; the stillness of it all. Setting up for the day and closing for the night were Isla’s two favourite things. Stacking the fridges with fresh rows of bottles and cans, and wedging packets of crisps into the wicker basket on the counter in a pristine fashion was surprisingly satisfying. It was like a fresh start every day. The lemons, limes and oranges had already been sliced and placed in their trays and she couldn’t help but laugh a little at a memory.
‘It’s what you’re supposed to do – it’s what the drinks company suggests, Swill. It adds flavour!’
‘I don’t fancy a bit of fuckin’ orange in my beer, it aint a poxy fruit salad!’ he took the slice of orange off the side of his beer and slammed it on the bar with force. The look he flashed Isla was utter betrayal. ‘What is the world comin’ too? What next, huh? You’ll be making me drink it with a paper straw and my pinky up or some shit –’
‘Drinkin’ with a straw is scientifically proven to get you drunk quicker, actually.’ Ned piped up from the corner and Swill hesitated before grabbing a fistful of straws and slamming them in his glass.
It certainly wasn’t what Isla had expected, running The Abbey. It hadn’t even been her initial plan. Things had just aligned perfectly, although now she could see it was a little too perfect. The thought someone had orchestrated this all made her feel wildly out of control and she shrugged off the notion. Sliding the glasses into their metal holder above the bar, she watched a slither of the morning sun catch the corner of one, printing a wave of colours on the wall behind her.
A few hours time and the boys would no doubt be here, and the fact she’d already labelled them the boys -- almost her boys -- was strange. Her past work in pubs hadn’t been as exciting; monotonous and frustrating to see the same drunken faces slumped on the bar. Swill, Ned… Dave… all of these men were different, though. They weren’t your usual regulars; they were practically the soul of this place and without them here it felt a little dull.
They didn’t just come here to drink. Here their life had began, here they felt safe. It was a nice to know she had given them somewhere to call home, when potentially they didn’t feel they could return to theirs. Isla had always longed for a place to feel secure and no one had ever offered that to her; perhaps this was her solace? She had spent her youth in Inverness, Scotland, with her mother who was out of the house more than she was in. Always pining for someone to replace the love Tommy Hatcher hadn’t even offered.
Her mother got married a few years ago, to an older man, one with an allotment and a flat cap and a requirement for the calmer things in life. So she had settled but Isla couldn’t.
How was she supposed to stay there, following years of unkindly remarks of how she was to blame for the fracture of their relationship. That her own father hadn’t even wanted her, and her mother regretted the day she was born?
‘He was married?’ Isla asked one day, looking up from a letter she’d found hidden in her mothers drawer. Folded up beneath a picture of her, Tommy and a ticket stub from a football match.
Elsie had just come through the door from the shops, arms full of bags which she’d dropped in an instant. ‘Where did you find that, Isla?’ she asked slowly and Isla backed away, gripping tight onto the paper.
‘ He was married, Ma?’ she repeated in disbelief. ‘All these years you told me it was my fault, when he was never even yours to begin with!’
‘Don’t use that tone with me –’
‘Are you fucking serious, Ma?’ Isla yelled as she stalked into the kitchen. Fifteen years old and still wearing her school uniform; curiosity had gotten the better of her and being called a bastard in the playground had begun to grate.
‘I told you to watch your langue, Isla, I’m still your mother –’
Slamming her hands down on the island, Isla glared across at Elsie, eyes like daggers. ‘All these years, and you blamed me! All those years at school, everyone laughing at me for being the bastard child of a nobody – telling me I was unwanted, that I was dirt. Letting you play the overworked single parent card every day and for what? I never asked for any of this, and –’
‘And I never asked for you!’ Elsie spat, the anger in her voice making Isla’s shoulder sag.
There was a difference between knowing you were unwelcome and then hearing it. Isla glanced down at the letter and swallowed; heart heavy. The weight of that brief conversation still hung heavy on her chest and Isla had hoped coming to London would’ve given her answers. And it did, but those answers were a dead and buried end and couldn’t hold her hand.
Never meeting your biological father was difficult. You built up all these ideas of who they could potentially be; a girl at school was adamant her mother was actually Princess Diana because she’d disappeared the same time of her death. A young imagination longed for answers and purpose and love. Elsie had raised Isla, but bitterly and they had always clashed.
‘You’re just like him.’ Her mother would hiss and Isla would relish in this fact. Good.
However after hearing the stories of Tommy, she was unsure if she still wanted those similarities to be true. He was a harsh man, who had cheated on his wife; head of a football firm and ridiculously set in his ways. His son had been killed, and he held himself accountable for that. Tommy knew what he wanted and wouldn’t hesitate in quashing those who got in his way and vengeance had been high before his death.
At the funeral, it wasn’t hard to spot who was his wife and Isla looked across at Sharon to see her tissue in hand, a hoard of broad shouldered men behind her. Mark Turner and the rest of Millwall offering reassurance and protection. She looked kind, unexpectedly so, and Isla felt a pang of guilt for being here. She didn’t want to tell her, to ruin the memory and start a war for someone who was no longer here to defend himself. There was nothing left here for her and nothing in Scotland; the sought after closure she has long wanted had offered no reward.
In her hand she had held the Polaroid of Tommy and her mother and she sighed, slipping it into her coat pocket. The affair had been brief, a few months at best, but Elsie had been truly besotted and it was sad to think of her heartbroken and pregnant. Alone as she travelled back to her home land. Just like Isla was now. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she turned to leave when she bumped into a man behind her.
Luke was wearing a thick, black coat, slight stubble on his jaw. Isla could still recall the first time she had seen him now, it stayed with her because he’d actually looked kind, for the first and last time. That was until he’d realised who she was — well, forced it out of her over a few drinks and a persuasive tongue.
‘So… we’re cousins?’
‘I guess so.’ Isla shrugged her shoulders and downed her drink. ‘Half cousins, or something.’
‘And what is it you want?’
Somehow the conversation had gone from light to heavy and an uncertain feeling was swirling in her stomach. They’d been speaking about their jobs, where they were both from but now all kind pretences were dropped and this man wanted answers. Understandably she was an outsider, the only flimsy bit of proof a small, battered polaroid. Why was she so fucking stupid?’
Isla glanced over her drink at the suddenly steely gaze Luke was giving her. ‘…What?’
‘Well, how much is it you want? I presume that’s why you’re here –’
‘No –’
‘How much?’ Luke persisted and Isla felt her cheeks flush in frustration.
‘I don’t want money!’
‘Then what?’
‘I just… I…’ Isla stumbled and glanced down at her drink. There hadn’t really been any thought behind coming here today, she had just felt compelled, as if some invisible force was looped through her naval and directing her here. ‘I don’t know, I…’
‘Not fuckin’ good enough.’ Luke pushed himself away from the table and Isla gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You’ve got some nerve, turning up at his funeral with this bullshit story –'
‘I just wanted to know what my father was like!’ she replied breathlessly. ‘… My whole childhood h-he was kept from me and I spent so many years wondering what he was like and now… and now…’ Looking up at Luke with eyes full of sincerity, Isla gave another heavy sigh. ‘Now it’s too late.’
Luke hesitated for a moment, looking down at the woman he had momentarily believed threatened his inheritance. This long legged, flame haired mistress had appeared from nowhere with a fist full of nostalgia and wide eyes. He had seen Mark glancing at her at the funeral, a hint of recognition on his face and now it made sense. She was her mothers reflection alright.
Slowly Luke sat back down, playing with the edges of a frayed coaster. Isla watched him, uncertainty apparent on her face.
‘Do you know anything about him?’ he asked and she shook her head with a frown. ‘About Tommy?’
‘No… I mean… I guess he liked football.’ She replied and Luke gave a scoff at the naivety. ‘Ma had this ticket stub in her draw, Millwall versus Tottenham from 1980-something.’ She shrugged. ‘I just know that she loved him. That was all I needed.’
‘Do you know how he died?’ Luke asked next and watched Isla swallow, the bob of her throat strangely sexual. How had his uncle spawned such a beautiful woman? ‘Do you want to know?’
Isla wasn’t sure why she had said yes, but she did and listened to the story unblinkingly. All of the stories, actually. About Steve and Pete Dunham and their right hand men – Terry and Bovver. How Terry ran a bar in West Ham that was going under and how Luke had suddenly come into a large fortune. It was hard to understand that supposedly her estranged father had been murdered because of some mediocre sport. Was that really something worth dying for? Isla didn’t know if she should be impressed by his unwavering love, or consider him foolish.
If he hadn’t died, what would he happening now? Would he be happy, or resent her? Would he acknowledge, or banish Isla? Chewing her lip, she listened in gored detail how this man called Bovver had violently killed Tommy. How the revenge for the death of his son had sent her father slightly mad; why wasn’t he so protective over her? Her mother had told him, right? In the letters… the hundreds of letters hidden in the rickety chest of drawers. Surely Elsie had informed him he was a father, that his daughter was beautiful, that she had his piercing blue eyes.
‘So, what do you think?’ Luke asked and Isla blinked away tears she didn’t know was there. He had propositioned her with something but the words were sluggish and she raised a confused brow.
‘About what?’
Leaning forward, Luke held her gaze as he lowered his voice. ‘The Abbey. If I loan you the money, you can buy the place. Do what the fuck you want with it – infiltrate those pikeys–’
‘What?’ Isla asked, incredulous. ‘I can’t do that –’
‘Don’t you care?’ Luke snapped, voice suddenly harsh. ‘They’re the reason you never got a chance to know your father –‘
‘I know, but –’
‘Don’t you think Bovver needs to be held accountable for what he’s done to us?’ there was a darkness in Luke’s eyes and Isla didn’t know what to say; if she could deny it. She felt uncertain and sick as she recalled the story of her fathers death, but didn’t feel she was the one destined to take vengeance.
‘Why don’t you just buy it?’ Isla asked, exasperated. ‘I barely even know you, I –’
‘We’re family.’ Luke urged her and she sat back in her seat with a sigh. Her head was swimming.
Twenty-four hours ago and Isla was on a flight down to London and now she was being coaxed into buying a pub from a cousin she didn’t even know she had.
‘Look.’ Luke readjusted himself, lowered his voice. ‘Didn’t you tell me you have a business degree?’ Isla nodded and he smiled. ‘Exactly. I’m just helping you get to where you want to be, sooner.’
Isla couldn’t argue with that. Luke was offering her something which could’ve taken years to reach. Chewing her lip she finished her glass of wine and placed the glass down, running her finger over the rim. Her whole life she had been tormented for things that were out of her control. Ridiculed for not having a father, and berated by her mother; no one had offered her anything, and yet now her family was offering her a way out. A way to connect with her father, to be in the same city he had lived in. She could practically feel him in her bones as she placed her hand on the wooden counter of the Kings Head.
‘Tell me more about him –’
Luke hadn’t expected that and flashed a confused look. ‘Tommy?’
‘No.’ Isla replied, ordering another drink. ‘Bovver.’
Stood in the Abbey now, Isla recalled this memory as if it was just yesterday and felt a bite of guilt. In the beginning, seeing the boys had angered her. Sitting with Bovver outside, sharing a spliff and speaking about life had been challenging; she had felt hatred stirring inside of her stomach but had held it back for the sake of Luke’s plan. The raggedy man before her, with his baggy grey hoody and tousled hair had killed her father? The one who stood on her tables and sang about bubbles and comradery and threw pints on his friends, was a murderer? Yet the more she got to know them, the more she felt tricked and confused.
These boys felt remorse. These boys had been pushed and pulled and threatened. They had lost loved ones; they had held a funeral in this very place for a close friend. They had regret, but they also had loyalty. Watching them chanting and laughing had, in the beginning, frustrated her. These people got to live their life when she’d had her future taken away from her. But that wasn’t really the truth.
Luke had been wrong.
And now Isla was stuck, unsure what to do but knowing someone had to be betrayed. She hadn’t intended on Swill shooting an arrow straight into her chest and reeling her in with his broad smile and stupid fucking jokes. She hadn’t expected to grow fond for Dave and to have built a friendship with Alice and Lara. Seeing Ned cycling in, helmet askew on his head made her laugh even on the earliest mornings and Bovver…
Bovver wasn’t a murderer, he was a lost, frightened soul. He was a man who felt he always had something to prove, to make up for the mistake he had made all those years ago. The regret was gnawing at his insides like a tumour and Isla didn’t want to be responsible for making that grow.
Leaning on the bar, Isla closed her eyes for a moment and wished everything was different. That she had never come here, met Luke or Bovver or Swill. Thinking of his blue eyes watching her with such adoration made her feel queasy. He loved her and she had ruined everything for them. She had told Luke about all their plans; Isla was the reason Pete had ended up in hospital. Did that mean she was to blame for him getting divorced? One action lead to multiple actions and Isla had made so many she couldn’t keep count.
Frustrated she jumped when someone knocked on the front door. The lights were all off and the boys knew she wasn’t open yet. Alone in the silent building, Isla felt uneasy. Another knock, this time more persistent, followed by a voice she didn’t want to hear right now.
‘Isla, open the fucking door.’ Luke demanded. ‘I’d rather not be caught on this doorstep if –’
Sliding the bolt across, Isla let her cousin in and sighed as he brushed past her. Over the years he had become less kind and understanding and more controlling.
‘What happened to your face?’ she asked and Luke gave a growl of frustration, heading over toward the bar.
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ He murmured, not wanting to talk about his altercation with George Turner. ‘You’re not answering my calls.’ Luke said pointedly as he pulled up a stool. ‘And what happened yesterday?’
Isla flinched at the recollection of Swill taking her phone and went to stand behind the bar for protection. ‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked and Luke nodded, reaching over to take the bottle of whiskey she had just picked up. As he poured his own glass, she leaned back against the wall and rubbed her hands over her face.
‘That was just one of the boys –’
‘Do you make a habit of letting them answer your phone then?’ he asked and the sickness came crawling back.
‘No.’ Isla replied firmly and Luke raised an eyebrow at the tone. The two stared at one another for a moment, the tension in the room heavy. ‘I open soon –’
‘You’re not opening today.’ Luke replied flatly, sipping his drink.
‘What do you mean?’ Isla asked and Luke shrugged his shoulders.
‘I say you’re closed, so you’re closed today. Say it’s maintenance or something –’
‘This is my business, I can’t just not open!’
‘My business.’ Luke corrected her and Isla felt her back tense.
‘Our business.’ She tried and he laughed at her, that patronising laugh that made her skin crawl. ‘I will pay you back, I just need more time.’
Shaking his head, Luke finished his drink and slammed the glass on the table. ‘It isn’t time I want, it’s information. You’re a smart girl and you knew the plan from the beginning –’
‘I have nothing to tell you –’
‘Just because you fuck one of them, it doesn’t mean they care about you. Do you realise that?’ Luke spat and Isla felt her cheeks flush.
‘You can’t talk to me like that!’ Isla snapped and she grabbed his glass to put it away but Luke lunged forward, gripping her forearm.
‘I’ll talk to you however I want, do you understand me?’
‘Get off me –' Isla demanded only spurring Luke to grip harder. Letting go of the glass she gave a whimper and felt herself double forward in pain. He was enjoying this; Luke was a sadist.
‘Do you understand me?’ Luke repeated, his face close to hers and Isla narrowed her eyes.
There was a bang behind them and both straightened up to see who had come through the door. Isla hoped it was Swill, or even Bovver, but instead Lawrence was staring at the two of them with an eyebrow raised.
‘We need to go, Luke.’ He called and Luke hesitated, still holding onto her arm.
‘What are the GSE planning?’ Luke demanded, ignoring Lawrences' pleas that they leave. ‘Huh?’
‘I don’t know.’ Isla spat and Luke gripped harder, the pressure on her wrist burning. ‘I don’t know –’
‘Don’t lie to me, you fucking bitch –’
Without thinking, Isla grabbed one of the glasses from the shelf beneath the bar and slammed it directly into the side of Luke’s head. It shattered into diamond like pieces, glittering around the two of them as they froze in disbelief. Blood started to pool on the side of Luke’s face and he held up a hand to his cheek, feeling shards sticking like daggers into his flesh. Swallowing, Isla stepped back against the wall, her body trembling.
If there was a way she could’ve gotten out of this situation, this wasn’t it. Unsure what to do, she saw the anger flashing in Luke’s eyes as he went to scramble over the bar and wondered if he was going to kill her. It had taken until now to realise Luke had merely used her for his own gain. Her father, in fact, wasn’t a nice man and coming here had only caused harm to those around her. The silver living of it all had been Swill, but would he still trust her when he knew the truth?
Luke had told her stories of how much her father had adored Tommy Junior and loved being a parent. How him and his wife were deeply in love, and he was a man with many friends and a strong reputation. How easily misconstrued the truth had become. Tommy was simply a man who ran a football firm, overflowing with angry men desperate for a leader. Just as Isla had been desperate for a father. Could she be angry at Luke for fabricating the reality she had craved?
Suddenly a loud shot rang out as a bullet pierced through the mirror behind her. It rained down around them as Isla held her arms above her head, shielding her face. Luke gave a yell of pain and turned to see a man pointing a gun directly at him. None of this was real, Isla murmured to herself as she cowered down on the floor.
‘I’d be leaving if I were you, mate.’ Terry warned, holding the gun high.
Hand still to his face, Luke looked between the two of them in disbelief. Lawrence had already vanished, so alone and injured, he resigned.
‘This isn’t over –’
‘Yes it fucking is.’ Terry cut off before Luke could finish his sentence. He had never liked this jump up kid and wondered where he got his confidence from.
Spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor, Luke shoved past Terry and disappeared into the street. A second later and they heard a screech of a car as Lawrence pulled up the car and the two sped away.
Inside the pub, silence hung around them as Isla failed to find the words. The final shard of glass fell forwards onto the floor and she looked down at her reflection with a sigh. Terry was asking if she was okay, but Isla couldn’t think straight. Her hand stung where some glass had pierced her palm and she was looking down as if she had never seen her own limb before.
‘Isla?’ Terry asked and suddenly he was in front of her, tilting her face to him. ‘Are you okay?’
Ears ringing she glanced over at the gun on the side and tilted her head to examine it. A small silver handgun. ‘Why do you have that?’ she asked and Terry gave a chuckle, the light sound abrupt in the darkness.
‘It’s only for emergencies, but I keep it in that wall over there.’ Pointing behind them, Isla could see a cupboard in the wall that hadn’t been there before, by the front door. A fake front had been built to conceal it and she gave a small laugh of disbelief. ‘I’ve never actually used that before.’ He murmured, rather impressed with himself and still reeling from the thrill.
‘You missed.’ Isla murmured sarcastically. The bullet had been inches from both her and Luke’s head.
‘Isla, do you want to tell me what was going on?’ Terry asked and Isla looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears.
‘I can’t.’ she whispered and he nodded, moving around the bar to grab the first aid kit.
‘Are the boys safe?’
Isla wasn’t sure what to answer. Slowly, she shook her head. No.
‘Why do you know Luke Winters?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She whispered and pulled her hand away as Terry tried to bandage it.
‘Are you dating him?’ Terry asked awkwardly and Isla flashed him a look he didn’t like.
‘No, but I can’t tell you what’s going on. Not yet.’
‘Then I can’t have you here.’ Terry murmured, and Isla knew it wasn’t what he wanted to say. All the same she looked taken back. ‘If you know something about the boys safety and you’re choosing not to tell me, then I can’t have you here, not today.’
‘This is my pub!’ Isla snapped, tired of people telling her what she could and couldn’t do in her own property. ‘I would never hurt them. You don’t understand, you –’
‘Then tell me, Isla.’ Terry pleaded, voice soft and Isla gave a small sob of frustration. ‘We can help you.’
‘You’ll hate me.’ Isla leaned on the bar, her head in her hands. Blood from her palm smeared her forehead but she didn’t care. Everything was suddenly spiralling out of control and she didn’t know what to do. How had she had everything, and yet now it was crumbling like sand into nothing.
‘What?’ Terry asked, incredulous. ‘We could never hate you. The boys, they love you! What is it?’ he asked, looking down as Isla pulled a polaroid from beneath the counter. Handing it to him, she saw the confusion then realisation cross his face.
‘I never intended for this to happen.’ Isla whispered and Terry took a step back, his eyes unable to move from a young Tommy Hatcher’s face. ‘Luke is my cousin.’
‘This is your mother?’ Terry turned the polaroid to her and Isla nodded.
‘Please, don’t tell them.’ Isla begged as Terry placed the picture down. The look on his face was utter confusion and she suddenly felt terrified. Moving forward, she gripped his jumper with a desperate look on her face. ‘Terry, please. Don’t tell them. I’ll fix it. I promise. I will, I’ll –’
‘Okay.’ Terry replied plainly and Isla had to stop herself stumbling over the rest of her words.
‘Okay?’ she repeated and Terry nodded again.
‘Okay. For now, it’s okay.’ Glancing at his watch he looked around at the mess and released a heavy sigh. ‘We better tidy up.’ He turned to grab the dustpan and brush from beneath the counter and Isla didn’t know what to say. For some reason she felt safe, and that Terry wouldn’t break her promise like all the others had.
‘Terry –’ she started and reached out for him but he’d already turned to face her. A sudden serious expression on his face.
‘You’re going to tell Swill.’ Terry said bluntly and Isla swallowed. ‘I don’t really want to be the one to have this conversation, especially not with him. It isn’t my business, but if you don’t tell them by the end of the month, then I will.’
Nodding slowly, Isla watched Terry turn back to work and she felt a weight lifting from her shoulders. All she needed now was to hope Swill would be as understanding, and Luke wouldn’t get involved.
It wasn’t that Max didn’t love Lara, because he did. Max just also loved attention. He loved to feel powerful and wanted; he loved to feel glorified and handsome. For a small period of time, after Lara, he had been confused and lost in himself. Why did she not want him? Then the accident had admittedly thrown him into the deep end; he’d floundered, feeling ugly and helpless. The one thing Max had always had going for himself was his looks. Not just attractive, but dark and interesting. He was the complete opposite to his soft, naïve brother.
As much as women said they loved a wounded soldier, the scars on his face hadn’t done much for his confidence or his sex life. Now, however, since the surgery and since last night… Max was feeling back to his usual self. Lara seemed to breathe an elixir into his lungs that motivated him, made him feel worthwhile. If Lara could accept him, then anyone could. Especially this blonde something smiling at him with long lashes, her eyes constantly raking up and down his body suggestively.
Max wouldn’t sleep with her, or maybe he would after a few drinks… no… Max wouldn’t sleep with her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the attention.
Just as Lara no doubt had enjoyed lapping it up as the compliments rolled off his tongue last night. People loved to feel desired. Flashing a smile to Dermot, Max settled in the corner of the room with the woman and let her compliment him profusely before introducing herself.
She wasn’t as pretty as Charlotte and her name was Amie. Why an ‘ie’ and not a ‘y’ because she was interesting. Max stifled an eye roll. Her body was good, though, figure hugging dress and curves in the right places. Listening to her talk about her life, Max couldn’t help but let his eyes roam the room. All of these people were here today because of him. It was the same strange satisfaction he gained from owning the nightclubs; people hoarded together, grinding and drinking and living and it was all because of him, even if they didn’t realise it. Max was a master orchestrator.
He let his gaze settle on Dermot who sat dejectedly by the bar. To the left of him was Nora and Jock, ever the dotting couple. Max watched them for a few minutes, tilting his head in interest. It was just like Jock to scramble for someone else’s leftovers. Was this truly the thing that was destroying his brother? It wasn’t worthwhile. Turning back to Amie he noted she had asked him a question and he smiled.
‘I’m a… businessman.’ He answered when she asked what it was his did for a living. Her eyes beamed with fascination then as if she had never met such an educated man.
‘You’re the Max Sullivan, aren’t you?’ she asked and the smirk crept across his face.
‘Depends, what have you heard?’
‘That you’re one of the most rich and powerful people in London.’ Amie cooed and Max feigned modesty.
‘I don’t know about that.’ He sipped his drink, her eyes transfixed on him. ‘What was it you said you do again?’
Amie smiled and gulped at her wine. ‘I’m a teachers assistant.’ She smiled and Max began to wonder if that was what all women became when they had no skills; like Nora.
The conversation trickled on for a while longer and Max found himself growing closer. Despite her simple lifestyle, her voice sent shivers down his spine as she recalled all the wonderous stories she had heard of him. Her hands touched the perfect part of his leg and his own sought her shoulders, slipping around them and gently pulling her in.
‘So, why aren’t you married?’ Amie asked, her eyes examining his face as she stroked his leg. ‘A man like you…’ a small giggle escaped from the multiple glasses of wine and she looked down, embarrassed. ‘Is there anyone in your life at the moment, Max?’
Max didn’t answer for a second, merely glanced down at her cleavage and wondered how he wanted this to go. Her dress pushed her breasts together perfectly and he felt an uncontrollable urge to run his hands over them. A couple of whiskeys down and he had mistakenly started to relax.
‘Get up.’ Max murmured and tugged Amie to her feet.
Sometimes Max slipped up and made mistakes. Sometimes he gave into his animalistic urges and did what he shouldn’t. Not necessarily regretting these things, but regretting the lack of self-discipline. He prized himself on being a man capable of controlling himself and yet on this occasion, the attention had gone to his head.
He was in the bathroom before his head knew where his body was. Pulling her into a cubical, Max slammed Amie against the wall and began to kiss her neck and throat violently. Their kisses were hot and streaked with hunger. Amie’s hands ran through his hair and tugged at his shirt, just as desperate for the foreplay to end and the real game to begin. Spinning her round, Max pressed himself against her, his dick hard against her ass as he forced up her dress. There were a blur of clothes and flesh, barely hushed moans echoing in the stalls.
However, in the midst of it all, as Max heard Amie cry his name in desperation and he freed himself from his underwear, he hesitated. He could hear something, faint at the back of his mind. Or was she really here?
‘Max.’ Lara’s voice called to him and he stilled, silencing Amie as she cried out for him again. ‘Max, what are you doing?’
Taking a step back, he looked up at the ceiling, straining to comprehend where her voice was coming from.
‘Do you hear that?’ he asked, not really caring for the answer.
‘Hear what –’
Slamming his hand over her mouth, Max could hear Lara calling again and gave a groan of frustration. Just as quickly as the ghost had risen, it died and Max felt dizzy from it all, the whiskey obviously making him delusional.
‘Max –’
‘We should get back.’ He cleared his throat and buttoned up his trousers, a hot flush rising up his neck.
Amie looked at him dejectedly and reached out to touch him but Max pressed her hand down.
‘We should get back.’ He said more firmly. ‘I don’t know what we were thinking. Your cousin, she –’ a fake excuse to get her away from him. He needed some air.
‘I barely knew her.’ Amie shrugged and hesitated for a moment before reluctantly redressing herself.
When the two of them returned to the table, Max glanced down at the remnants of whiskey in his glass and downed it. Amie was looking at him, a concerned expression on her face and he hated it.
‘Are you okay?’
Before he could answer, a man came up to the table and asked if he could take a seat. Amie suddenly looked nervous and shifted away a little and it wasn’t hard to tell this was her father. An older man, his rose pinched cheek and nose informed them both that he was feeling very merry on the free drink.
‘Wonderful do.’ He announced and put out his hand to shake Max’s. The handshake was limp but Max kept a welcome smile on his face. If this man had a clue what he’d just been doing with his daughter… ‘Maximilian, is it? Good, strong name.’
‘It’s Latin, for ‘the greatest’, so I’m told.’ Max smiled and they all gave a light laugh.
‘Well, I must say, your generosity is great Maximillian. This is an absolutely wonderful –’
‘Oh, Maximillian is incredibly generous.’
Max looked up at the sound of his brothers voice. His speech was slurred and bitter and Max tried to hold back the annoyance rising in his stomach. What was wrong with him lately?
‘Paying for this whole funeral out of the kindness of his own heart. Cad bastard iontacah. Oh wait, you don’t speak my tongue. You fucking English cu- Max!’
‘Excuse me?’ Amie’s dad bristled and Max felt his shoulders tense as he stood up, putting out a calming hand, although Dermot seemed grossly unpredictable right now.
‘There he is! The man of the fucking hour –’
‘Dermot!’ Max tried, his smile stiff. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up this façade, his head still whirring from whatever had happened in the toilets.
‘Maximillian fucking Sullivan ladies and gentleman. Not only has he paid for this poor, poor woman’s funeral –’
‘Oi, what you doin’?’ Benji suddenly appeared and Max flashed him a warning look. He felt like a lion tamer and he seconds to stop these two going to war. Max barely knew Benji, but he knew he wouldn’t take his show lying down.
‘He’s also managed to resurrect himself as a new man entirely!’ a pause. ‘Isn’t it a fucking miracle?’
‘Dearthair.’ Max stepped around the table, filling the gap between them in an instant. Dermot had thrown his arms out, showing himself to those watching and mocking his brother openly. Grabbing Dermot’s forearm, he groaned when he shoved him off. ‘This is disrespectful –'
‘You’re disrespectful.’ Dermot hissed, almost like a sullen child throwing an insult back at the perpetrator. ‘That.’ He glanced down at Amie in disgust and Max felt his fists clench ‘is disrespectful.’
The two of them were practically nose to nose and Max knew he had a whole room of people to impress. Their opinion on him was balancing on a knives edge and for once he didn’t know what to do.
‘Your own cousins funeral?’ Dermot scoffed and Max could hear his blood rushing in his ears. Everyone was watching, listening, all they needed now was for someone to make one wrong move and a video camera would come out. Everything he had done for today, for himself would be ruined. And for what? For what? Max didn’t have a fucking clue.
‘What are you?’
‘Dermot –’ Max warned but it was too late.
‘A whore?’ Dermot finished and Max lunged forwards, intent on grabbing his brothers shoulders but instead being pushed back by someone else. Jock was stood between the two of them, acting saviour of the hour but the brothers only had eyes for each other.
‘And we both know who else you’re being disrespectful to, Max, and she’s sitting at home with your fucking child.’
‘Dun do bheal.’ Max hissed. 'Don't you mention Lara or Charlie.' Tearing his gaze away he looked up at Jock who was struggling to hold Dermot back. ‘Joshua.’ He finally acknowledged. ‘Take him into the next room. Now.’
Jock looked at him, reluctant to do what he wanted but then Nora was speaking, reassuring him it was okay. Glancing down at her, Max took a deep breath before turning back to the crowds of people still watching in awe.
‘Ladies and gentleman, I am sincerely sorry for this interruption. Emotions can truly get the better of you on days like this, I hope you all understand?’ looking at all the faces, he swallowed, offering a reassuring smile but feeling his control slipping like a buttered knife. ‘Benji –’ Max opened his mouth to apologise but Benji had already turned back to Tristan who ran out of his seat to see what was happening. Fuck. Clenching his jaw, Max nodded to the few who were still watching and followed after Nora.
‘What have you done –’
‘Get out of my fucking way.’ Max hissed, only loud enough for them to hear as Nora turned to question him.
Jock had taken Dermot into a separate room and Max didn’t even wait until the door was shut behind them before he swung at his brother, punching him squarely and satisfying in the jaw. His blood was pumping and it had been wildly difficult to contain himself a moment longer. Shaking his fist, Max glanced down at his bust knuckle with a sigh.
‘You humiliated me!’ Max snarled, thankful Nora had shut the door behind them. She was stood in the entrance of the room, glancing uncertainly between all of them; an unnecessary figure in this situation. ‘You selfish, childish little cunt.’ Max spat the words and it felt strange on his tongue but there was just no other word that suited. ‘This is our reputation on the line. Sullivan’s name is out there and you almost blew it, for what?’
Jock angrily directed himself towards Max but he wasn’t interested, watching as Dermot wiped the blood from his mouth. ‘Get out of my way, Joshua.’ Max warned as his cousin was adamant to keep the two distanced. ‘This is none of your business, so take your little slut and –’
Dermot managed to get past Jock in that instance and with all his force slammed Max against the wall. The two of them wrestled and in the midst of it all Nora tried to pull Dermot away. Gripping his elbow, she desperately called for him to calm down when he swung blindly towards her and knocked her to the ground. Jock yelled something but the two were entrapped in one another’s gaze. Dermot looked livid and Max couldn’t comprehend why.
‘Don’t push me, dearthair.’ Max warned.
Dermot was gripping his shirt collar and he was doing the same in return. Both of them holding on so tightly their knuckles turned white. ‘I don’t know what the fuck has possessed you lately, but I’ve had enough of it!’ shoving Dermot away from him, Max straightened his collar with a huff. ‘You’re not some giofogach fiain, you’re just a middle class bastard nobody loves.’
Nora was looking at him in disgust as Jock helped her to her feet. Why did Dermot let him speak to him in that way?
Even though Dermot had initiated the fight, Max felt he wasn’t the one truly responsible. No, he wasn’t the one who had ruined Dermot’s life – he had given him a life. Nora had done nothing but use him, for her own personal gain. For a home, for money, for entertainment. Now she was here, flaunting herself in the slutty black lace dress, bare collarbones demanding lips touch. This funeral was because of her, this turmoil was because of her – Nora had fed the darkness inside Dermot that Max had spent years bottling up to use.
‘You.’ Max hissed and they all turned their attention towards Nora.
No words left her mouth as Max propelled himself towards her. Jock stepped in front to protect her, but the barrier wasn’t needed as Dermot grabbed him by the back of his shirt and slammed him onto the floor. For once, Max was losing. Something inside of Dermot had been ignited, and the fury there was making her scared.
Max felt his spine click as he hit the ground with a grunt, all the air rushing from his lungs. A strike to the ribs and he groaned, followed by another. Before his eyes could focus, Dermot was standing above him and raised his foot to stamp on his face when suddenly Nora screamed his name. Such a piecing scream that it made the blood in Max’s veins still. She was standing beside Jock, her eyes wide with fear and despair.
‘Dermot, no!’
Dermot hesitated, a moments realisation flickering across his features. Max couldn’t seem to move as he looked up at his brother, the anger on his face making his once gentle features ugly. Something had taken him over and it made Max nervous. Swallowing, he leaned up on his elbows, chest heaving. Above him, Dermot lowered his foot and stood, too catching his breath. For once, Dermot was his equal.
‘This day isn’t about you.’ Nora said, voice hoarse. ‘This has nothing to fucking do with any of you.’
Moving away from Jock, Nora left the room before anyone else could say anything. The three of them stood in heavy silence, unsure what to do or say. If the family hadn’t already been fractured, it was now. After a pause, Jock left after Nora and it was just the two of them.
‘Dearthair.’ Max said slowly, still sat on the floor. Dermot was sat on one of the chairs in the corner, head in his hands which were shaking. ‘Dearthair?’ Max asked again but Dermot snapped at him to shut up so for once, he did.
Pulling himself to his feet, Max straightened his shirt out as best he could and buttoned his jacket back up. He could hear music still flowing from the next room but knew their fight would’ve caused some disruption. How was he going to explain this? Wiping the blood from his bottom lip, Max released a heavy sigh. Every time he had things in place, something went wrong and it all misaligned. Max wanted his brother, but did he need him? It was a question he had been asking himself for a while. He had Benji, but did he trust him? Feeling an unusual sense of loss, Max glanced back once more at his brother before also exiting the room.
When he got out, he expected to be greeted by someone asking for answers, but not Benji. The man was in his face in an instant, speaking about disrespect and Max swatted him away as if he were a nuisance fly. Benji however didn’t take too kindly to that and was abruptly in Max’s face. What the fuck was happening today? He played the nice card for a few hours and people thought they could take advantage? And the sound of Lara was still spinning in his head, tormenting him.
‘Do you want to take a step back there, Mr Johnson.’ Max warned, voice low.
People had still gone back to their drinks but their attention was wavering and any slight move they’d change focus.
‘This is Charlotte’s day, I understand.’ Max muttered in response. ‘So you’d do well not to cause anymore scenes, okay?’
The two watched one another for a moment before Benji reluctantly turned away. Behind them, Tristan was holding Nora’s hand and Jock had his arm around her shoulder. They looked like some twisted family and Max clenched his jaw. Why did everyone get the fairy tale when Max merely got the brothers Grimm version?
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Oct 27, 2022 2:28:45 GMT -5
“Dun do bheal,” Max hissed, voice a low and dangerous threat that nobody could misinterpret. “Don’t you mention Lara or Charlie.”
There was so much Dermot wanted to say. It was all there on the tip of his tongue; how he’d ran his hands over Lara’s waist, frantically pulled the clothes from her body as she frantically pulled the clothes from his. He wanted to tell Max exactly how she’d sounded as he’d driven deep, her head thrown back, chocolate waves like a waterfall. He wanted to tell Max how long the nail marks had remained in his shoulders and reveal the small hint of a love-bite that still lingered on his collar. The alcohol was nothing on the absolute fury that ran through Dermot’s veins at the single thought of Max even trying to lay claim to her.
Jock was doing a good job of keeping him at bay when all Dermot wanted to do was unleash Hell on his dearthair. Everything that had gone wrong was because of him. Lara, Pete, Nora, even fucking Bov - Max had single-handedly ripped all their lives apart and for what? Power? Adoration from the fucking masses? Dermot had seen it so clearly today; in the extravagance of the funeral, in his speech, in the charming way he’d sidled off with Blonde. He didn’t care for anybody but himself and he didn’t fucking care that Dermot was drowning.
Max tore his gaze from Dermot’s to look at Jock, finally acknowledging his presence. “Joshua. Take him into the next room. Now.” At this, Jock hesitated. He knew if he released Dermot now, it would be game over, but at the same time, who the fuck did Max think he was? Giving him orders like some fucking Pup? He glowered back at Max, but then Nora stepped forward, her soft voice breaking through his frustration.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, and he nodded, not needing to question her reasonings. As Max turned away to address the crowd, Jock moved to face Dermot, forcing him to meet his eye.
“Don’t be a cunt,” he muttered, and Dermot huffed and stormed off towards the next room, Jock close behind him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am sincerely sorry...” Max’s words faded out as Dermot burst through the door, pacing into a second, smaller, function room. He came to a stop in front of a long wooden table, one hand on his hip, the other at his mouth as he nibbled his thumbnail. Jock stared at him.
“Dermot, what have you done?” The last of his words were drowned out by Max slamming his way inside; he looked absolutely furious and he only had eyes for Dermot. Dermot turned to speak, but Max’s fist sprang out and caught him right in the jaw. He stumbled back against the table, already tasting blood, and Jock instantly moved forward to defend him.
“You humiliated me!” Max snarled, after a glance at his bust knuckles. Nora shut the door, watching them fearfully, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his brother. For the first time, Dermot didn’t feel any guilt; only defiance flickered like a flame in his gut and he coaxed it, desperate to keep it burning. “You selfish, childish little cunt.” It was like being thrown back decades. His own Da standing over him, knuckles bust or a belt to hand, bellowing demeaning insults. Letting Dermot know how weak and pathetic he really was. Max might not have been his seed, but Patrick had clearly raised him well. “This is our reputation on the line. Sullivans’ name is out there and you almost blew it, for what?”
“You know who you sound like?” Dermot spat, eyes narrowed as he pushed himself away from the table. “Da. You sound just like fuckin’ Da. Proud of yourself, huh? You’ve finally checked all the boxes.”
At Max’s retort, Jock stepped forward angrily, arm out to stop Max getting any closer. “That’s enough. We all know you were talking shit out there.”
“Get out of my way, Joshua,” Max warned and the use of his fucking name was really starting to grate. He’d done so well to keep his composure all day, but frankly, Jock was about ten seconds away from giving the slimy cunt what he deserved. The scar on his throat itched. He never forgot. “This is none of your business, so take your little slut and -”
Dermot shoved Jock aside and slammed Max into the wall with enough force to knock a frame off the wall; it shattered, splashing thin sharp shards of glass across the wood flooring. The two brothers wrestled, each managing a punch or two, and Jock rushed forward at the same time Nora did. “Dermot!” She grabbed his elbow, trying to pull him away, as Jock tried to force his way between. “Please, just calm down!” At that moment, Max managed to shove himself out the way and Dermot turned, catching Nora hard enough to knock her to the floor.
“Nora!” Jock fell to his knees, checking she was conscious; there was already a red mark forming on her face. Angrily, he looked up at the warring brothers. “You’ve fuckin’ hurt her!” He helped Nora to her feet, then shoved up the sleeves of his shirt. Max took the opportunity to swing at his brother again, but Dermot managed to get a grip of him again, fisting his collar tight.
“Don’t push me, dearthair. I don’t know what the fuck has possessed you lately, but I’ve had enough of it!” He shoved Dermot away roughly, huffing as he straightened his collar. The look he gave Dermot was dark though. “You’re not some giofogach fiain, you’re just a middle class bastard nobody loves.”
Dermot laughed, and Jock yanked him back by the shoulder. “You’ve actually lost it,” he hissed into his ear, as Dermot’s delighted chuckles slowly faded. Max suddenly looked up, staring right at Nora, as if something had finally clicked in his brain, a puzzle piece slotting into place.
“You.”
All three of them were looking at her now, but Jock didn’t expect Max to actually go for her. He threw himself to the right, blocking her entire body with his, but Dermot had reacted even quicker; he’d snatched the back of his shirt and yanked him back with all his might, sending Max crashing to the floor on his back. The air left his lungs in a rush, and something seemed to snap in Dermot. He kicked Max hard in the ribs, then again in the stomach.
Then he raised his foot, ready to stamp on his face, and Jock was only half-pleased when Nora jolted out of her horrified trance beside him to scream his name. “Dermot, no!” It was the same scream she’d used at the warehouse, when she’d confronted Bovver. That same anguished, Look at him! Perhaps that mere sound had taken Dermot back too, as he stopped, realisation marring his features.
What was he doing? He’d been so ready to stomp the life out of Max, until his face was nothing but sole-imprinted pulp, and the adrenaline coursing through him was making him feel sick. He took an uneasy step back, then looked over at Nora, noticing the mark on her face. He’d done that? Breathlessly, he looked down at Max; lip bleeding, jaw bruised, leaning up on his elbows. There was a look in his eyes that Dermot didn’t recognise.
“This day isn’t about you,” Nora said, her voice hoarse, and the tears he could see glimmering made Dermot feel especially guilty. “This has nothing to fucking do with any of you.” Without waiting for any kind of answer, she turned and stalked out, leaving a heavy and uneasy silence. Jock looked between the two of them before shrugging and following Nora. There was nothing else he could do here and if the two wanted to kill each other... so be it.
Watching Jock leave, Dermot sank down onto the nearest chair. His knuckles were bleeding and his own face throbbed from the punches Max had gotten in. His hands were trembling and he swallowed back the nausea churning in his stomach. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to get himself killed. He sunk his face into his hands.
“Dearthair.” He heard the rustle of fabric as Max sat up. “Dearthair?”
“Just shut up, Max!” He had nothing more to say. He listened as Max picked himself up, sighing heavily as he straightened himself out. Without another word, he left the music louder for a moment before the door swung shut again. Finally alone, Dermot dropped his hands and exhaled, leaning back against the chair. He needed to go out of here and there was only one place he wanted to be. Glancing at the door Max had left through, Dermot stood and headed away from it, finding a fire door behind a curtain that led out into the street.
—-
Back in the main room, Jock caught up with Nora. She’d just come to a stop in front of Benji, but Jock took her hand and turned her to face him. “Let me see that,” he muttered, inspecting her jaw; his brow furrowed and the anger was quick to deep back.
“What ‘appened in there?” Benji demanded, but Jock didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Save yourself the bother and don’t get involved.” He lowered his hands and gave Nora a stern look. “We’re leaving. If I stay a moment longer, I’ll kill one of them.” He knew she was reluctant to leave even now, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. A moment later, they both turned when they heard Max’s voice; Benji had instantly moved to confront him and Jock had to give it to him; he had some balls.
Little Tristan appeared beside Nora, huddling into her side and Jock sighed, sliding his arm around her shoulders and giving the one beneath his palm a gentle squeeze. “We have room in the car for two more, don’t we?”
—-
Benji didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but it was starting to really piss him off. First Max’s boastful speech about himself, and now his brother was here, causing a scene at her wake? It was obvious he was pissed off at Max about something, but did the dickhead have to bring it here? This was Charlotte’s day and they were ruining it.
“Benji-” Max turned away from trying to appease the crowd, but Tristan suddenly appeared, tugging at his arm and Benji turned to usher him away. He could feel the beginnings of a headache start to pound and he regretted ever ever agreeing to work for the Sullivans. What the fuck had he been thinking?
“Go and sit down. I’ll figure out what’s goin’ on.”
“Are they gonna fight?” Tristan’s eyes were glued to his.
“I dunno, Triss, just sit there.” Firmly seating the kid, Benji turned back to find all three Sullivans and Nora stalking through into the next room. The shouting erupted before the door had a chance to shut. Fucking hell. He pushed a hand over his shaved head, listening to the mutterings of those around him.
Over on the other side of the room, Bruce sat with Moira, drinks to hand. Both of them exchanged raised eyebrows but neither said a word; simply watched the scene unfold. Very interesting. The Sullivans has always been considered a solid and impenetrable unit, so to see the tension spark so easily between them... it was interesting indeed. Bruce sipped the froth off his beer, mind whirring, and he could almost hear the cogs going in Moira’s brain too.
“So it’s not all smooth sailing,” she murmured and Bruce nodded in agreement. They could hear the argument intensifying, then the sound of shattering glass... Moira sipped her wine. “Idiots,” she muttered.
Nora was the first to leave the room, followed quickly by Jock. She looked upset, Benji turning to face her as she approached. “Hey, are you all right?” He noticed the mark on her face, but before he could question it, the ginger Sullivan cousin appeared behind her.
“Let me see that,” he muttered, inspecting her jaw with tender fingers.
“What ‘appened in there?” Benji demanded, but Jock didn’t even spare him a glance; his own jaw was set and Benji could sense his tension.
“Save yourself the bother and don’t get involved.”
Scowling, Benji turned away, spotting Max as he came out the door. He approached him in an instant, barely giving him chance to move away from the door; there was a hint of blood on his swollen bottom lip. “What is fuck is going on?” He hissed, unable to stop himself, anger getting in he way of self-preservation. “This ain’t respectful, this is-“ Max waved him away as if he were nothing more than an irritation and Benji felt the heat bloom in his chest and burn upwards. He pushed himself closer, face in Max’s. “I ain’t goin’ away.”
“Do you want to take a step back there, Mr Johnson,” Max warned him in a low voice and Benji forced himself to take a breath and step back. Coming to blows here would do him or Tristan no good at all.
“Today was supposed-“
“This is Charlotte’s day, I understand. So you’d do well not to cause anymore scenes, okay?”
Benji hesitated a moment before turning away. He was done. He caught sight of Tristan huddled up beside Nora, already reaching for him as he approached. “Come on, Triss. Time to go home.”
“You want a lift?” Jock asked and Benji paused for a moment; the big black Range Rover was still outside, but truthfully, he didn’t want it. He wanted to get as far away from this place as possible. Nodding, he lifted Tristan into his arms and followed them out the door. —-
“You didn’t ‘ave to do this,” Benji said quietly, as Jock handed out the food; it smelt delicious and his stomach gave a loud rumble. They were parked up outside MacDonalds, the large yellow sign illuminating the inside of the car.
“What are you talking about? The boy’s starving.” Jock grinned at Tristan in the rearview mirror. “Seems like Maximilian forgot to add a buffet when he was thinking up this brilliant idea.” Then, he winced when he remembered it was the kid’s mum’s funeral. “I didn’t mean-“
But Tristan was grinning and tucking happily into his French Fries. “He didn’t do a very good job. Mummy wouldn’t have liked it.”
Benji looked at him with a small laugh of disbelief. “No?”
“Nah. Too many people. And Max talks too much.”
They all laughed and for the first time that day, a bit of the heaviness was lifted. Jock pulled out the bay and drove the pair home, dropping them off outside. “Can you come around for dinner one day?” Tristan pleaded to Nora, hanging in her window as Benji rooted in his pockets for his keys. “Please?”
Nora promised they would, a faint tremor in her voice, and Jock reached out to gently squeeze the hand that rested on her knee. Benji waved them goodbye and Tristan ran up the path and Jock truly hoped the kid still had a good life after this. To go through so much heartache at such a young age... It was quiet on the way home, the two processing the day. A lot had happened, for something that had been emotionally and mentally difficult as it was - for Nora, at least. She’d come here to face her demons and had gotten much more than she’d bargained for.
And Dermot. Seeing him today had ignited memories of long ago, memories that had been long since buried. He remembered vividly one cold winter in Dublin, when they’d only been seventeen. They’d been drinking Jock’s Gramps’ whiskey beneath the bridge and burning cardboard and wood in a bid to keep warm. Two other lads had approached, their age, maybe closer to Dermot’s. “Giz the drink up?” One had said, approaching, hands overstretched towards the fire.
Dermot had been holding the bottle, stood on the other side of the licking flames. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, then up at the boy. Then, without hesitation, he smashed it over his head. It shattered with the force and the boy fell, extinguishing the flames with his body. Jock had froze, and it was only when Dermot went to boot the unconscious kid in the face that he tackled his cousin aside, the two hitting the leaf-strewn concrete. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
The same question Jock wanted to shout at him now. What the fuck was he doing? And what was this secret? The one Bov knew and Max very clearly didn’t?
Inside the house, Jock dropped the keys into the bowl and sighed heavily, drawing Nora close to kiss her brow. “What a fucking day,” he murmured, studying her features and shaking his head softly when his thumb traced her bruised jaw. “You did good today. I know that was hard. How are you feeling?”
—-
Dermot felt lost. As he drove, weaving in and out of traffic, it began to rain, big heavy droplets that splashed against the windscreen and blurred his vision. He’d fought with Max before, plenty of times, but this was different. Something about this felt irreparable. Dermot had truly humiliated him. He’d done the one thing Max feared the most and that had been to ruin his reputation. In front of all those people.
Max had been furious. The look on his face when he’d stormed into the room...
Dermot had never done such a thing before. He’d spent his life placating his brother, picking up the pieces of whatever trouble he’d gotten into. And for a while, Dermot had truly idolised him. Max had never let him down. He’d never hesitated in defending Dermot against their Da, nor against any other cretin back in their hometown. Even here in London, he had given Dermot and his daughter a home, something stable.
But, he wasn’t a good person, he reminded himself fiercely, glancing at the fist clenching the steering wheel; the blood was beginning to darken and congeal. Max hurt people. Max had lived his life through intimidation, using fear to gain respect. He’d threatened Nora and he’d hurt Lara in ways he probably didn’t even know about. He’d even tried to murder Jock, their own flesh and blood. How many more times could Dermot really turn a blind eye to his brother’s destruction?
It felt like he reached Lara’s in no time. The house was dark beside the glow of the front room lamp and for a moment, Dermot remembered the last time he’d turned up drunk; Lara had found out the truth about Max, the upset and betrayal in her features devastating. She’d brandished the knife out of fear, he knew, yet that had really been the first moment Dermot had felt the stirrings of feelings foreign to him. He’d seen her differently that night. Not just a survivor, but a fighter. A warrior. Somebody who would never give up when it came to her children. And he’d loved her for that.
Cutting the engine, Dermot pulled himself out the car and made his way up the gravel drive. The fight had sobered him, a little, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide this from her; he’d barely taken a moment to catch sight of his own reflection, but at least his mouth had stopped bleeding. He knocked lightly. Would Pete be here? It was late, but this was his home and -
The door opened to reveal Lara. She was wrapped in a dressing gown, hair still damp from the shower; she wore it loose and it curled around her shoulder in strands. Her eyes widened when she saw him, taking him in with one look before she shook her head. “Why is it that every time I see you, you’ve been in a fight?” She stepped aside to let him in. “Who was it this time?”
“Max.”
“Max?!”
He turned to face her as she shut the door and he caught the panic on her face. “He doesn’t know.”
“Then why were you fighting?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she raised an eyebrow and he could see her worry battling with her annoyance. “Dermot, this has to stop. I left my husband because of this -“
“I know.”
“- Because of the drinking and the fighting-“
“I know,” he said again, moving closer and reaching to pull her in gently. “I know. I’m sorry.” He brushed her lips with his.
“Dermot...”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her mouth, feeling her resistance. He gave a low groan of frustration and toyed her bottom lip with his tongue. “I need you,” he whispered. “Please. I’ll talk after.” Lara hesitated another moment before he felt her relax into him and he deepened the kiss. God, she tasted fucking wonderful. Every terrible thing that had surmounted today seemed to fall away in that single, heated and desperate kiss. Hands on her waist, he pressed her back against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, body crammed against hers. Her fingers found his hair, pulling tightly and it only spurred him on, hands already pulling at her dressing gown.
Breathlessly, she pulled back and told him they should go upstairs. He nodded, already lifting Lara into his arms. Neither could take their eyes off the other as he carried her upstairs, her finger tracing the cut on his lower lip and the slight bruise that was beginning to bloom on his jaw. In the bedroom, he gently lowered her into the bed, heart beginning to pound at the mere sight of her. Lara was truly beautiful, the angles of her face begging his lips to trace. Her hair fanned out around her and she watched him with hooded eyes as he shrugged out of his suit and began to unbutton his shirt.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the fabric pooling on the floor before he moved closer, easing into the bed and crawling up her body until he was hovering over her. He traced every inch of her face, taking in every feature and freckle and shard of blue in her eyes. Then, he lowered his mouth to kiss her again, seeking entrance which she quickly granted. Tongue teasing hers, Dermot allowed himself to submerge himself into the moment; into the feeling of her body beneath his, thighs pressed against his waist.
They kissed until they needed air, and breaking away, Dermot began to lavish attention on the smooth column of her throat, teeth grazing against her collarbone. Lara arched beneath him with a soft moan, and gently, he eased apart the tie at her waist and allowed the fluffy dressing gown to fall open. Lara was completely naked underneath. His breath caught a little as he sat back to look at her, drinking her in as if she was the most remarkable thing he’d ever seen. And she was, and she was his.
Dermot reached to palm her breast, glancing up to find her watching him with a small smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back when she told him how much she loved the way he looked at her. “That’s because you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, voice hoarse. Teasing her nipple between two fingers, he dipped his head and swirled his tongue around the other, causing her moans to grow.
After languishing his attention on her breasts, he began to kiss a path down her body, teasing her stretch marks with the tip of his tongue as she shivered beneath him. His hands glided down her sides and over her smooth thighs, and he pressed a kiss below her naval in a way that had her squirming beneath him. Dermot smirked at her, tongue trailing infuriatingly slow to her pubic area.
She exhaled his name, eyes fluttering shut, and he teased each crevice with mouth and lips until she was begging him in quiet whispers. Finally, he gave her what she wanted and ran the flat of his tongue over her, before circling her sensitive nub. Max’s marks still lingered; dark fingerprints which patterned her thighs, but for the first time since yesterday, there was no stirring of jealously inside of him. Lara was, and always would be, his.
When she came, wet and hot against his mouth, Dermot kissed his way back up her body, spending a few moments nipping and teasing her breasts before he claimed her mouth and she moaned softly at the taste of herself. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured in her ear, his body prone between her thighs. “Every fucking day, I’ve wanted you. It’s driving me mad.” His hand slid up her throat and tangled themselves in her thick dark hair.
“I’m yours,” she whispered, as he sunk into her. It was even better than before, though he wasn’t sure how. Every touch she made seemed to ignite fireworks across his skin and he bit her full bottom lip when her nails raked down the broad expanse of his back. Her body seemed to meld perfectly with his, and as he reached between them to tease her, he knew without a doubt that they were meant to be. That their paths had each led them to this place, as if guided by some unseen force. It didn’t take long for her to come undone once more, her body writhing beneath his as she rode the waves of her climax, and he couldn’t help but stare at each little facial movement, unable to believe how somebody could look so fucking sexy and so damn ethereal all at the same time.
Dermot claimed her mouth in a searing kiss when he finally came, his body tense and solid against hers. Lara murmured in his ear, holding him in place until he finally collapsed above her. He could barely move, content with her body sticky and burning against his and her gentle giggles in his ear and the smattering of kisses she was pressing against his cheek and temple. She told him she loved him and Dermot managed to find some energy to move and he grinned and grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her. “I love you, Lara Smith. I’ve always fucking loved you.”
They laid together, naked and happy, the cover barely at their waist. Lara laid in the crook of his arm, cheek against his chest, and teased the ridges of his abdomen. And neither mentioned Max. Neither mentioned anything that had happened that day. They both knew it was coming, they knew the unmentioned danger was now not on the horizon, but right on the doorstep.
An unspoken agreement that tonight was for them, because tomorrow was never promised.
—-
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Post by katherinesullivan on Oct 28, 2022 9:53:36 GMT -5
Pete stared down at Kimmy with a sigh. He was staying at Swill’s flat, and he had never seen a man with so much stuff before. Boxes of chocolate bars lined one of the kitchen walls he’d gotten ‘on sale’ with mugs and glasses littering the sink. Swill himself was singing Whitney Houston at the top of his lungs in the shower and it was then Pete realised this wasn’t going to work. He was struggling, however, to find something that would.
Last night had been a lot more intense than he had imagined. Seeing Max on the television, smiling and being praised was something difficult to hear; he was a murderer, a rapist, why was he being paraded as a saviour? None if it really made any sense and at least once a day Pete had begun to consider he was going insane. It was the only way to explain it all.
In the space of a week, Nora had gone missing, Lara had requested a divorce, fucked Dermot and now Max Sullivan was the cities hero. Running a hand over his face, he watched as his daughter sucked on her orange slice and leaned back on the counter. Usually he always had a plan; before Lara, he always had a plan.
Since Lara, Pete had slipped. Happiness had made him forgetful and carefree. They had been so absorbed within one another that at one point Pete had struggled to find where he even began. The boys saw it before he did; the clouded eyes, the lack of proper judgement during the games or the meets. All he had seen, though, was his future. His hope and shining beacon he’d well warranted after all the years he had suffered. Pete wanted children, safety, security; the firm became a threat.
Looking back on it now he hated how blind he had become. How could he have accused the firm, and the boys of being anything more than home? Maybe Bovver was right, even if Pete didn’t want to admit it. Perhaps Lara had merely been a distraction, a decoy, and now she was done playing the long game and had run back to where she belonged. With the Sullivans. Yet, why Dermot and not Max?
That was what he couldn’t comprehend, no matter how much he tried. Dermot had always been in the background, easy and inoffensive. Max had been the one vying for Lara’s attention, attempting to end her life and their childs’ on multiple occasions. But was that part of the plan too, or was she playing even the greatest trickster?
Sipping his coffee, Pete looked up as Swill came out of the bathroom, a plume of steam following after him. Towel around his waist he sauntered over to Kimmy as if she were a store vendor and took one of her orange slices, examining it with great interest.
‘Thanks very much.’ He murmured as he placed it in his mouth and sucked it against his teeth. Kimmy gave a giggle and Pete couldn’t help but smile.
‘You were in there for hours.’ He called as Swill went to get changed. Flicking on the kettle, he made his friend a fresh drink as he listened to him crashing about. It was funny how little things had changed, but also how much. Swill had the same cramped flat, but he was broader, wiser, yet still just as crazy.
‘I’ve got to look my best.’ Swill replied as he came out of the bedroom wearing his usual jeans and a blue crinkled shirt.
‘Isla has seen you at your worst. I don’t think she needs impressing anymore.’ Pete shook his head but couldn’t help smile. It wasn’t unusual for Swill to become besotted with someone, but for it to go well was another story entirely. ‘But do you not think you need to run an iron over that?’
‘How do you know it’s Isla I’m impressin’?’ Swill asked and flashed a wink at Kimmy who burst into giggles all over again. ‘And ‘ave you forgotten who you’re talkin’ to – a fuckin’ iron?’ Swill raised an eyebrow.
The two of them spoke briefly about their plan, but Pete’s head was still spinning. There wasn’t any plan for the turbulent path he was going down. He didn’t know what to expect next, but he had a feeling it would be the papers which followed the sickening whisper of divorce. He would need to see Lara and they would need to speak, but right now he couldn’t see her face without also seeing his. Clenching his fist, Pete gave another heavy sigh and ran a hand over his shaved head.
It seemed easy to run away, be bitter and angry, but Kimmy wanted to see her mummy and part of him was starting to miss Charlie. It was a strange feeling, longing for a child that wasn’t yours. But Pete had been the one to help raise him, to assist with the night feeds and the nappy changing and the tantrums. Pete had done everything he could to make Lara believe that he had accepted the situation and that he loved Charlie, and he did, just… not enough.
Perhaps that was where the problem had begun. Worked its way into their relationship through the cracks Pete left in his lies. It wasn’t okay and it had never been okay and it had been difficult to process. He had crammed the discomfort to the back of his mind, scared that Lara would take any opportunity to leave him if he didn’t accept it. That wasn’t her fault, he knew, it was his. Always competing when he was younger, it had never really left him; the feeling he was inferior and always had to do more when in fact he was struggling to even stay afloat.
The boys adored him, but Pete lived his life with this constant uncertainty things were going to change; his life like the sails of a boat, so easily navigated by the smallest breeze. His fears had been realised the day Max Sullivan had entered his life and sometimes Pete regretted having fought him at all. What had it done for them? The children, yes, they grew out of the darkness, but it had destroyed everything else. He never thought there would come the day when he could no longer look at his wife without sickness in his chest.
Lara had betrayed him and didn’t love him and hadn’t been kind about wording it. He had bitten back at her, harsh words he had meant at the time. They were volatile and toxic and Pete was scared what would happen during their next encounter. He didn’t want to never see his children again and he certainly didn’t want to stay living in Swill’s flat.
Swill helped Kimmy put on her jacket and the two of them left for the Abbey. The one constant in his life, at least. Isla had taken over and for a moment they had all been terrified of what she would do, but she had only improved their place and they were starting to really love her. Some more than others. Glancing over at Swill and Kimmy, Pete wondered if his friend was scared of the potential commitment ahead. It hadn’t worked for all of them; love was chance in this world. Dave and Alice were still besotted and so were George and Aoife, but Pete and Bovver… perhaps they were just destined to be alone.
Too set in their ways for anyone to come along. The slightest change causing damaging turbulence. It was because Pete had tried to change who he was, that things had fallen apart. How many times had he threatened Bovver? Tried to take his title, his pride, his friendship? The fact the man still considered him a good friend was one thing Pete was thankful for. They should’ve abandoned him long ago with how he had acted, yet they hadn’t.
‘Did you ever see your future like this?’ Pete asked and Swill turned to him, swinging Kimmy with one arm.
‘Oh yeah.’ He replied as if it all just made sense. ‘I manifested it.’
‘Fuck off.’ Pete rolled his eyes but Swill was shaking his head in defence.
‘Don’t knock positive thinkin’, bruv.’
‘Can you positively think my marriage back together?’ he asked solemnly and Swill frowned. ‘I’m sorry for everything I did, y’know. To all of you. I appreciate you still giving me the time of day.’
As they stepped into the Abbey, they saw the back wall had orange tape over it where one of the mirrors used to be. Only a couple of people were in and Terry and Isla were chatting at the bar.
‘What happened ‘ere?’ Pete asked as they headed up to the bar. Lifting Kimmy up he placed her on the counter.
‘That’s seven years bad luck.’ Swill murmured and Isla leaned on the bar to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
‘Superstitious nonsense.’
‘I’ll protect ya from anythin’ anyway.’ Swill announced and looked hopeful for a kiss. With a small sigh, Isla leaned forward and placed one on his cheek.
Watching the two of them Pete felt a buzz of chance for his friend. It was difficult to see people so naively in love when less than five years ago that had been him and Lara. She had been on the other side of the bar, flashing a smile and that suggestive look. Pete would pick her up after work and couldn’t keep the grin from his face. It was fresh, they were happy, right? Rubbing his eyes he looked down at Kimmy who was cooing playfully to Isla and realised he needed to do something.
Taking his phone from his pocket he pulled up Lara’s name and stared at him for a few minutes. When they had first gotten married he’d changed her name in his phone to wife, and she had husband; it was sweet, they felt cute and sickly and laughed about it. Now it just said Lara, and at one point the other night it had said a different, unkindly word.
Sending a text across Pete felt a small fraction of the weight lifting from him, but there was still the uncertainty making his head spin.
Hey, can I come round this evening? Kimmy needs some clean clothes and we need to chat.
What else should he have said? Please? It felt stupid to ask permission to go over to his own house. Ordering a coffee, Pete played with the sugar packets, a solemn look on his face when Bovver arrived. He could hear his motorbike revving outside before he entered and gave a small chuckle. He remembered when he’d gotten the bike all those years ago; he was still the coolest one of them all and Pete had never felt so old.
‘Bovver.’ Pete greeted and clapped a hand on his friends back as he came to the bar. ‘So?’
He was still battered and bruised beyond belief and Pete didn’t know if he wanted to hear what had happened at the funeral.
Max and Dermot had argued a lot during their relationship, but never like that and usually Max was on the winning side. It was strange, and uncomfortably unnerving to have Dermot acting so violently towards him. Usually his younger brother was the doting Pup and as much as he rolled his eyes and complained, he always rolled over in the end. This time had been different; hatred had rolled off of him in waves and Max hadn’t been prepared. It was also an especially difficult time, because mere feet away had been a whole host of people prepared to watch him fail.
Max knew that those attending Charlotte’s funeral had only minutely cared about the woman laid in the mahogany box before them. They were here for him – his face was everywhere and Ronan was to thank for that. Where the fuck was Ronan, anyway?
Running a hand over his face, Max quickly plastered on a smile and headed to the bar. He ordered a whiskey, neat, downed it and then another. The people around had gone back to their hushed chats, every now and then casting a glance in his direction and for once Max felt lost. He felt overwhelmed and out of control, two things that had never bothered him before. Grabbing his glass, he headed back into the function room with purpose but it was empty, the fire door blowing in the breeze.
‘Boss.’
Glancing over his shoulder, Max saw Ronan standing in the door, a concerned look on his face.
‘Where have you fuckin’ been?’ Max demanded as he turned back.
Ronan’s collar was loose, his cheeks flushed and Max rolled his eyes.
‘You know what grieving women can be like, Max.’ he gave a small smirk. ‘You can’t say no to them –’
‘Where is Mr Johnson?’ he brushed off the crude comment, finishing his drink with a wince. His head was starting to throb and with every sip of liquor his cut lip burned.
‘He left, Sir.’ Ronan cleared his throat. ‘With Jock and the woman. Do you want me to stop them?’
Shaking his head Max looked down at his watch, unsure for a moment what to do. ‘His car still out the front?’ Ronan nodded. ‘Get it sent back to the penthouse. Mr Johnson needs to learn where his loyalties lie.’
The rest of the wake drizzled on. A few more drinks were pushed his way but everyone had sunk back into their hushed whispers. This was their chance to get an unthreatening glimpse at the man they had all been too afraid to meet otherwise. The men wanting to challenge and the women to flirt, to flash their eyelashes and inhale his smoky aftershave. Amie came up to him at the bar, placed her empty wine glass down and ordered another. She turned her head a fraction to glance at him, her eyes hooded and it was all Max needed as permission.
This time they bypassed the toilets and fell into the empty function room. Slamming the door shut, Max pushed a chair beneath the handle and the two of them blindly stumbled, a mass of clothes and flesh. His lips bit and nipped at every inch of her smooth skin and Amie ripped his shirt so desperately two of the buttons popped, spinning on the wooden floor. Grabbing her thighs, Max lifted her as if she weighed nothing and placed Amie on the table.
An hour ago and Dermot had been pushed into this, his hands clumsily gripping the oak as Max’s punch disoriented him. Settling between her legs, Max forced down her dress to release her breasts encased in a sweet, white lace bralette. It was cast on the floor in seconds, his mouth seeking her hardened nipple. The cries that left her mouth as they fucked on the table were nothing to rival that which had left Lara’s lips, but all the same, Max was momentarily fulfilled. Amie’s nails raked down his back, leaving streaks of red in their pathway; his own lips smattered bruises across her collarbone, blind to how damaged she may look afterwards.
In between the euphoria, Max could see fragments of the fight; Dermot standing above him, slamming his boots against his ribs with no remorse, no restraint. As Amie gripped his middle, Max felt a pang of pain and growled in frustration, slamming her down on her back. He felt humiliated and betrayed; he felt bewildered. Nothing made any sense; at the beginning of the day he had been certain and confident, now he was lacking and desperately fucking a woman he otherwise wouldn’t have given the time of day.
No one here had shown him the respect he’d deserved. Even Nora Samuels had believed today was the day to get her piece said, only feeling brave enough because all eyes were on him. What could he have done to her? She had been protected, or at least believed herself to be; it had been hard not to snap her neck when the opportunity had arisen, even if the next unsure face was only a few meters away.
Strangely Jock hadn’t had much to say. He’d been reserved, he’d been on his best behaviour, he had… known something was wrong with Dermot. With his dearest cousin. Was it his fault Dermot was acting out? What had Nora said? There was somebody else….
‘Y-you’re… hurting… m-me…’
Looking down, Max hadn’t realised he’d been gripping Amie by the throat until she’d cried. Her hands were grabbing at his wrists, her cheeks red and eyes wide from the pressure. Releasing her, the air filled her lungs and she slammed her fists against his chest, demanding he get off of her and he did. Max didn’t care for her right now. The moment had passed, again. Pulling up his trousers, Max didn’t even turn as Amie readjusted her dress and left. A harsh word was spat at him but he’d heard it all before. He could only see Dermot’s face, how he’d denied Max who knelt on the floor, bruised and bleeding and calling his name like a wounded pup.
’Dearthair?’ Slicking his hair back, Max spat on the ground with a huff before taking his own leave. Ronan had arranged for Benji’s car to be returned to the garage and agreed to meet him back at the penthouse. Jumping into his own car, he fumbled blindly with the keys, frustration growing like a rash on the back of his neck. He wanted to see Lara, but it was late and he was drunk. Not drunk enough to believe that would be a good idea. She was sensitive and he was… furious. Swerving through the traffic, Max honked and cursed at almost every driver. For a brief moment he had wished for death and wondered if it would even want to take him.
There was this consistent nagging at the back of his mind that this wasn’t over. He also couldn’t fight the feeling that Dermot had been bubbling for weeks, and had he noticed it, this could’ve all been put to a stop. He had been blind; distracted. Chasing Lara and Charlie had consumed him and because of that he’d let his own brother ruin everything. For the first time in a long time, Max was falling behind and the feeling of continuously chasing after himself was draining. What was it he’d said to Dermot once to try and console him? The poem his Da had told him once when he was younger and a small Dermot had already been fast asleep.
‘Nobody heard him, the dead man;
But still he lay moaning;
I was much further out that you thought,
And not waving, but drowning.’
A young Max looked up at his fathers, eyes filled with concern for this dark poetry. What was he supposed to learn from this and how did you stop it from happening, from the waves dragging you under? But Max wasn’t like Dermot; Max had merely dipped his toe into the ocean wishing to engulf him, but he would overcome it. He had to. But what if that meant Dermot had to be the one to sink instead?
Swerving out of the lane of an oncoming car, the headlights blinded Max and jolted him back to reality. He’d slipped into the opposite lane, welcomed the end as his thoughts had carried him.
‘I’m crazy.’ He murmured to himself and a few minutes later was pulling back into the underground carpark of home. ‘Fuckin’ crazy.’
The lights were on in the penthouse but Dermot’s car wasn’t there, just Ronan’s and Benji’s. It had been an usual day and although Max hadn’t cared about Charlotte he had been angry for her death causing this chain reaction. Perhaps Dermot was angry because it should have been Nora. Or because he was envious of how easy Max made everything seem; how sweetly he could charm an audience of bleating faces. Dermot had also avoided answering Max’s questions and it had started to itch at the back of his mind again.
Did he know who Lara was dating? Was he protecting someone? Who could it be?
Padding through the house, Max switched on the shower and undressed in front of the mirror. His back was still red raw from Amie’s nails and bruises had already bloomed on his ribs. His jaw looked more swollen and sore in the yellow lighting and he looked tired. He felt tired. The water ran over him and everything from that day played like a silent movie in his mind. Dermot he could accept, but hearing Lara… his skin pimpled at the recollection, a sharp shiver stripping his spine. Not too many years ago and Max had been prepared to kill Dermot for being inside his head and now it seemed someone else had occupied that space. The mother of his child.
At some point Max fell asleep because when he awoke he was in bed, the sheets loose around his middle. Usually Dermot came round in a few hours but there were no calls and he wasn’t coming back to the penthouse. Where had he been spending his time? Jock and Nora had the house and Max doubted he was living in harmony with them. Who was he spending time with, who was murmuring things in his ear? Turning him against his own brother? Then he understood.
Pete Dunham. Pete fucking Dunham. It made sense! The arrogant cockney bastard had never had the balls to do something before, but was using Charlie to get Dermot to comply with his wishes. To infiltrate Max’s plans; to bring him down because he was jealous. Pete no doubt blamed him for the downfall of his marriage and when Max had left, he’d probably invited Dermot to everything and anything to make him feel welcome and wanted. So he could manipulate him, mould him like a piece of borrowed clay to make the man he wanted and Dermot had lapped it up. He had loved to feel wanted, when in fact he was just being used.
If Dermot was anyones dummy to puppeteer, he was his. It made so much sense and Max needed to speak to Lara about it, now.
The sun was just rising over the clouds when he tugged on a clean, blue jumper and grey trousers. His side ached when he bent to grab his shoes so he downed two aspirin and a large coffee. The small amount of sleep he had managed hadn’t done much for his mood; he’d woken up as confused and angered as before. Even in his slumber his brain had been desperate for answers. Max didn’t like uncertainty of the unknown; he didn’t like being left out of something and Dermot had some big secrets he needed to spill. Did he think his visit with Bovver had gone unnoticed?
Pulling into Lara’s road, Max felt a strange sensation tugging at his belly button. Even when she had been his, it had always ignited something inside of him. It was how he knew she was the one – no one had ever come close. Glancing in the rear-view mirror he sighed at the cut on his lip but was thankful most of the injuries were hidden beneath a layer of clothes. Would he tell her what had happened?
Climbing out the car, Max looked up at the house and felt a flicker of jealousy. Pete Dunham hadn’t deserved this house, or this woman; he had squandered everything he’d been offered and now Max was here to take it. That was if Dermot didn’t balance himself on a ledge and demand saving, because Max had come to realise he couldn’t do everything. That was a difficult thought and it wedged a lump in his throat like grating metal. He used to be able to, what had changed?
As he knocked on the door, Max glanced around for any other cars he recognised or any hint of another man being here. Who was there to compete with him, however? Nora must’ve been lying – why would she even tell the truth? Trying to get into his mind, just like the rest of them and especially like Jock. Knocking again he heard a sound from upstairs and a shadow through the top of the door as Lara came downstairs.
When she opened it Lara looked less than prepared to have guests and he flashed an unusually apologetic look. He hadn’t realised how early it still was in the morning but seeing her had somehow sparked the ashes that had only just settled in his stomach. She was beautiful and he should have been upstairs to wake up next to her.
‘Can I come in?’ Max asked, not even waiting for a reply as he stepped inside. The house was quiet and he wondered if Charlie was fast asleep upstairs, holding his dinosaur close to his chest. Moving down the hall into the kitchen he turned to face Lara who wrapped her robe protectively around herself. One thing he found unusual was she wasn’t asking about his injuries.
‘So… who told you?’ picking up an apple out of the fruit bowl, he followed Lara as she went to turn on the kettle, her gaze anywhere but matching his. ‘No doubt Nora, but it wasn’t my fault, Lar.’ He pointed to his face with a sigh. ‘It isn’t too bad – most of it is under here.’ Lifting his jumper he flashed his abs and the smattering of bruises. ‘Charlie doesn’t need to know, okay? And before you say anything, I wasn’t even the one that started it. Dermot – he’s gone mad.’ Shaking his head he asked for a coffee.
It was silent for a moment as they waited for the kettle to boil and Max let his eyes roam her figure right down to her toes. Above them there was a bang and he tensed, glancing at the ceiling.
‘Is Charlie awake?’ Max went to get up from his stool. ‘Can I see him?’
Lara said something about him getting up just for the toilet and that Max had disturbed them all. ‘Leave him to sleep’ Her scowl made him frown and he had an urge to kiss it away.
‘Doesn’t he have school today?’
‘It’s a bank holiday.’
‘Right.’ Max nodded slowly, unsure why she was being so short with him. Then she asked why he was here and he realised he hadn’t even heard her asking the first time. ‘I actually wanted to talk to you…’ he hesitated, hating the way she was looking at him. ‘I’m fuckin’ sorry about this, okay?’ he pointed at his face again. ‘Can you give me five minutes, Lar?’ when Lara reluctantly nodded he pointed to the seat opposite him. ‘How is it going with Pete? Because I don’t think it’s going well. He’s been getting in Dermot’s head and –’
Lara cut across him to say it wasn’t any of his business and he felt himself tense in frustration. The day before and she was desperate for him and yet now this? Leaning across the table he gripped her jaw in his hand, holding her firm when she tried to move away.
‘Your best friend is going around telling everyone you’re fucking someone else.’ Max said, voice suddenly dark. ‘So I told her about us. She didn’t seem too impressed.’ Letting go roughly, Max looked down into his coffee with a sigh. ‘Last night wasn’t good. It made me think a lot, about us…’ looking up her met Lara’s gaze. ‘With Pete out of the picture, I think we should really pursue this. Tell him to stop whatever games he’s playing, and we can just get back to where we’re supposed to be. With our son.’
Sipping his coffee he saw her phone ring on the side and glanced across at it to see Pete had just messaged her. So he still wasn’t here?
‘Dermot thinks I’m not… treating you right. So, I’m… sorry.’ Chewing his lip he gave a small laugh at the disbelief in her eyes. ‘You’re just as shocked as I am about all my apologies recently. I guess you’re actually the one to thank for that, you –’
Lara stood up from the table then and so did Max. He filled the gap between them in an instant, backing her against the counter. There was another bang upstairs and the sound of Charlie’s alarm going off, both of them staring up at the ceiling.
‘If he’s awake now, I’ll just go upstairs and –’
Lara grabbed Max’s face and kissed him desperately, catching him off guard. His hands found her middle and held her close, the kiss deepening with his growing hunger. Nipping her lower lip he groaned when she pulled away and he kissed her neck and throat, trying to urge her back.
‘That’s my girl.’ Max murmured in her ear. He could smell her faint perfume and wanted to untie her robe, explore her body all over again…
‘Max?’
Turning around, Max saw Charlie standing in the doorway, his hair tousled from sleep. In two strides Max was in front of him and scooped him up with a grin.
‘Charlie boy.’ He greeted and kissed his forehead. In his sons hand, his trusty dinosaur toy. ‘I was just having a chat with your mum about us all hanging out more often, what do you think?’
Charlie nodded his head vehemently. ‘Do you want to see my toys?’ he asked as Max placed him on the floor. Instantly he gripped his hand, tugging him towards the stairs. Lara could be heard telling Charlie now wasn’t the time but they were already halfway there and Max didn’t want to stop.
Following after his son he took two steps at a time until he was outside his bedroom. On one side he could see Lara’s bedroom door ajar and he glanced longingly, wondering desperately what was in there. When would she let him see? Noticing his glances, Lara came up the stairs behind them and pulled her door shut with a click.
‘Five minutes and then we need you in the shower.’ Lara said to Charlie who pouted.
In his room Max let him show every stuffed and plastic animal possible. On his bed, in pride of place was the lion from the zoo and he chuckled. But no matter how much affection Charlie wanted to show him, Max couldn’t help but notice how edgy Lara was being and it made his brow furrow. Was she embarrassed? Or was she playing hard to get?
Ruffling his sons hair, Max pulled himself to his feet and headed to the doorway where Lara had been stood, arms folded like a guard.
‘Is there a problem?’ he whispered. Charlie was happily crashing two plastic bulls together, imitating the sound of an explosion with his back to them. Lara shook her head and backed away a little so Max followed. ‘Are you hiding something from me?’ he tilted his head to the side teasingly, nodding at her closed bedroom door. Watching her steadily for a moment, Max narrowed his eyes before pushing her aside. When she tried to stop him he gripped her arms and held away, turning the door handle to her room abruptly.
It swung open with a gentle creak and the room was revealed to him. The curtains were still partly closed, a small fraction of golden light cascading on the messy bed. A dresser had perfume and lotions on it but besides that, it was seemingly vacant. Behind him, Max could hear Lara breathing heavy and he turned to face her with a rising smirk.
‘So, you’re a slob.’ He laughed and saw her face relax a little. ‘Mislean, we can work on that.’ Gripping her wrist, Max pulled Lara close and planted a final kiss on her lips before waving to Charlie. ‘I’ll see you soon, Charlie, alright?’
‘Bye, Max!’ Charlie yelled as Max descended down the stairs.
Stopping halfway, he stuck his head through the railings to look at Charlie. ‘It’s athair, okay?’ Father. Finally he turned to Lara. ‘And if you ever think you can hide something from me again, you’re wrong. Ronan will be round soon; he's at your disposal, but also for your protection. Talk to Pete and I’ll talk to Dermot. This ends as soon as possible, so you might want to get Nora to shut her mouth.’
Lara’s head was spinning. Everything that happened after Dermot’s whispered 'please. I’ll talk after' was a blur. All she could recall was the overflowing sensation of ecstasy filling her veins. Seeing him battered and bruised had made her angry – furious – but the way he touched her, so subtly, but so perfectly had been enough to push the concern aside. He had been fighting with Max? Exploring one another’s bodies had been distracting the necessary break from reality they both needed.
When they were together, it was easy. There was no need to pretend or have her guard up. Whenever Lara laid eyes on Dermot, her walls in fact crumbled as if they were made from dust. Charlie was safe, Kimmy was safe – they were all protected and it felt right. It felt like she had finally come home.
As her robe pooled around her like liquid, Lara felt a sense of power with the way Dermot watched her. His eyes roaming her body as if taking in something rare and exquisite.
‘I love the way you look at me.’ Lara whispered, her pulse heavy in her ears.
Dermot met her gaze and smiled and her breath caught at his response. ‘That’s because you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever seen.’ And it sounded sincere, as if she were the only woman in the world he had said that to. She felt validated and appreciated; as if letting Dermot touch her in this way was a reward for him, not just her. He felt privileged, and had never taken their moments for granted.
He teased her nipples, his warm, big hands squeezing her breasts and down her sides, caressing every inch. Lara had never felt so adored, not even by Max. It was different with Max, it was primal, it was rough and it was dangerous but with Dermot… she was lapping up every second of pleasure and knew she would never grow tired of it. His mouth teased lower and lower, her hands in his hair as she cried his name in desperation.
‘Dermot.’ She panted, hot and ready, ‘Dermot, please.’
Anything else in the world seemed to melt into insignificance. Max? Pete? Lara tightened her grip on Dermot’s head as he teased her, his tongue circling her sensitive in a way that made her heart skip. She spurred him on, bucked her hips over and over until she came and her whole body shook.
‘I’ve waited so long for this.’ Dermot stole a kiss, their tongues meeting. It wasn’t a challenge, or a battle, like it was with Max; there was no forced dominance, there was understanding and unison. ‘Every fucking day I’ve wanted you. It’s driving me mad.’
Lara had felt that madness too, although she hadn’t been sure of what it was until now. Something had been calling to her from the distance but she had been blind and scared. Part of her thought it had been Max again, tormenting her as he slipped into her subconscious, but it was different. Dermot’s aura shone like a bright light and now she was on the right path.
‘I’m yours.’
She offered herself willingly, feeling Dermot fill her entirely as they melded as one flesh. It was more than just sex as the both of them climaxed; her nails on his back, his lips on her throat. They needed one another, deserved one another. His touch could heal any wounds and Lara had finally felt the love she had been craving all these years. The love that had faded after her mothers death, and had been whisked from her lungs when she’d placed Pete’s ring in his palm. Everything she had ever needed was here.
'I love you, Lara Smith. I’ve always fucking loved you.’
Dermot’s words rang in her head as they laid on the bed, barely covered and satisfied. She was Lara Smith. Dunham had never sit right, and she could never sign it well. It felt disjointed and wrong and she had frowned every time she’d heard it. That wasn’t Pete’s fault though, it was hers. He had merely been desperate for love but desperate people are never truly fulfilled.
They didn’t speak about anything that had happened that day. About the divorce or the funeral. Merely enjoyed one another’s presence.
‘I’ve never been this happy.’ Lara whispered a while later, unsure if Dermot was asleep or not. He was nestled against her chest, his arms around her middle and his breathing shallow. He murmured something sleepily and she gave a small smile, running a hand through his hair.
In the safety of the dark, Lara took the time to appreciate what she had. She also took the time to consider what they were going to do. Now that Dermot was asleep, she couldn’t help but think about Max. Why had they fought? This was never going to end well, and as soon as she’d laid eyes on Max, Lara had known that. She could never of imagined the intensity of their downfall but she still suffered through the repercussions all these years later. There would be a war, and all she knew was the side she was on. Everything else was down to chance.
Lara woke to the sun piercing through the gap in the curtains. Dermot’s arms were around her and she felt warm and safe. Blinking a few times she glanced around before rolling onto her back. It must have been about seven in the morning, but she could have easily gone back to sleep. Luckily it was a bank holiday so Charlie and Kimmy didn’t need taking to school. Realising Kimmy was still with Pete she furrowed her brow with a sigh.
‘Hey.’ Lara murmured as Dermot kissed her cheek. His eyes were still closed and he nuzzled against her neck. ‘How did you sleep?’ they spoke a little, still wrapped up in their blanketed cocoon and stole fresh morning kisses for what seemed like an age. Why couldn’t it always be like this? Why couldn’t this be all there was? Why –
Someone knocked at the door and suddenly Lara tensed tilting her head to the window. She’d heard a car a few minutes ago but shrugged it off as nothing. They weren’t expecting anyone, so who was it?
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Nov 1, 2022 16:59:53 GMT -5
Bovver had the biggest smuggest grin on his face by the time he reached the Abbey the next morning. The autumn sun was strong, making the treetops look golden and the birds were singing and the squirrels were rummaging in the park for acorns. All in all, it was looking to be a fucking good day. He whistled himself a little tune as he parked his bike, revving the engine loudly a few times before cutting it off completely. Why? Because he could. He was feeling high on life, on top of the fucking world, and nothing was going to bring him down from here.
The lads had left by the time he’d returned from the funeral, but he hadn’t minded sitting in his flat alone. It had given him the time he’d needed to think. With Pete back on-side, the group were stronger than ever. And by the looks of things, the Sullivans were well and truly fractured. Dermot and Jock definitely weren’t singing from the same hymn sheet now the ginger cunt had shacked up with Nora, but the brothers? They hadn’t looked too pally in the church either, and the idea of Dermot isolating himself gave Bov a sense of gleeful satisfaction.
He knew it wouldn’t take much to start the fire. The embers were already smouldering and all Bov needed to do was give it a little blow; the flames would lick and soar and the work would be done for him. Dermot had dug his own grave the night he’d slept with Lara. Or maybe she’d dug it for him when she’d screamed that fact into Pete’s face. Fucking slag. Either way, the Sullivan name would be nothing but a vague memory this time next year.
Entering the Abbey, he saw all the faces he wanted to see; Pete, Dave, Ike, Ned... and Swill, though he was currently making kissy-faces at Isla and Bov wondered how much of a liability he’d become. It had happened to Pete and himself, to an extent... He passed towards Pete, smirking when his friend reached to slap his back. “Bovver.” Kimmy was there, being entertained by Ned and a cardboard coaster, and even Dave leaned in to get the details. “So?”
Bov sniffed and waved to Terry to fetch him a beer. “Interestin’ day, bruv, honestly. Things ain’t right between them lot. Jock and Dermot... Dermot and Max... there was a lot of tension.” Terry returned with the beer and he took a long drink before he continued talking. “I told Dermot that we were done playin’. The cunt didn’t seem to take us very seriously at all. He’s gonna underestimate us, bruv, and they won’t know what hit them.”
He decided to omit the fact he’d told Dermot he knew about the affair, having the feeling Pete wouldn’t appreciate him badmouthing his wife. Or was it his ex now? “Max did some grand old speech in the church about moving on and putting the past behind us. I think he was talkin’ a load of bollocks if you ask me. He was the one who started this ruckus!”
He listened to the boys talk amongst themselves at what this could mean, but as he drank his beer, Bov’s eyes were on Pete. He needed to keep Pete riled and eager for the fight and if this was the way to do it... “Dermot, he said some other shit as well.” Lowering his tone a little, he leaned closer, so only Pete could hear. “Saying how you was a shit dad, that you were never there... and that he was going to step in and give the kids the life they deserved. I don’t know.” Bov pulled a face, shaking his head. “I think he’s got somethin’ planned and I know it ain’t good. I just thought you should know.”
Setting down his beer, he turned to the lads, looking at each of their faces individually. His gaze rested on Pete. “It’s fuckin’ begun, lads. Anything they do now is fair game. Anything we do now is fair game. We ain’t messin’ around any more. The Sullivans have done nothing but make our lives hell for five years. Remember the life we had before they came onto the scene?” He paused, looking around and giving them a moment to think about it. “Those days are back on the horizon. The GSE are, and always will be, the Top Dogs around ‘ere and it’s about time people fuckin’ remember that.”
Dampening his bottom lip, he cleared his throat and lifted his beer to take a drink. “If any of yous want out, you leave now. Once we’re in, we’re in it together and we cannot afford any weak links. The Sullivans are fractured and we’ve gotta take full advantage of that by being as solid as ever. Any questions?” Silence. Nobody moved. More importantly, nobody left. Bovver nodded. “Good. I knew you’d ‘ave our backs.” He glanced at Pete, the two men sharing an understanding look.
“We need to look at the facts,” he continued after a moment. “Lara’s admitted that she slept with Dermot,” he shot Pete an apologetic glance. “But I don’t think Max knows. I saw them ‘aving some heated words a few times and Dermot had a face like a slapped arse the whole time...” He hesitated, then glanced at Swill. “You said you wanted to leave Jock and Nora out of it. I think we could turn Jock against them, if we played it right. Fancy paying a visit?” Though it wasn’t really a question and Bov turned away before he could answer, missing the way Swill and Isla glanced at each other.
“As for those other two cunts.” Bov drained his glass and set it down on the side, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. It’s time we go down heavy. Doesn’t Max own a ton of luxury cars at that penthouse of his?” He asked Pete, who answered the affirmative. Bov smirked. “Well... I say we torch the fucking lot. Tonight.”
—-
It was becoming a regular occurrence; turning up on Lara’s doorstep, drunk or beaten or both. He could tell she hated it, could see the disappointment lining her face in the soft glow of her hallway. He also understood why. Lara had been connected and entwined in violence for years. First with Max, and then with Pete. It mustn’t have been easy loving a man who spent his weekends kicking people in over a game of football. It put her on edge; he could sense it in the way she held herself and the way she looked at him.
Dermot had to change. He’d been given a chance, an opportunity, with Lara and he couldn’t blow it. He wouldn’t. And he counted each and every one of his blessings as he kissed every inch of her warm, beautiful body.
“I’ve never been this happy.”
He was in that funny place between wakefulness and sleep when she spoke, her words soft in the dark room. They’d laid entwined for a while, both murmuring quietly, about everything but what needed to be discussed. Today. Their future, as uncertain as it was. “Me either,” he mumbled in reply, burying his face into the crook of her neck. And it was true. He had been happy with Nora, really happy, but their relationship had been marred by his own lies and betrayal; constantly looking over his shoulder, wondering if and when Max would show face.
Her fingers ran through his hair, soothingly, and everything bad thing that had happened earlier felt like nothing but a distant memory, a nightmare. He regretted hurting Max. Not merely the beating, but everything else. Bruises faded. Betrayal such as his cut wounds that potentially would never heal. He had no idea what his next move should be. Normally he would apologise, but was there any point? No doubt Bov would spill his secret shortly and Max would find out the truth. All bets would be off. And Max would never forgive him.
At some point, they fell asleep, and when Dermot woke, the sun was bright; a last strike of defiance from the summer. He felt Lara move to look at the clock, before she settled back, and he nestled deeper into her, arm slung around her waist. He was enjoying her warmth too much to let her move yet. Sleepily, he found her cheek and kissed it; she smelt amazing. “Hey,” she murmured softly. “How did you sleep?”
“Too good,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “I don’t want to get up.” He heard her soft chuckle and pressed a kiss to her pulse point. Lara turned into him, entwining their legs, fingers tracing his face. He opened his eyes to smile back at her, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Waking you next to you is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
She tilted her head, studying him, the soft smile still lingering on her lips. “Me too,” she whispered. A knock on the door had them both freezing. She glanced towards the window with a frown, before pulling herself to her feet. She glanced out from between the curtains, then cursed and snatched her robe off the floor.
Dermot sat up. “Who is it?”
“Max.”
Fuck. He quickly got out of bed, snatching up his clothes and anything else of his that might give the game away. Fuck! Max was here now?! Lara gave him one last look before disappearing out the door, and yanking up his boxers, he looked around for a place to hide.
—-
Lara was not prepared for this. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she gave Dermot one last look. Then, she headed downstairs, glancing in on Charlie as she passed; he was still fast asleep and she hoped he’d stay that way, at least until Max had gone. She couldn’t even look at the partly-open door to Kimmy’s room; knowing her daughter wasn’t in there was painful in ways she hadn’t been able to imagine.
What was she even going to say to him? Was Max here because of the fight? Or because he thought they were together? They’d slept with each other, why would he think otherwise? Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach as she reached to grip the bannister. Padding downstairs, she could see Max’s shadow on the other side of the frosted glass. What was she going to do? Dermot was just upstairs and if Max caught them together now... Her hand trembled as she reached out to turn the key in the lock, opening the door to reveal him.
His lip was bust and there was a bruise forming on his jaw, yet for some reason, Lara had expected him to look worse. Max gave her an apologetic look, and she assumed it was because of how early it was and not that he was here in the first place. “Can I come in?” he asked, but stepped inside anyway and Lara knew better than to deny him. Turning away, she headed for the kitchen, hoping to draw his attention away from upstairs. He hadn’t said much and his mood wasn’t giving too much away... Feeling vulnerable, she tightened the robe around herself.
“So... who told you?” He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl, turning it in his fingers, but she looked away when he tried to make eye-contact. He was obviously referring to his injuries, and she felt his movement behind her as she moved to fill the kettle. She hoped he couldn’t see the way she was trembling, her ears straining for any creak or noise from upstairs. “No doubt Nora, but it wasn’t my fault, Lar.” Max gestured to his face and she glanced over, a small furrow in her brow. She didn’t dare say a word yet, afraid her emotions would betray her. “It isn’t too bad - most of it is under here.”
Max caught her by surprise, lifting his jumper to reveal the large smatter of bruises across his ribs and stomach, and Lara actually felt a small thrill course through her. Never in the time she’d known Max had she seen anybody lay damage to him. Max never lost, and if he didn’t dish out the punishment, he had people who would. But Dermot had succeeded where others had failed and in comparison, he’d come off lightly with just a few bust knuckles. For the first time, Max had clearly lost.
Was that why he was skulking around here like a literal kicked puppy?
“Charlie doesn’t need to know, okay? And before you say anything, I wasn’t even the one that started it. Dermot - he’s gone mad.”
Lara raised an eyebrow with a soft shake of her head. Dermot was far from mad, and Max was so far from reality that he didn’t see the lengths he pushed people too, until it backfired, like now. Dermot’s whole life had been overshadowed by his older brother, and now that he’d had enough, Max could only act bewildered as to why. “Dermot’s going through a lot,” she replied patiently. “Aoife’s still not talking to him.”
The kettle finally boiled and she turned to make him a coffee, and a tea for herself. Lara was purposefully turned away from him, but she could feel his eyes raking her figure and she felt an uncomfortable heat creep into her face. Then, a bang overhead made her jump, teaspoon clattering onto the counter. Max went to leave his stool. “Is Charlie awake? Can I see him?”
“He’s just getting up for the toilet. You did disturb us, after all.” She scowled, pushing his coffee across the table towards him. “Leave him to sleep. And what are you doing here anyway?”
“Doesn’t he have school today?”
The lack of a real reason he was here this early in the morning was really starting to grate on her and her reply came through gritted teeth. “It’s a bank holiday.”
“Right.”
“Max, what are you doing here?” She stared at him, waiting for a response.
“I actually wanted to talk to you... I’m fuckin’ sorry about this, okay?” he added suddenly, pointing to his mouth again. “Can you give me five minutes, Lar?” She hated the way he said her name; it sounded familiar - too familiar - and she found herself nodding, despite not wanting to. He pointed to the seat opposite and she sank down into it, hating herself more. “How is it going with Pete? Because I don’t think it’s going well. He’s been getting in Dermot’s head and -”
What?! This is what he wanted to talk about? Instantly, Lara glared at him. “It isn’t any of your business-“
His hand shot out, gripping her jaw and Lara felt her pulse spike in fear. Yet she glared at him defiantly, refusing to look away. How had she ever imagined he’d changed? “Your best friend is going around telling everyone you’re fucking someone else.” Lara’s eyes widened in surprise, his fingers flexing. “So I told her about us. She didn’t seem too impressed.”
Fuck. What would Nora think of her now? Just some whore going between two brothers? One of whom was her own ex-fiancé? Max released her roughly and she sank back, stopping herself from rubbing away the painful throb in her jaw. She watched Max sip his coffee and cursed herself for not slipping in some slug pellets. She hadn’t been thinking clearly the other night, because in the cold light of day, she really hated this man.
“Last night wasn’t good. It made me think a lot, about us...” Lara tried not to react to the change in topic. He’d just told her that Nora had said she was sleeping with someone else and he wasn’t even questioning it further. Which meant he didn’t believe Nora. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or cry. Max looked up, meeting her gaze. “With Pete out of the picture, I think we should really pursue this. Tell him to stop whatever games he’s playing, and we can just get back to where we’re supposed to be. With our son.”
Lara stared at him as he calmly sipped his coffee, a million things rushing brought her head. Like how she wanted to stand up and smash that cup into his face and scream at him that they weren’t supposed to be anywhere. And that her family didn’t just involve her son but her daughter too. Before she could open her mouth to spill any of her rage, her phone pinged on the side and they both glanced at it. From here, she couldn’t see who it was. Nora? Pete?
“Dermot thinks I’m not... treating you right. So, I’m... Sorry.” The mention of Dermot’s name had her swallowing hard and she finally picked up her tea to take a quick sip. He mistook her unease for something else, as he chuckled. “You’re just as surprised as I am about all my apologies recently. I guess you’re actually the one to thank for that, you-”
Lara couldn’t listen to this. It all sounded so false, coming from his mouth, and she pushed away from the table, intending to do... something, but Max stood too, quickly backing her against the counter. She could smell his aftershave, could practically feel his warmth through her robe. Another bang upstairs had them both glancing up, the sound of Charlie’s alarm ringing overhead. Max looked back at her.
“If he’s awake now, I’ll just go upstairs and -”
Lara didn’t give herself chance to think. Grabbing his face, she leaned in and gave him a desperate kiss. Max responded as she knew he would; kissing her back deeply, hands falling to her waist to draw her against him. His tongue pressed into her mouth, invading and wrong, and she found herself pulling away. His lips found her throat, a soft growl escaping him, and she could feel her heart begin to race.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured against her skin, hand already reaching for the tie on her robe -
“Max?”
Lara had never felt so relieved as Charlie appeared in the doorway. His dark curls were tousled from sleep, and as Max released her to go and greet him, she felt herself sag against the counter. That was too close. And Dermot was still upstairs. She needed to get Max out of her house. Max scooper their son up, the grin on his face as wide as Charlie’s.
“Charlie boy. I was just having a chat with your mum about us all hanging out more often, what do you think?”
Charlie gave an enthusiastic nod, his smile, if possible, widening. She could see the love shining in his big brown eyes and it hurt in ways she couldn’t describe. If only he knew what his father was really like. “Do you want to see my toys?” He asked as Max placed him back on his feet. Grabbing his hand, Charlie yanked him with surprising force to the stairs. Lara quickly pushed away from the counter.
“Now really isn’t the time, Charlie...” she said, but her words fell on deaf ears and they were already halfway up the stairs. Cursing beneath her breath, she followed. Charlie came to a stop outside his room, but as she reached the top, she noticed Max staring through the gap of her bedroom door, and her heart seemed to seize in her chest. Had he seen something, or... someone? She made a point of clicking it shut, before looking down at Charlie. “Five minutes and then we need you in the shower.” Charlie pouted, but knew the look on her face granted no protest. Turning, he shoved himself into his room.
“Max, c’mon!”
Lara stood in the doorway, arms folded, to watch. Charlie showed him every single thing he had, from a small MacDonalds toy to his large blue whale he’d gotten from the aquarium last year. The lion he’d gotten from the zoo was still on his pillow and Lara knew he’d slept with it right against his chest all night. She was beginning to really hate that thing. That, and the stupid plastic dinosaur. Shifting on the spot, she tried not to look too on edge. All her awareness seemed to be on the room behind her; was Dermot hiding? Had he snuck out the window? On the floor, Charlie was dragging out his box full of plastic animals, and Max looked up, catching her eye. Getting to his feet, he paced to her, and Lara took an uncertain step back.
“Is there a problem?” She shook her head, and Max tilted his to the side, eyes drifting to her bedroom door. “Are you hiding something from me?”
“No.”
He stared at her a moment longer before pushing her aside and heading for her door. Quickly, she tried to stop him, her heart in her mouth as he snatched her wrist and swung open the door. There was no sound, no movement, nothing but and empty room, and Lara took a breath to try and calm her racing heart. After giving the room a good look, he turned to her, a smirk growing.
“So, you’re a slob,” he said and she felt herself tense.
“I just woke up,” she reminded him stiffly.
“Mislean, we can work on that.” Hans still enclosed around her wrist, he pulled her close and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Then, he turned to Charlie, giving a small wave. “I’ll see you soon, Charlie, alright?”
“Bye, Max!”
Max turned and headed downstairs and Lara followed, but he paused to look back towards Charlie’s room. “It’s athair, okay?”
Charlie appeared in the doorway with a nod. “Bye, athair.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Max turned to face Lara, and she held back the urge to just shove him out the front door and lock it in his face. Couldn’t he just leave already? “And if you ever think you can hide something from me again, you’re wrong. Ronan will be round soon; he’s at your disposal, also for your protection. Talk to Pete and I’ll talk to Dermot. This ends as soon as possible, so you might want to get Nora to shut her mouth.”
And then Lara just couldn’t hold back. She felt the tidal wave of a motion swell inside of her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Who did Max think he was? He had no right to tell her what to do, he had no right to come back into her life and disrupt it. For years, he had controlled everything with a snap of his fingers, but it had to stop. It had to end somewhere. And maybe it was because Dermot was just upstairs, or maybe she was relying on the fact he wouldn’t hurt her in front of Charlie... but she spoke up all the same.
“No. I won’t.”
Max had been turning to the door when she spoke, voice only barely giving away a hint of a tremble. He stopped, then slowly turned back around to face her, a questioning eyebrow raised. “I won’t get Nora to shut her mouth because she’s telling the truth. I am seeing somebody else. It’s the reason me and Pete are getting divorced, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you.” A short laugh escaped before she could stop it. “Do you really think you have that much power over my life? Did you really think I left my husband for you?” She shook her head, a slow smile spreading. “What happened between us the other night meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. I don’t love you, Max, and if you think things will ever go back to how they were supposed to be... well, you’re stupider than I thought.”
Max hissed, calling her a lying bitch as he strode forward, the fury in his eyes like stormy clouds. He grabbed the front of her dressing gown, slamming her hard against the bannister. She glared at him, grabbing his wrists.
“What? What’s the problem, Max? Is it that much of a surprise that I don’t want this anymore.” She shoved him back, but he barely budged an inch. “Get your fucking hands off me. Charlie is upstairs,” she hissed, voice low and threatening. Max stared at her a moment longer; she knew he wanted to hurt her. Then, he released her, pacing away, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re fuckin’ lying.”
“I’m not lying.” Her heart was pounding and her whole body was shaking, but there was an unknown strength burning inside her. “I met someone else and I love him. And I don’t have to explain anything to you. I already told you, you can be a dad to Charlie, but we’re not -“
Max swung around to face her again, refusing to hear it, and for a moment, she feared he wouldn’t keep his restraint. Then, something caught his eye upstairs and she glanced up, just as a shadow darted away. Max took off up the stairs and Lara gasped as she followed. “It’s just Charlie, you’re scaring him-“
Max said something, barely giving her a glance as he stormed up the stairs, throwing open doors, adamant he had seen someone. He slammed back into her bedroom and she followed, eyes wide, terrified at what he might see. “There’s nobody here, Max! You’re acting crazy!”
“Don’t call me fucking crazy,” he snarled, throwing open her closet doors and her heart actually froze until she realised it was empty.
“Max?” A small voice in the doorway and they both turned to see Charlie; his eyes were wide and he looked frightened. “Why are you shouting like Daddy?” Max instantly pulled away, heading towards him and she saw the anguish in his face as he knelt to talk to Charlie. Lara risked a glance around the room, but she had no idea where Dermot was. “Daddy shouted like that and he punched the wall,” Charlie was telling him quietly. “I’ll show you.” He turned, allowing Max to follow; Max hesitated, looking around the bedroom one last time, and then looking hard at Lara before he turned to follow. Lara took a few moments to compose herself, before she too walked out, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Charlie and Max were in the living room. Lara lingered in the doorway, watching as they both looked at the fist-sized hole in the wall. “He didn’t take it well,” she found herself speaking up, eyes never leaving the damage. “Now he’s got my daughter and ...” Tears welled before she could stop them and she turned away. “I’m just trying to do what’s right for them.” Hopefully that much he understood? “Take Charlie today,” she said, looking back at the little boy. “He’d really like that. He misses you, y’know. We can talk about this later.” Not that there was anything to talk about.
When he finally left, Charlie in tow, Lara shut the door and locked it, not moving until his car had long disappeared from the street. When she turned around, Dermot was stood at the top of the stairs. They both looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Then, he headed down and she rushed into his arms with a sob. “Hey, hey,” he murmured softly, hand on the back of her head as she gripped him tight. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
“It’s not going to be okay,” she wept. Dermot whispered soothingly in her ear, rubbing the small of her back until she was a little more composed. Wiping her eyes, Lara took a step back. “Nora’s told him I’m seeing somebody.”
“I heard.”
“We have to talk to her.” Dermot nodded, glancing down at himself. He was still in his funeral suit, the material a lot more crumpled than it had been the day before, but what else could he do? He didn’t want to risk going back to the penthouse yet. He followed Lara into the kitchen, where she tipped away her tea and shoved it, along with Max’s empty coffee cup, beside the sink. Then, she picked up her phone, seeing the message from Pete. He heart began to race as she opened it.
Hey, can I come round this evening? Kimmy needs some clean clothes and we need to chat.
“Pete’s coming this evening,” she told Dermot, who was looking off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. He looked over at her. “He wants to chat.”
“Are you going to be okay?” He asked her and she shrugged lightly.
“It can’t be any worse than this.” She quickly messaged him back.
Yes, of course. I look forward to seeing you both. I hope Kimmy is behaving. It felt so awkward and stilted and she went back to take the kiss off the end which she’d automatically added. Would life ever get any easier or would every day simply be a struggle?
Twenty minutes later, they climbed into his car, which he’d parked a few streets away when he’d decided to stay the night, and she was grateful for that now. If Max had seen the car this early, would he have believed it was all innocent? She’d dressed hastily in some jeans and one of her old grey turtlenecks, and she couldn’t shift the anxiety building up inside. This was it. The moment Dermot and herself spilled the truth to the people that she cared most about in the world. What would she do if Nora didn’t want to know her anymore? She had every right, but Lara knew she’d be lost without her best friend, her sister, and the thought made her want to cry again.
“You were brave,” he told her, breaking the silence that had filled the car. “Downstairs. Confronting Max.”
Lara looked over at him, eyes glazed. “I was so scared,” she whispered and he reached over to squeeze her hand.
“I know.”
All too soon, they were pulling up outside Jock’s house and Lara could feel the blood rushing in her ears. She and Dermot exchanged looks before getting out of the car. There was no turning back now.
—
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Post by katherinesullivan on Nov 3, 2022 10:31:13 GMT -5
What the hell had just happened?
Nora remembered Jock taking her hand and then suddenly they were home. ‘We have room for two more, don’t we?’
His voice was gentle and Nora glanced down at Tristan with a small smile. He looked bewildered, but resilient. How had this happened to such an innocent child? Today had been time for him to get the closure he needed, especially if he was to go on in this world without the weight of Charlotte’s death on his small shoulders. Max had ruined that. Benji had given a moving speech but then somehow Max had still made the day end with his name ringing after the fight.
The way Dermot had attacked him though… that wasn’t satisfying to see, instead it was uncomfortably disturbing. He truly had changed, or had he always been this way and she had been blind? As blind as Lara was – or rather, still was. He had wanted to hurt Max, and for what? For her? Nora couldn’t seem to accept that, no matter how much they had feasibly been in love, it was for something else. It had to be, otherwise he truly was just unhinged and she didn’t want to accept that.
Malachi was different – she had known from the beginning he had been different, rougher, ruder. He had never wasted time trying to make her feel perfect, or pretending to be someone he was not. Max was the same – ruthless with his open cruelty, but Dermot had been good. He had been the beacon she had needed to find salvation, when they’d met on the hill by the school for their first coffee.
Nora was still adamant Max was the soul reason for his siblings destruction, but what could they do about it? They couldn’t let them fight – undoubtedly it would end in murder. So how else were they meant to part them? Max had never been willing to let him go, that much was apparent. Even after his supposed death he had leached his way back into their life, always on the end of the phone, a mere haunted whisper away.
Somehow on the way home Nora had agreed with Tristan to go over for dinner one day, but all she could recall was his smile. The hope in his little eyes that there was going to continue to be goodness after the darkest day. Nora felt her happiness bridled by the thoughts at the back of her mind. The way Max had touched her, as if he held the whole world in the palm of his hand. No one could control him, and it was no doubt this reminder that kept Lara coming back. There was no end in sight, so it seemed safer to join for the disorientating ride than sit it out.
And circling back to Lara, Nora regretted saying what she had. She knew her friend was with someone else, but urging Max to grow jealous was never a good idea. He was suspicious and angry and that had never ended well. Why was Lara keeping this from her, though? They had their own lives but ever since Max had returned, for the second time, Lara had gotten dizzy and distracted. Her marriage to Pete was over… it was heart-breaking. Then again, it wasn’t the only relationship to end and Nora glanced at the clock and knew a few days more and it would’ve been her day.
Their day.
It felt strangely empowering to have broken from something increasingly toxic, but she was still settled in the midst of it, as long as she was with Jock and as long as he had hope for his cousin.
Looking up at Jock she couldn’t seem to smile, but knew she didn’t have to pretend with him.
‘What a fucking day.’ He murmured and kissed her brow. She merely mumbled in response, letting her eyes shut.
‘You did good today.’ His thumb brushed her chin and she reached out to touch his arm. ‘I know that was hard. How are you feeling?’
How was she feeling? What wasn’t she feeling? A thousand different thoughts spinning through her mind, but Jock was her anchor and for now she was safe. Shrugging her shoulders she tugged him close, playing with his shirt buttons. The house around them was silent and it was a welcome change. The funeral had filled her head with demons and worries, and the wake had been loud and explosive.
‘How are you feeling?’ she turned the question on him to which Jock raised an eyebrow and told her not to play that game. ‘I don’t want to feel… not tonight.’ Rising onto her tiptoes she pulled him close and kissed him for what felt like the first time in days. Today had been long and rough and she felt exhausted; her body ached, but also yearned for the man before her. Kissing him again, more forceful this time Nora bit down on his lower lip with a moan. It didn’t take long for it to grow heated and Jock lifted her, settled her on the edge of the kitchen island.
How long ago had all this truly started, in this same place? Nora could still feel how his mouth had searched hers, his hands roaming as if she were sculpted out of beautiful marble. Jock gripped her hips and pulled her to the edge, pressing himself against her and they kissed until they were both dizzy. There was nothing better than the feeling of knowing you were with the right one; the one who bettered and complimented you, who made you feel a plethora of emotions, none of which were dark.
Grabbing at his shirt buttons, Nora undid one after the other and pushed it over his broad shoulders. Jock’s lips were caressing her neck and she giggled as he caught a particularly sensitive spot. ‘Stop.’ She pleaded half heartedly and he replied by nipping her collarbone, sucking on the flesh there until it grew red. ‘Jock –’
There was a clatter at the entrance of the kitchen and Nora jumped with a gasp, pulling Jock close. Her heart was hammering heavily against her ears and Jock threw a couple of curse words at the offender, only to find a nervous looking Robbie, shielding his eyes.
‘I – I…’ he stuttered and Nora gave a sigh of relief, hiding her increasingly red face behind Jock’s back.
Still with his back to them, Robbie informed them a call had come through whilst they were away. It had been Rosa. He had spoken to her, told her everything that had happened; apologised over and over and asked when she was coming back. With everything that had happened tonight, no one had even considered Shaw and remembering he was still out there put a damper on the evening.
Jumping down from the counter, Nora readjusted her dress and flicked on the kettle.
‘Go sit in the lounge, Robbie, we’ll be in in a minute.’ Nora smiled over at Robbie who looked as if he had just caught his parents in the act.
Jock was stood beside her and she leaned against him, pressing her forehead against his arm.
‘Do you think he’s scarred for life?’ she gave a small chuckle and then frowned, turning back to make the drinks. ‘Do you want whiskey in yours?’ she asked, reaching for the bottle and pouring some into Robbie’s cup. ‘I understand you want to be kind to me, but… It’s okay. I’d understand if you wanted a drink tonight.’
They went into the lounge and the rest of the day seemed to disappear like smoke in a closed fist. They decided it wasn’t the best time for Rosa to come back, but were happy to know she was doing well. Robbie looked a little better and brighter, but he would stay with them until they had a new plan in action. Shaw could be watching his home, and the cameras in this house were both reassuring and necessary.
Saying their goodnights, Nora and Jock headed up to their room and she switched on the shower. Padding back into the bedroom she turned her back on Jock, asking him to unzip her. Slowly he slipped her from her dress, his hand smoothing the skin on her back. Jock pressed himself against her, kissed her throat and shoulders as they both stood before the window. Teasingly he unclipped her black bra until she was stood in nothing but her underwear.
‘Are you coming in with me?’ she asked and taking his hand she led him into the shower. The warm water washed away all the unease that had settled on them from the day. It couldn’t resolve all their problems but it would hopefully ease them into a peaceful sleep.
In the shower they kissed and caressed one another, her back against the wet tiles. Struggling to keep her cast dry, Nora growled in frustration and wrapped her hands around Jock’s neck as he lifted her up.
‘It’s fine.’ She whispered against his neck as she felt him between her thighs. They explored one another, hands and mouth relishing in soapy skin. ‘I want you.’ She gasped and when Jock asked if she was sure she kissed him hard. ‘I need you.’
Steam had filled the bathroom by the time the two of them left and Nora felt lightheaded but satisfied. Thirty minutes later and they were both in bed, wrapped around one another and content. Tomorrow they would have to see Dermot, and he would have to tell them the promised truth.
Nora’s dreams were tormented, as they had been since the Nick ordeal began. She saw his face but it was burnt, his flesh puckered from the flames . She heard Charlotte crying out in a smoky room, desperately searching for her but merely delving blindly, deeper into the smog. It felt endless and her eyes stung, her heart hammering against her throat as she began to run, her legs slow as if they were stuck in tar.
It must have been hours, walking in the blurred wilderness. Her skin felt cold, her muscles aching. Then a light began to shine in the distance and she called out to Jock, desperate to be saved, to be heard. Nothing came out no matter how much she forced herself to cry and she could see the figure approaching but it wasn’t her saviour. It was Max. He had a thick scar down one side of his face, his piercing blue eye shining like sapphire, the other dark and fixated on her face. He was laughing, manic and echoed in the wild space around them and he advanced.
Nora wanted to scream as she backed away, but behind her she fell into a figure and Nick remerged from the stream of smoke. To the left, Malachi battered with blood down in his face, to the right Charlotte with a knife to her stomach. They closed the circle around her, constricted her in their murmurs and their realness as Nora dropped to the floor and shielded herself in child’s pose. It wasn’t real, she told herself as she could smell burnt flesh; it isn’t real, she repeated as she could feel the breath of Charlottes whisper on her neck.
Waking up with a jolt, Nora felt a sweat dripping down her back and gasped for air. Jock was asleep beside her and stirred but didn’t wake and it took a moment to calm herself. The house was still and she flicked on her bedside lamp, letting the orange glow adjust her gaze. How long would the night terrors last? Did Jock have them, from before on the boat?
Looking over at him she smiled at his peaceful expression, his mouth in a soft position. When she thought about Max she felt defensive about all those she loved. About Lara and Jock. For weeks after he had left the first time, Nora had had nightmares about his death on the boat, her hands ringing with claret. It seemed the one fixed point in all these destructive dreams was Max and she hated him for it. Everywhere he went he left destruction.
Today they would speak to Dermot but she didn’t know what to expect. Would he be mad that Nora had told Jock the truth? Ashamed? Chewing her lip she rolled onto her side and tried to focus on the rising and lowering of Jocks chest. The only good thing out of all of this was him. He had never done anything wrong and in the past she had abused his love for her, but now she would never take him for granted again. Dermot had surprisingly come to terms with their relationship quicker than she’d thought, so perhaps he would be open to listening to them today.
How many times did he need to be told his brother was a psychopath before he listened, though?
‘Quit watching me.’ Jocks murmur made her jump and a Nora gave a small laugh. His eyes still shut he snaked an arm around her middle and pulled her close. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘I can’t.’
Jock made a joke about how he was too exhausted to go for round three so she had to sleep and Nora nudged his chest playfully before resting against him.
She fell asleep again a few minutes later and the two of them woke to the morning sun. It was warm through the window, the curtains wide and they languished in it like felines for a few minutes. Robbie was clattering downstairs and they could hear him humming to the radio. It was nice to have another person back in the house and it was nice to have him safe they both agreed. Thinking on how Jock had saved Robbie, Nora rolled on top of him and kissed him with a small smile.
‘You’re a really good guy.’ She murmured and Jock chuckled, returning the kiss. They explored one another for a while before Nora reluctantly got off the bed and headed into the bathroom. ‘Can you bandage my wrist for me?’ She handed him the first aid kit and offered her forearm. The bandaged were raggedy from where she’d got them damp in the shower last night.
As Jock gently unwrapped them she saw the yellows and purple of her wrist and her stomach rolled. The split holding the bone in place was doing its job but it didn’t stop the memories seeping back. She could still hear the snapping of her if she thought hard enough. Swallowing she glanced away until Jock was done and gave a thankful smile.
‘Did Dermot say when he would be over?’ Nora asked once they’d both gotten dressed. She was wearing jeans and one of Jocks shirt over a grey vest; a far cry from the lace number she was wearing the night before. ‘I’ll make some breakfast.’
Downstairs, breakfast had already been done for them and Robbie was smiling as he piled some buttermilk pancakes onto a plate. ‘My way of saying thank you.’
Jock snatched a piece of crispy bacon from the side and the three of them sat at the table to eat. A fresh pot of coffee was settled in the middle with jams and honey and bacon. The pancakes were amazing and Nora ate four in quick succession before she placed her fork down. They chatted briefly about nothing in particular when Robbie said he wanted to go out and walk for the day. He needed air and his body was starting to seize up.
‘Keep your phone on you.’ Nora demanded and he nodded. ‘And be careful.’ She barely even knew him but she was already protective and pulled him in for a hug. He’d squashed a beanie down on his bandaged head and pulled up a hoodie. The bruises under his eyes weren’t as bad anymore but he still looked a little tired.
‘Nothing a few painkillers can’t fix.’ He smiled as he rattled the jar.
Once Robbie left, Nora and Jock looked at one another uncertainly. There had been an unease in the room as the time started to trickle by and they realised Dermot would be here soon.
‘It feels like an intervention.’ Nora murmured and Jock agreed it basically was one. ‘It feels weird.’ She admitted after a moments pause and she looked up at Jock with big eyes. ‘I don’t really know what to do around him, I… don’t really know who he is anymore.’ Finishing her coffee she placed the cup down and glanced at the empty cup. ‘It would’ve been our wedding tomorrow. It just feels… weird.’ She shrugged helplessly for lack of a better word. ‘Do you sometimes regret all of this? Coming here… coming back after all those years? I wonder if you all would’ve been safer somewhere else, with someone else.’
Jock pulled her in and told her to stop being silly and Nora knew he was right. It was just difficult to know how to speak to Dermot anymore; she had loved him yet recently started to become scared of him. Last night Max hadn’t fought back and she knew it was because he had been scared too. This wasn’t right and whatever was wrong they would find out soon enough.
Just then the doorbell rang and they both looked at one another, a flicker of panic on Nora’s face.
‘It’ll be okay, won’t it?’ She asked as she and Jock moved to answer it. ‘Promise me it’ll be okay?’
But neither of them could’ve guessed what was going to come next, as Jock opened the door to reveal Dermot stood there, a sheepish Lara by his side and he was wearing the same suit from last night. Nora swallowed, sick in her chest and naivety in her heart as she pulled her best friend forward into a hug.
‘What are you doing here.’ She smiled as she squeezed her shoulders. There was an awkwardness between them and Nora took an uncertain step back. ‘Lara?’
‘Is it alright if we come in?’ Lara asked, as if she and Dermot were detectives come to deliver some bad news. The fact the two of them had arrived together hadn’t clicked with Nora as strange yet and she blindly stepped aside.
Nora would admit that Lara didn’t look her usual self; her clothes were different, baggy and unusually casual as if she didn’t want to be noticed. The break up of a marriage could no doubt do terrible things to your self esteem. Leaving Dermot had been difficult enough and even seeing him before her still made a strange feeling stir inside her stomach. A man she had intended to marry today in front of her as no more than a stranger.
She glanced up at him, saw his bruised jaw and his sheepish expression and couldn’t help but frown at his sudden downfall. They moved into the lounge and sat opposite one another, a definitive divide. Did Dermot know what they were going to say? Was Lara here for support? The fact he felt potentially attacked by them made Nora sad. It was the complete opposite.
Jock however obviously felt different as he then opened his mouth. ‘What the fuck was last night about?’ He asked in disbelief. ‘You didn’t just poke the hornet’s nest, you put your stick right through it.’
Nora glanced over at Jock with a brief disapproving glance, but knew he was right. He had just never been one to tread lightly and most times it was something she adored about him; Jock had no time for bullshit and half truths. He was all in, always.
‘I’m really fucking sorry that you had to see that, Nora. And I’m sorry...” Dermot gestured to her face and she found herself glancing down. If she hadn’t had gotten involved she would’ve been fine. Just like the storage facility. ‘I’m done with Max. I...’ He fell quiet for a moment and Nora wondered how difficult that was for him to say and without being able to help herself she spoke.
‘Are you telling the truth this time?’ She asked, voice low.
‘I can’t do it anymore,’ he continued, looking back at her and Jock. ‘I can’t give him what he wants anymore. I’ve already given him everything.’
That was true. Dermot had given his whole soul and more to that man, and for what? There was no love or support or reward for his good deeds. It had shattered their relationship and drove Dermot to be a man he wasn’t. To become worse than Max himself.
‘Nora told me you used the Mark on Nick.’ Jock said, and they could see Dermot visibly tense. ‘That isn’t you, Dermot.“
‘It was an accident,’ he whispered but Nora could see the weeping S behind her eyelids as she looked down and she knew it had been filled with purpose.
‘An accident?’ Jock concurred her thoughts. ‘And that morning you beat Bov? You could have killed him.’
At the church Bovver had been a wreck, to the point that part of her felt guilty. If she hadn’t had been involved with him, his life would’ve been on a different path by now. Maybe he’d still be with Emily instead of Bobby as his only companion. He certainly wouldn’t be walking around with shattered ribs.
Dermot’s lip curled more so at the mention of Bovver than his own brother and she found it strange. ‘That wouldn’t have been a bad thing,’ he muttered and Nora opened her mouth to scold him but held back.
‘What does Bov know that we don’t? What’s this fucking secret of yours, Dermot?’ Jock asked the real question and she held her tongue, desperate not to scare the truth from him with too much confrontation.
It wasn’t Dermot that replied though. He glanced at Lara — for what? Permission? Support? Nora let her eyes settle on her friend and furrowed her brow in confusion. Was Dermot working with the GSE now?
‘You already know me and Pete are getting divorced. And you were right, Nora,’ Lara glanced up at her and Nora was startled by the fear she could see marring her friends usually beautiful features. ‘I am seeing somebody else. I uh... it just happened, after Swill’s party, and...’
Nora looked at a Jock briefly to see if he had any more idea of what was going on. Her broken sentences made Nora’s heart race and she wasn’t sure what to expect. So she was with Max? How could she have been so fucking stupid —
Cutting the thought short, Nora watched as Lara took her hand and placed it in Dermots. Their fingers slid together like a buttered puzzle and she frowned at the gentle touch once only reserved for her. As much as Nora loved Jock, seeing Dermot touching anyone other than her made her feel something strange. It wasn’t jealousy but instead the ebbing of the realisation things truly were over. Was this the pain he had felt seeing her with Jock?
‘We didn’t plan this.’
What? Nora felt her hands grip the edges of the sofa, her heart suddenly beating like waves against her eardrum.
‘It kind of... it happened.’
What happened? Nora’s neck suddenly felt hot, her whole body rigid. Jock wasn’t saying anything. The two of them just watching in disbelief the words that spilled from Laras mouth.
‘And I know it’s really... out of the blue, but I promise, I never wanted to hurt you. We slept together, after we left Swill’s party. And....’
Nora felt as if she had been knocked sideways, her body swaying and deflated of air. The uncertainties she had felt earlier were suddenly turning into swelling sickness and she swallowed back the nausea. The two of them were staring at her with apologetic pity on their faces and it made a seed of fury grow. They’d /slept/ together?
‘…. well, Pete knows and he told the lads. They all know.’
‘That’s what Bov was threatening me with,’ Dermot spoke up, looking to Jock as if he was the one here deserving of an answer. Nora was more furious that Bovver had known, but rather than telling her, he’d used this secret as a pawn in some fucked up game.
‘He’s probably going to tell Max, so we... well, we wanted you to know first. We wanted it to come straight from us.’
How thoughtful Nora thought with an eye roll. Sadness swiftly changed into anger, her jaw clenched as she struggled to find the words. There were none.
Lara looked at Nora, pleadingly seeking a response. ‘Please say something.’ She whispered.
Nora didn’t know what to say. The whole morning she had been preparing herself to confront Dermot about his previous actions and yet he had arrived with Lara to diminish his faults by declaring his new love. It was an ambush; it was hypocritical, it was unbelievable. It was her best friend and her ex-fiancé —
‘Get out.’ Nora said slowly, her voice low. Lara and Dermot looked at her quizzically so she raised her gaze to their nervous faces. ‘Get. Out.’ She repeated and went to stand. Lara did the same, opening her mouth to say some nonsense excuse. She murmured something but Nora could only hear the rushing of blood in her ears. Lunging out she slapped Lara so sharply she heard a small whimper leave her lips.
Clenching her fists she narrowed her eyes. Her whole body felt stiff, and if it wasn’t for the fury coursing through her Nora thought she might pass out. Jock was beside her but she only had eyes for the two traitorous lovers before her. She and Lara had never fought, not really, and never hit each other.
‘Yesterday I told Max to stay away from you.’ She said to Lara, her voice low. Her friend was holding her reddening cheek with one hand. ‘I told him I was fucking glad you were seeing someone that wasn’t him. Well jokes on me, isn’t it?’ She spat and threw her gaze to Dermot. ‘You hypocrite.’ Nora hissed. ‘Do you even know what today is? What it should’ve been?’ Raising an eyebrow she saw the realisation click on his face and gave a dark look. ‘Get the fuck out —.’
Dermot said something and suddenly she decided she hated this man. Years Nora has felt inferior, thanks to Malachi and all the other men in this sexist world. Dermot had promised her she was perfect, she was his. How many years ago had she joked that Lara would be better for him. And in the same year asked Lara if she fancied Dermot. Doubt flourished in Nora’s heart but Dermot had covered it over with lies and soft kisses. Only a few months ago and Nora had asked Lara her opinion on Dermot and she had shrugged it off with a laugh. Max’s brother? Only a selfish, vindictive person would do such a thing.
How long had this been happening? Nora could hear the same questions when they left Dermot’s mouth in the Abbey. He hadn’t been kind. He’d thrown himself at Jock and then ran off to fuck Lara. That had been weeks ago.
‘I spent this whole time worrying about what Max was doing to you, when it seems you’re one I should’ve been watching.’ Nora said to Dermot, shrugging off Jock who touched her shoulder. ‘You’ve both just ruined countless lives, for your own selfish gain? You’re a fucking sick animal, Dermot and I need you to leave now—‘
Lara reached out to apologise, to express they wanted to explain but Nora shook her head with a dark stare.
‘I thought you were my best friend.’ She whispered. Lara insisted she was but that Nora said that could never be true again. The betrayal was worse than that from Dermot. Nora’s greatest fear of rejection and loss was manifested before her in the two people she had once trusted the most.
‘Was this what you felt?’ She asked, looking back at Dermot. ‘In the Abbey? Because I spent years hating myself for how I felt about Jock. I did everything for you, and yet it seems it was wasted time because we both wanted to be fucking someone else from the beginning.’
Jock pulled Nora back and she took a heavy breath, looking at him as he tilted her face to him. Her heart was racing so mad and seeing the concern in his eyes made her want to cry. He was just as betrayed as her and she felt guilty for having taken control, her emotions wild and spiralling.
‘I hope you know what you’ve done.’ Nora said, touching Jock’s arm as he put it around her to turn her away. ‘Max is going to kill you. Both of you. And we can’t help you.’ Glancing up into Jock’s eyes she listened to him as he whispered for her to calm down and she nodded before leaving for the kitchen.
In there she grabbed a glass of water, her hand shaking as she sloshed it over the side. ‘Fuck.’ She whispered. Did anything make sense anymore? How long had it been going on? Why had he even wasted with him? He could ask the same she figured and gulped the water. Without even thinking she swiped for the whiskey she had put in the coffees the night before and downed a heavy mouthful. It burned and she hissed, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
Lara and Dermot were together. They loved each other. They held hands like people who has known each other for years, and they had. The whole time Lara had been with Max, there had been his doting brother, a watchful figure in the shadows. Waiting for the right time. Well now was nowhere near the right time. How many years had that been? Had Lara always loved him? These were questions she couldn’t bring herself to answer right now and downing another gulp of liquor, Nora sat herself on a bar stool with a heavy sigh.
——
‘No. I won’t.’
Max hesitated on the bottom step. ‘No’ had never really been a word in Lara’s vocabulary whilst they were together, so whenever he heard it, Max heard it clearly. No? Filling the space between them, he looked expectantly at her to repeat herself.
‘I won’t get Nora to shut her mouth because she’s telling the truth. I am seeing somebody else. It’s the reason me and Pete are getting divorced, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you.’ A short laugh escaped and the sound made Max tense. ‘Do you really think you have that much power over my life? Did you really think I left my husband for you?’ She smiled at Max in a way he had never seen before. It set him on edge. ‘What happened between us the other night meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. I don’t love you, Max, and if you think things will ever go back to how they were supposed to be... well, you’re stupider than I thought.’
How many small, empty people were going to suddenly find the courage to speak their mind this week? Max didn’t have time to humour Lara as he had his brother and he filled what space was left between them, his hands fisting the front or her dressing gown. Slamming her into the bannister he felt her arch against him, trying to hide the flicker of pain from her features. The fear wasn’t there like it usually was though and it angered him more.
‘You lying bitch.’ Max hissed, his breath hot on her cheek. ‘You really think you can speak to me like that?’
‘What? What’s the problem, Max? Is it that much of a surprise that I don’t want this anymore.’ She shoved him back, but he was stronger, resolute in place like he always has been. ‘Get your fucking hands off me. Charlie is upstairs.’ her voice was a low hiss but he didn’t recoil right away. Glaring at Lara, he thought of a million different ways to inflict pain. Could see her crushed beneath him, like all those years ago, a knife to her throat.
‘You’re fuckin’ lying.’ He pushed himself away, running a surprisingly shaky hand through his hair. Everything was crumbling; the pedestal he had carved for himself was shaking and he felt uneasy.
‘I’m not lying.’ Lara looked at him with determination in her eyes. A strength because their son was upstairs. Their son. ‘I met someone else and I love him. And I don’t have to explain anything to you. I already told you, you can be a dad to Charlie, but we’re not -‘
He had begun to pace agitatedly but suddenly Max found himself spinning back to face her. His eyes were dark, blood pumping. She loved someone else? ‘There can’t be anyone else for you.’ He snapped. It didn’t make sense. Who? When?
And then out of the corner of his eye he saw all his suspicions confirmed in the form of a shadow. Striding past Lara he shoved her to one side.
’Its just Charlie, you’re scaring him-‘
He was back outside her door but he kicked the other open first, glancing inside desperately. ‘Fuck you, cailin.’ He hissed and then pushed her door wide. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but he hadn’t imagined the figure passing, a slither of existence beneath the crack in the door. Stepping inside he tried to ignore her tantalising perfume seeking his senses and yanked open the wardrobe doors. A few dresses swung with the force and he glanced behind them with a grunt of frustration.
‘There’s nobody here, Max! You’re acting crazy!’ Lara screamed at him and his shoulders instantly bunched in disgust.
‘You know I hate that word.’ He spat as he glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Don’t call me fucking crazy!’
‘Max?’ A timid voice invaded the toxic space and they both turned to see Charlie staring at them. His big eyes held concern and Max took a steadying breath, his fists clenched tight.
‘It was just Charlie, was it?’ Max hissed in a low voice so only Lara could hear. She was lying, he just knew it! Once again he had to control himself for the sake of others, but on this occasion it was worthwhile.
‘Why are you shouting like Daddy?’ Charlie asked, his voice so pure that Max managed to pull himself out of the room.
‘No shouting, Charlie. We just got a bit excited, that’s all.‘ he reassured his son, ruffling his hair with a sigh. He didn’t want this life for his son. He didn’t want to be Patrick.
‘Daddy shouted like that and he punched the wall. I’ll show you.’ Charlie continued, as if it was the usual thing to say about your parent. What the hell had Pete been doing in the same house as his child? Trying to hide the anger still lightly burning in his belly, Max took a final glance at the bedroom before following him downstairs.
If she wasn’t lying then he was going crazy, and that wasn’t something he was willing to consider. With hearing her voice the night before and now this? Shaking the feeling his reality was slipping, Max stepped into the lounge and could see Charlie was telling the truth. One of the back walls had a fist shaped hole, the perfect height to align with Lara’s head. Max wondered if he had missed on purpose. He also wondered who the fuck he thought he was touching her like that. Lara didn’t want Max, but he still owned her.
‘This can be fixed.’ Max assured Charlie, a hand on his shoulder. It could all be fixed if only they’d listen to him.
‘He didn’t take it well.’ Lara’s voice carried from the hall and he looked back at her. She looked defeated, an expression she wore often at the moment. ‘Now he’s got my daughter and…’
‘His daughter.’ Max corrected her bluntly but Lara turned away, tears springing to her eyes. Whatever she had done, she wasn’t taking the repercussions well. Max had always shielded her from the outside world, but it seemed Pete couldn’t do the same.
‘I’m just trying to do what’s right for them.’
‘I’m —‘
‘Take Charlie today.‘ Lara cut across him and Max felt taken back, not having expected such a turn around. ‘He’d really like that. He misses you, y’know. We can talk about this later.’
‘Is my son safe?’ Max demanded, his eyes never leaving her face even though Lara would rather look elsewhere. ‘I meant what I said upstairs. Ronan will be round later. I don’t trust Dunham, and you’re not giving me any reason to trust you either.’ Looking down at Charlie, he took his hands off his ears he’d been covering so he couldn’t listen. ‘How fast can you shower and grab a bag?’ Max asked with a big smile.
Lara went to excuse herself to help him with Max reached out, gripped her wrist hard so she couldn’t turn away. ‘You will talk to me.’ His eyes were dark and he held her gaze but earned no reply as he let her go.
Sitting in the car, Max waited patiently for Charlie to be ready. His eyes looked up at the house with interest, fixating on the top two windows, desperate to see something and someone. Dialling Ronan, he flicked him onto the speaker phone, his eyes still roaming for a sign of anything.
‘Boss.’ Ronan greeted
‘What are you doing today?’
‘Whatever you’re about to tell me.’ He replies curtly and Max shook his head with a soft smirk.
‘Luamhán asail.’ Max murmured. ‘I need you to watch Lara. Come as soon as you can, I’m taking Charlie out.’
‘Seen or unseen?’ Ronan asked simply.
‘Seen.’
‘Okay. But call me a fuckin’ arse licker again and —‘
Charlie tapped on the window abruptly startling Max so he cut the call off. Glancing out the window he smiled down at his son who waved the lion toy, pressing its plastic nose against the glass. Lara was stood behind him, a less than pleased look on her face.
‘Hop in, tiger.’ Max reached back and opened the back door so Lara could strap him into his car seat. ‘Brand new, all the best safety features.’ Max told her, not that she replied. The coldness between them was no longer sexual and instead uncomfortable. He wasn’t happy having to leave the conversation where it was, but he also wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to spend time with Charlie. ‘Ronan will be down soon.’ Max called and Lara glanced at him before slamming the door loudly, heading to stand in the doorway with her arms tightly around herself.
‘Your mummy isn’t in a good mood today is she?’ Max asked as he pulled away from the curb. ‘Charlie, did she have a… visitor over last night?’
Glancing in the rear view mirror, Max saw Charlie happily playing with his toys, tongue between his teeth and oblivious to what was going on. He could always ask him later. With a sigh, they drove off to the penthouse, music playing in the background. For the first time with Charlie, Max had his mind elsewhere. Both Lara and Dermot had turned on him in the space of twenty-four hours; it must have been Pete’s fault. If the hooligan thought he could just take everything back, he could think again. Violence between adults was consenting and in most cases necessary, but in the same house as Charlie?
Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Max tried to remember when the next football match was against West Ham. No doubt Pete was returning back to the life he was so reluctant to give up in the first place. So if he wanted to play a game of thieves, Max would join and he would win.
‘Charlie?’ Max asked, glancing back. ‘What would you say if I took you to a football match?’
Thirty minutes later and Ronan pulled up outside of Lara’s house. It was empty, he’d seen her pull off ten minutes ago with another man in the car, but he’d missed his face. He had been too busy staring at her, his eyes transfixed on her angel features. Staring up at the building he then glanced down at his watch to consider his options. He didn’t know what she was doing with Max, but the tone in which he’d asked for her to be tracked didn’t ring protection and instead investigation.
He had followed her once before, without permission. Watched her walk to work in the early years, her short skirt and an apron around her middle. Watched through the restaurant window as she smiled at the regulars in a way she would never smile at him. One night Lara had left early and he’d impulsively followed her down the road, enough distance to remain inconspicuous but close enough to still smell her perfume when the wind blew. Ronan thought about filling the gap, grabbing her hair and slamming her against the wall. Taking what he deserved.
He hadn’t. Max had appeared on the curb side, yelling at her for walking alone at night and she’d reluctantly jumped in the car. Ronan respected Max, but he envied him too much to be a true ally.
Slipping the pick into the lock, Ronan glanced over his shoulder as he jiggled it left and right before it gave a satisfying click. The door creaked open and he glanced down at the floor as if a whole new world was beckoning. Stepping over the threshold he shut the door behind him and took a moment to adjust his eyes to the hallway.
There was space on the wall where a picture had previously hung and no doubt it was of her and her husband. Ronan found it face down on the side table and flicked it over, glancing disapprovingly at Pete’s face. A skinhead, broad shoulders and ridiculously blue eyes. Leaving it face up, he headed upstairs into the bedroom.
The bed was freshly made, the windows pulled open. He could still smell the scent of her and turning, caught her robe hanging on the back of the door. Holding it to his face Ronan inhaled deeply, all the memories he’d ever stored of her coming back to life. His skin prickled with excitement.
After checking over the house there was nothing unusual, nothing that couldn’t be explained. As he went to leave, Ronan hesitated and looked back at the photo frame, considering putting it back. It was something she would notice. He wanted her to notice. Leaving it as it was he shut the door and jumped back into his car.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Nov 4, 2022 8:05:23 GMT -5
“How are you feeling?”
They were stood in the silent kitchen as she teased the buttons of his shirt, the only sound being the grandfather clock ticking in the hall. Nora had turned his question back on him, and Jock raised his eyebrow at her. “Don’t play that game,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to feel... not tonight.” She leaned up, pulling him close, and he met her kiss with a soft groan. He couldn’t deny the fact that he’d missed this; the taste of her, the warmth of her body beneath his hands. He settled them on her waist, drawing her closer against him, and Nora deepened the kiss. He sensed her need; it fizzed beneath the surface, given away the intensity of her kiss. Nipping at his bottom lip, she moaned, and Jock tightened his hold of her. He’d missed her so much, so much it had been a physical pain in his chest, enough to take his breath away. Seeing Nora go through today unflinchingly, with her head held high... being a supportive and solid figure for Tristan... confronting Max instead of cowering it fear... it reminded Jock of exactly why he loved her. Because she was strong and brave and powerful, even if she didn’t always see it herself. She’d been the one to save his life on the boat, stopping Max from cutting his throat clean through. She didn’t hide. She hadn’t watched on in horror. She’d acted, with no thought for herself. That was Nora in a nutshell; utterly selfless and he adored her.
Lifting her onto the edge of the kitchen island, Jock cupped her face, his tongue teasing hers. His free hand ran from her shoulder and down her arm, loosening the strap, and he dropped his mouth to press kisses over her shoulder and up her throat. He edged Nora closer, hips pressing against hers as her thighs tightened around his waist. God, she felt good. He groaned against her skin, the hand on her cheek moving to grip her jaw, holding her in place as he kissed her deeply. The air around them seemed to crackle and everything else slipped from Jock’s mind. All that mattered was this glorious woman in front of him.
Nora began to unbutton his shirt, and he continued to kiss her throat and the sensitive spot beneath her ear, feeling her pulse spike beneath his lips. She pushed his shirt free and he shook it off, letting it billow to the floor. He began to kiss her throat again, and Nora giggled, twisting away at the tickle. “Stop,” she pleaded, but he knew there was no real demand behind her words and he grinned against her skin. He nipped at her collarbone, suckling the creamy flesh there. “Jock-”
A sudden clatter behind them had them both jumping; Nora gave a loud gasp and pulled Jock close, and he turned to see Robbie standing there, eyes shielded, looking like he’d rather die. Jock had completely fucking forgotten about Robbie, his shock quickly turning to annoyance. Did he have to walk in now?! “I could have feckin’ killed you, you daft bastard! What the fuck are you doing?!”
“I - I...” Jock felt Nora relax behind him, shaking his head. Robbie had turned his back completely now. “I just wanted you to know that Rosa called earlier. I spoke her her, I told her what had happened.”
Jock rubbed his jaw with a soft sigh. After everything that had happened today, he’d forgotten about his friend’s problems, and the weight of things yet to deal with returned to settle heavily on his shoulders. “What did she say?”
“She said she was glad the cunt’s dead.”
“Fair enough.”
“I said sorry too. I should ‘ave believed her from the start.“ He fell quiet, the back of his neck still a hot red. Behind Jock, Nora slid from the counter and moved to put on the kettle.
“Go sit in the lounge, Robbie, we’ll be in in a minute.” She flashed the young man a smile and he didn’t waste a second getting out of there. Jock grumbled beneath his breath, reaching to pick his shirt off the floor. He pulled it on, doing up the lower buttons, though his eyes were fixed on Nora as she busied herself with the drinks. He moved to lean against the counter beside her, and Nora sighed softly, pressed her forehead against his arm.
“I won’t say I’m not a little gutted,” he told her with a teasing smile, gaze lingering on the beginnings of the love bite on her collarbone.
“Do you think he’s scarred for life?” She chuckled softly, though it faded as she turned to fill the cups with boiling water. Her gaze lingered on the whiskey bottle on the side before she reached for it. “Do you want whiskey in yours?” Jock didn’t answer for a moment, as she tipped some into Robbie’s cup. Nora glanced at him. “I understand you want to be kind to me, but... It’s okay. I’d understand if you wanted a drink tonight.”
Jock gave her a soft smile, then nodded. “Thank you. Just a small one though, aye?” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Make Robbo’s a double.”
They sat with Robbie for the rest of the evening, and it was a nice way to end what had been such a difficult day. And truthfully, Jock had struggled to get his mind off Dermot. Jock hated Max with every fibre of his being, he’d always hated the cunt, but Dermot had idolised him. Dermot had always looked up to Max in ways Jock had never been able to fathom. So what had changed? Did it have anything to do with this secret Bov knew about? And what did the future hold? As he listened to Nora laugh at something Robbie said, he wondered how long this would last. This small slice of peace and serenity, where he and Nora were content and happy. If he could freeze this moment in time, he would have and he would never leave it.
Jock was roped into talk about Rosa and they all agreed that keeping her hidden was the only option right now. With Shaw still creeping around in the background, no doubt on the hunt for Robbie, and Max and Dermot on the brink of eruption, it was safer for her to stay away. When they finally retired for bed, Jock could feel the day catching up with him and tried to roll the tension out his shoulders. Nora was in the en suite, and she turned on the shower before padding back into the bedroom. “Could you unzip me?” Nora turned her back to him and Jock approached, fingers gentle as he eased down her zipper, revealing a smooth expanse of back. Jock let his fingers trail softly, before he eased her dress down, letting it pool at her feet. Pressed against her, he kissed her throat and shoulder as he deftly unhooked her bra, letting it slip free until she was standing in nothing but a pair of black lace panties. Biting his bottom lip, he admired her from behind, hand sliding up her thigh to settle her on smooth bottom.
“Are you coming with me?”
She took his hand and he followed without protest as she led him into the bathroom. The shower was hot, steam building like clouds, and he didn’t waste a moment stripping down. Once they were beneath the hot flow of water, Jock brought her close, mouth claiming hers. Easing her back against the tiles, Jock’s body flush with hers, they kissed, hard and desperate, and Jock tried to convey all his feelings into that searing kiss. God, he loved her so much. It wasn’t long before she gave up keeping her cast dry, a small growl of frustration escaping her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lifted her, pinning her against the wall. “Is this okay?”
“It’s fine.” She gasped a little as he shifted, cock throbbing hard against her; it felt like an age since they’d truly been intimate with each other and Jock was having a hard time controlling himself. He dropped his mouth to her throat, nipping and marking the smooth column. Grabbing the shower gel, he lathered up his hands, then ran them over her breasts; her back arched. “I want you.”
“Are you sure?” He asked hoarsely, but she merely gripped his hair and kissed him hard.
“I need you.”
Hand sliding up her throat, he cupped her face and kissed her, pressing deep into her at the same time. Her moans spilled into his mouth as they found rhythm, and he relished in the way her nails dig into his shoulders and the way her hips rocked against his. He kissed her until they needed air, hands gripping her thighs to hold her in place. And when she climaxed around him, head thrown back, lashed fanning her cheekbones, he murmured how much he loved her against her throat and bit down on her shoulder hard when he came too. When they fell into bed, Jock felt the exhaustion creeping into his bones, and held Nora against him, inhaling the sweetness of her shampoo. The future might have been uncertain, but Jock knew that whatever happened, they’d be okay as long as they had each other.
—-
When Jock stirred, the house was silent. He didn’t open his eyes, but he knew the bedside lamp was on from the soft orange glow behind his lids. He could also tell Nora was awake; he could feel her cool breath on the side of his face and could sense her eyes wandering his face. When he couldn’t resist any longer, he spoke up. “Quit watching me,” he mumbled, though the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk when he felt Nora jump. Her small laugh was heart-warming. Keeping his eyes shut, he reached to slip his arm around her middle, bringing her close. “Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.”
Jock chuckled into the crook of her neck. “I’m too exhausted to go for round three, milseán, so you have to sleep.” She nudged his chest playfully before snuggling into him, and Jock gave a murmur of contentment. They must have fallen to sleep as the next thing Jock knew, the birds were singing and the sun was blinding them through a gap in the curtains. He’d slept so solidly, he wasn’t even sure if he’d dreamed. He became aware of the radio on downstairs and Robbie clattering around in the kitchen, and he stretched as Nora stirred beside him.
“It’s nice having another person in the house,” Nora said after a moment and Jock smiled, nodding. He’d lived alone for years and at first, having such a full house had felt strange. With George and Aoife gone, and Dermot, there’d been a stillness Jock had actually found it quite hard to settle with.
“It’s nice having him safe,” Jock added and Nora agreed, rolling onto him and giving him a firm kiss. Her eyes lingered on his, expression soft.
“You’re a really good guy.”
Jock chuckled, leaning up to kiss her back. “Stop. You’re gonna give me a complex.” Her fingers traced the tattoos on his chest and the old scars from fights long passed and they spoke quietly to each other, enjoying each other’s company. His hands explored her sides and the small dip in her lower back, but eventually, they had to make a move. They had an uncertain day ahead.
“Can you bandage my wrist for me?” Nora asked, after she’d retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom. They sat on the edge of the bed and Jock gently removed her damp bandages, gliding his fingers over her bruised and still slightly-swollen wrist. He hated that she’d had to go to such lengths to free herself, but he also marvelled at her courage in that very moment. That wouldn’t have been an easy thing to do. When he’d recast her wrist, he kissed the fabric, and she smiled at him. He helped her to her feet and they moved to get dressed. He wore a pair of suit trousers, a white vest and braces, combing back the sides of his hair and leaving the top tousled. Nora had opted for jeans and a grey vest over one of his shirts. She looked especially delicious with her dark hair framing her face.
“Did Dermot say when he would be over?” Nora asked, as they headed for the stairs.
“No, but I hope he doesn’t wait all day.” That’s if he was even alive. Jock hadn’t wanted to think it, but he had no idea what had happened after they’d left and knowing how volatile Max was... It made him uneasy. Nora said she’d make breakfast and his stomach gave a rumble in response, which made them both laugh. Luckily for his stomach, Robbie had already served them up two plates and he sat down to tuck in happily. “Cheers, pal. You feeling better then?”
Robbie nodded. “A little. And this is just my way of saying thank you.” He seemed a little bashful about it and moved away to pour himself a glass of orange. Jock helped himself to a piece of crispy bacon and groaned as he bit into it.
“You should have been a chef, not a pig.”
They sat around the table, chatting as they ate their breakfast, and Jock savoured the normality as best he could. Soon, Robbie mentioned he wanted to go for a walk that morning, that he needed to air and that he was beginning to seize up. Jock couldn’t blame him. He’d been holed up for days now and as somebody who much prefer the outdoors, Jock could agree how quickly it made you feel insane. Nora gave him a sharp look. “Keep your phone on you. And be careful.”
“Yeah, I don’t have time today to save your arse again,” Jock added, the warning in his voice clear. “No fuckin’ about, okay?”
Robbie nodded, a small grin on his face as he shook his bottle of medicine. “Nothing a few painkillers can’t fix.” Scarfing down the last of his pancake, he scraped back his chair and dumped his plate by the sink. Disappearing into the hall, he returned a few minutes later wearing a beanie and a hoody, the hood pulled up too. Jock smirked over his coffee.
“Very inconspicuous.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Robbie scowled, but was surprised when Nora pulled him into a hug. And then he was gone, giving them a cheerful wave before he left.
“Fucking idiot,” Jock muttered, setting down his cup. “I swear, if he gets caught...” He trailed off, the room falling silent, and he and Nora watched each other uncertainly. There was only one thing on both their minds and that was Dermot. What exactly were they even going to say when he arrived? It still felt awkward, especially with everything that had happened in the last few weeks. And Dermot had fallen so far off the rails that he wasn’t anywhere near the tracks anymore. Torturing Nick with the Mark, attacking Max so violently... this wasn’t the man who’d been at his side for the past decade. He’d come so far from all of that and it was unsettling.
“It feels like an intervention.”
Jock nodded. “I guess it basically is one.”
“It feels weird,” she admitted, glancing into her coffee. Then, she looked up and met his gaze, eyes round. “I don’t really know what to do around him, I... don’t really know who he is anymore.” Nora picked up her coffee and finished it. “It would have been our wedding tomorrow. It just feels... weird.” Hs heavens helpless shrug and Jock felt a rush of guilt for forgetting. He hadn’t known how. He’d had the date pinned to his feet on a little Save The Date card for months before he’d returned to London. “Do you sometimes regret all of this?” she said after a moment and he cocked his head at her. “Coming here... coming back after all those years?”
“Not at all.”
“I wonder if you all would’ve been safer somewhere else, with someone else.”
“Don’t be silly.” Jock leaned forward, pulling her in close. “The only thing I regret was leaving in the first place. I love Rosa, but if I hadn’t met her, Nick would never have been brought into your life at all. And if I’d stayed, we would have ended up together a lot sooner and none of this would have happened.” He gave a soft smile. “I’d never regret you, Nora. I can promise you that.” And then the doorbell rang, the two of them tense as they glanced at each other. He could see the panic in her eyes.
“It’ll be okay, won’t it? Promise me it’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he murmured, unable to bring himself to promise as they moved to answer the door. It was Dermot, still in yesterday’s outfit, but to their surprise, he wasn’t alone. Lara stood with him, dressed down, anxiously fiddling with the sleeve of her jumper. That’s when Jock knew the GSE had to have been involved in whatever secret Dermot had, even Bov had made that perfectly clear anyway. Had Dermot swapped sides? Then, he ridiculed himself for the thought. As if. Nora moved to pull Lara into a hug and Jock gave Dermot a solemn nod. At least he was still alive and by the looks, undamaged. He wondered what had happened last night, but knew that now wasn’t the time to ask.
“What are you doing here?” Nora smiled when she pulled away, but the look on Lara’s face made her falter; she stepped back uncertainly.
—-
“Lara?”
This was almost too much. Every cell in Lara’s body was begging for her to get into the car and speed away. Was she about to break her best friend’s heart? She knew Nora didn’t have feelings for Dermot, but the fact it was so soon after this break up... it felt like some moral line had been crossed and Lara had no idea how she was going to take it. Glancing at her cast, she was reminded of how much Nora had been through in the last week and prayed she wasn’t making a big mistake.
“Is it all right if we come in?” She said faintly, and Nora nodded, frowning as she stepped aside. Lara walked in, followed by Dermot, and Jock gave Nora a grave glance as she shut the door. He didn’t like the look of this. Hand on the small of Nora’s back, he followed Lara and Dermot into the front room, where they all took a seat around the coffee table; Jock and Nora on one side, Dermot and Lara on the other. Their guests were sat close together, looking like two naughty teenagers about to get a scolding from their parents. Why did Jock suddenly feel so old?
On the other sofa, Lara squeezed her hands together on her lap and tried not to show how much she was trembling. Dermot gave her a reassuring glance, but thankfully, Jock was the first to speak up, at least giving them a place to start. He looked right at Dermot. “What the fuck was last night about? You didn’t just poke the hornet’s nest, you put your stick right through it.”
Dermot rubbed the back of his neck, flashing Nora a look full of remorse. “I’m really fucking sorry that you had to see that, Nora. And I’m sorry...” He gestured to her face. “I’m done with Max. I...” He fell quiet, glancing at Lara for support. “I can’t do it anymore,” he continued, looking back at Nora and Jock. “I can’t give him what he wants anymore. I’ve already given him everything.”
Jock looked at him for a moment before glancing at Nora; she’d been watching them all nervously as they spoke, as if afraid an argument would brew up. “Nora told me you used the Mark on Nick,” Jock said, and Dermot tensed, eyes fixed to the coffee table as he sat, arms resting on his knees, hands clasped. “That isn’t you, Dermot.“
“It was an accident,” he whispered.
“An accident? And that morning you beat Bov? You could have killed him.”
Dermot’s lip curled and a little of the darkness returned to his eyes. “That wouldn’t have been a bad thing,” he muttered. Jock sighed, staring at him.
“What does Bov know that we don’t? What’s this fucking secret of yours, Dermot?”
Dampening his bottom lip, Dermot glanced at Lara with a nod. She looked unsure, but then glanced at her hands as she began to speak. “You already know me and Pete are getting divorced. And you were right, Nora,” she said, looking up. “I am seeing somebody else. I uh... it just happened, after Swill’s party, and...” Jock and Nora were both frowning at her, trying to figure out exactly what she was trying to say and why it involved Dermot. Swallowing hard, Lara reached out to take Dermot’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she looked back over at her best friend.
“We didn’t plan this. It kind of... it happened. And I know it’s really... out of the blue, but I promise, I never wanted to hurt you. We slept together, after we left Swill’s party. And.... well, Pete knows and he told the lads. They all know.”
“That’s what Bov was threatening me with,” Dermot spoke up, looking to Jock; either were yet to say a single word, they just sat in stunned silence. “He’s probably going to tell Max, so we... well, we wanted you to know first. We wanted it to come straight from us.”
Lara looked at Nora, a pleading pain in her eyes; her heart was beating hard against her ribs and her throat constricted tight enough that it was difficult to breathe. “Please say something,” she whispered.
—-
It was always going to be a difficult conversation to have. Lara knew it. Dermot knew it. They’d both laid together the night before, each feigning sleep but lost in their own thoughts, their own worries. For Lara, it was her children. Had she single-handedly destroyed their lives? Their stability? Taken away the loving home that they’d only ever known? Would they hate her for this or would they eventually forgive her? Would Pete ever be able to look her in the eyes again? She knew, in her heart, that she’d made the right decision, but she also knew that not everybody would see it that way.
For Dermot, it had been his family. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact he’d potentially destroyed the relationship with his brother; he’d never be forgiven for this, he knew, but he also would never regret it. He was desperate to have Jock back in his life, but would his cousin ever forgive him? His whole family had crumbled like dirt in the past couple of months and Dermot had never felt so lost and out of reach as he did now. And Nora. Would she see this as a betrayal? Or would she accept his and Lara’s new-found love with that warm caring look on her eye?
He sat on the sofa now, Lara’s hand tight in his, and he saw no warmth in Nora’s eyes. Instead, shock, as she looked between them both, waiting for the punchline. Jock was staring right at him, brow creased, the cogs in his mind whirring, Lara’s words hanging in air between them. A beat passed, and then another.
“Get out.” Dermot looked over at Nora when she spoke; voice faint but firm. There was no mistaking the anger in her expression, both Lara and Dermot looking over at her. She looked up at them and it was as if she didn’t even know them. She looked at them as if they were no more than strangers. “Get. Out,” she repeated, louder and more heated. She got to her feet, unsteady, and Lara stood too, looking anguished.
“Nora-“
It happened before anybody could stop it. Nora lashed out, palm cracking loudly against Lara’s face. Lara whimpered, taking a step back, her hand flying to touch her rapidly-reddening cheek, as both men stood up on either side of the coffee table. Dermot reached out to touch Lara’s arm, but she didn’t seem to notice him, unable to take her eyes off Nora; she’d never seen Nora this angry because and knowing she was the cause of it... Tears welled, the pain in her cheek nothing compared to the pain tearing through her heart. Nora stared back at her, chest rising and falling heavily.
“Yesterday I told Max to stay away from you,” she began, voice dangerously low, and Lara could do nothing but listen. “I told him I was fucking glad you were seeing someone that wasn’t him. Well, jokes on me, isn’t it?” Lara flinched at the way the words were thrown at her. Nora’s glare darted to Dermot as he stepped forward. “You hypocrite.” The word was low and hissed and had the impact of a scalding bullet. “Do you even know what today is? What it should’ve been?” Fuck. Dermot glanced away and if possible, Nora’s expression turned even darker. “Get the fuck out—”
“You left me for my cousin,” he reminded her quietly and Nora looked ready to kill. It was hatred that burned like flames as she glared at Dermot and he wondered if she might slap him too. Lara was trembling beside him, still unmoved from her spot. He reached to gently touch the small of her back, desperate to soothe her.
“I spent this whole time worrying about what Max was doing to you, when it seems you‘re the one I should’ve been watching.”
Jock, who’d remained ridiculously silent this whole time, moved to touch her shoulder, murmuring softly, but Nora shrugged him off, unable to look away from either Dermot or Lara. What else had Lara been expecting though? For Nora to laugh off her worries and pour her tea? Her cheek still burned and she still couldn’t quite believe that Nora had slapped her. Did she still have feelings for Dermot? Was that why she was reacting so badly? Nora wasn’t finished with them yet.
“You’ve both just ruined countless lives, for your own selfish gain?”
“We didn’t mean for this-“ Lara began, but Nora continued as if she hadn’t heard her. Lara’s shoulders sagged helplessly.
“You’re a fucking sick animal, Dermot, and I need you to leave now-“
“Nora, please.” Lara swallowed hard. “We’re sorry. We just wanted to explain.” She reached for Nora, desperate to bridge the gap between them, but the bonds of their sisterhood was rapidly unravelling before her eyes, slipping through her fingers like sand. Nora gave her a dark, disgusted look, shaking her head.
“I thought you were my best friend.” Her voice was barely a whisper and it made Lara’s heart shatter into a million tiny specs of dust.
“I am,” Lara insisted tearfully. “I promise, I am.”
But, Nora simply shook her head. “That can never be true again.”
Lara couldn’t breathe. The only support system she had left in the entire world was gone, falling away into nothingness and she could feel herself falling with it. Every fibre of her, everything she’d once been, was gone. Nora looked at Dermot.
“Was this what you felt?” she demanded and Dermot struggled to meet her eye. “In the Abbey? Because I spent years hating myself for how I felt about Jock. I did everything for you, yet it seems it was wasted time because we both wanted to be fucking someone else from the beginning.”
At this, Dermot’s head snapped up, but Jock had already turned Nora to face him. Dermot shook his head furiously. “It was never like that, Nora. I loved you, I would have done anything for you.” Lara glanced at him and he fell silent, frustration building in his chest. He turned away, pushing a hand through his hair. Jock was watching Nora in concern, his fingers gentle against her face as he tilted her head upwards. He understood her anger, he even understood her reaction, but didn’t she feel a bit of the relief Jock felt? For weeks, he’d built this competition up in his mind, adamant that Dermot wouldn’t give up until Nora was his again. Yet here he was admitting he was in love with someone else.
The relief that melded with the shock, especially seeing as this new love was Lara, but mixed in with all of that was a hot undercurrent of betrayal. What else was Dermot hiding that they didn’t know about? This whole meeting was supposed to have been about getting Dermot back on track, but it had turned into something different all together and neither he nor Nora seemed to know what to do. He put his arm around her to guide her to the kitchen, but Nora reached up to touch his arm, looking back over at the other two.
“I hope you know what you’ve done. Max is going to kill you. Both of you. And we can’t help you.”
“Nora, calm down,” Jock murmured, voice low, and she glanced at him with a nod before turning and stalking off to the kitchen. An awkward and heavy silence fell over the room. Sighing, Jock slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “You have to understand, we didn’t expect this. Nora...”
“I just need to talk to her,” Lara said, already moving towards the door, and when Jock reached out to stop her, she slapped his hand aside and carried on into the kitchen. Jock let his hand fall, ears pricked for any sound of arguing. Dermot moved around the table.
“I didn’t think Nora would care,” he spat, unable to contain his own anger now, and Jock turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “So, I can’t be happy now? I’ve just got to live life in your twos fucking shadow?”
“Are you happy?” Jock retorted. “Or are you just using Lara to make yourself feel better? Cause it all seems a bit fucking convenient, Dermot.”
His cousin stared at him. “Convenient? Wasn’t it convenient of you to return when you did? Only months before I was due to get married?”
“What are you trying to say?” Jock growled. Dermot didn’t look away.
“You know what I’m saying.”
“Me and Nora didn’t plan this-“
“And nor did me and Lara.” Dermot threw up his hands and turned away to pace in front of the fire. “I didn’t do this to hurt Nora, or to get back at you. It just happened. Lara only wanted to know if I was alright and... I kissed her. It’s all on me.” Dermot looked back at Jock, the pleading look returning to his eyes. “I can take Nora hating me, I can. But, none of this is on Lara, I swear.” He sank down into the edge of the chair and pressed his face into his hands. Jock watched him for a moment, then moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table.
“When I joked you were a fucked up cunt yesterday, I didn’t realise how fucked up you actually were.” Dermot didn’t reply and Jock sighed, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “Nora is right, you know. Max will kill you for this-“
“Is that all you can sit there and say?” Dermot demanded, lowering his hands and looking over at him. “How many fucking times have I helped you? The only reason you got out of Ireland alive was because of me!”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” Jock retorted, his voice a low warning. “I’m just telling you how it is. Because you’ve really fucked up here, Dermot. Max’s fucking ex?!” He flung an arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Are you fucking mad?”
“I love her,” Dermot replied simply. “I love her and I will die for her if I have to.”
In the kitchen, Lara watched Nora sink onto the stool, the whiskey bottle still in hand. Lara had truly believed facing Max this morning had been the hardest thing she’d done, but this? This had turned out to be a hundred times harder. Lara hadn’t cared enough to save Max’s feelings, but she’d tried to explain it to Nora in a way that would soften the blow...
“There can’t be anyone else for you,” Max had snapped, unable to fathom had this had even happened without him realising. Little did he know it was his own brother, and when he did know? Lara feared Nora’s prediction would come true and there’d be nothing anybody could do about it. But she couldn’t leave like this. She couldn’t leave with Nora only knowing a fraction of the story, a half-truth. “Is my son safe?” Max had demanded and Lara hadn’t even been able to answer him. She didn’t have any idea of who was or wasn’t safe anymore; her whole world had exploded and she felt she was just holding on for the ride. “You will talk to me.” His hand had been tight around her wrist, holding her in place for a long moment before he’d finally released her. And he would get that conversation out of her whether she liked it or not, that much she did know. She stepped further into the kitchen.
“Nora?” She saw her best friend stiffen at the sound of her name, but she didn’t turn to face her. Instead, she took another slug of whiskey. Lara swallowed, coming closer. “Nora, I never wanted to hurt you like this. I’m sorry.” Nora still didn’t look at her and Lara glanced away as tears stung. “I didn’t expect this to happen,” she said, forcing herself to talk and fill the awful silence which was enveloping them. Even if Nora slapped her again, she had to let it out, she had to say it now. Because she simply might not ever get another chance. “We didn’t... Dermot needs us,” she settled on, terrified of saying the wrong thing, the wrong word. “He’s struggling, Nora, he really is.”
Nora shook her head, glowering at the bottle which she’d set on the counter in front of her, hand still tight around the nape. Lara bit her bottom lip and quickly wiped at her tears; Nora didn’t need her here, weeping and simpering. “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” she said quietly, but in the silence of the kitchen, it sounded loud and harsh. “But I can’t stand here and say it’s a mistake. I really care about him, I...” She stopped short of saying she loved him, not wanting to rub any more salt into the wound. “I accept the consequences. I understand that... people’s lives are going to change, people I care about. I know things will never be the same again, but... I know, in my heart, that I’m doing the right thing. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”
Shaking her head, she moved back to the door; she could hear Dermot and Jock’s low words but couldn’t catch exactly what they were saying. Hesitating in the threshold, Lara glanced over her shoulder at her ... Ex?... best friend. “A year ago, you called me. You’d had a dream about Jock. Do you remember?” She heard Nora turn in her chair, but didn’t look back. “You were in a wedding dress, y-you told me the details of the gown and everything... and you told me you turned up to the church, expecting Dermot, but it had been Jock at the alter. You’d woke up crying, you rang me even though it was only three in the morning.” Lara gave a tired laugh at the memory. “And you admitted to me how frequent those kind of dreams were and ... and I told you to follow your heart. Every time.”
Finally, she turned back to face her friend, seeing the conflict in her eyes. “I have to follow my heart, Nora,” she whispered, voice breaking as fresh tears forced their way to the surface. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I really am. But I have to do this.” She pressed her palm against her chest. “I have to.”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Nov 22, 2022 7:56:40 GMT -5
‘Nora?’
Nora was sat at the island, staring at the bottle of whiskey as if it held all the answers to how she felt right now. Lost, confused and slightly hypocritical. Chewing on her lip she didn’t want to turn to see Lara. Had she overreacted? Her emotions were still raw from the funeral and she hated how she had reacted so harshly to someone so close.
It just didn’t make sense. It was the final thing loaded onto her back and she had bucked, terrified and hurt. Nora liked things to be precise, to make sense and have meaning. The older she got however, the more she realised sometimes things were just random. Her feelings for Jock had made her see that clearly.
Lara and Dermot though?
She could tell by the expression on his face that he’d forgotten what day it was, and so had she, until Max had nonchalantly laid the realisation before her yesterday. Taking another slug of whiskey she sighed at the sharpness but focused on that rather than the tightness in her chest.
‘Nora, I never wanted to hurt you like this. I’m sorry.’
Clenching her jaw, Nora could hear Lara’s voice shaking but still refused to look at her. If she saw the sadness resting on her face she would want to fix it. They had always fixed one another; always supported each other and for a while been the only ones the other could truly confide in. Now the one person Nora wanted to talk to, was the one who had done the damage.
‘I didn’t expect this to happen. We didn’t…’
Nora still didn’t reply but gave a harsh laugh. Who had seen this coming? And what was going to come next? Sometimes she felt as if her life was a giant joke, all of them running on a wheel and waiting for the next horrific act to take place. The only thing she could praise Lara for was coming forward. It was something she and Jock hadn’t done, and it had been the lie, not the act that had almost destroyed Dermot.
‘Dermot needs us.’ Lara finally said and Nora hated how true it was.
Dermot did need them. He needed guidance and stability, but then so did she. It was human nature to want to be loved and protected; to feel secure. Now Nora wasn’t sure who she could even trust anymore. Jock, but then after that? How long had Lara been concealing her feelings and how long had they been holding hands like that. Like they fit, they they had always fit. It was difficult to be angry and it came in waves, cooling down when Nora realised she and Jock had been no different. The temptation always there, but never acting, merely dreaming.
Albeit it was worse for Lara — she was married. She had children. Not only had she decided to ruin her own marriage, but also disrupt Charlie and Kimmys life, whilst having no friend to confide in. Because she was betraying her best friend too. Lara was risking everything for Dermot and so Nora wasn’t doubting its sincerity, she was just struggling to comprehend.
‘He’s struggling Nora, he really is.’
Nora shook her head in disbelief; he had been struggling since he was born, it seemed. Somehow he had blind them all to his true identity, the volatile, broken man. Making it seem as if his existence had been dependent on defending and protecting Max, being the authoritative and strong brother, when in fact it had been playing the self-made martyr. Dermot had always been fractured, ever since he’d first opened his piercing blue eyes and looked up at his rivalrous sibling. Max had never given him a chance to be anything other than damaged, so it had been hard to hate him for it.
Now, though, in the midst of all the fallout, Nora didn’t feel apologetic or forgiving, she felt frustrated. Why had they all wasted so much time?
‘I’m sorry it had to come to this.’ Lara said, desperate to fill the silence between them and her persistence was starting to grate on Nora’s last nerve.
‘But I can’t stand here and say it’s a mistake. I really care about him, I…’
She what? Nora didn’t want to know what the rest of that sentence would’ve been, but her mind had no trouble filling the blanks. 'Love him' was the obvious and most painful, and it hurt all the more to know she had no reason to be saddened. No right to be envious or upset. She wasn’t with Dermot and never really had been. It was as if the two of them had merely been using one another, crutches to hold them when they were too afraid for the truth.
‘I accept the consequences. I understand that… people’s lives are going to change, people I care about, but… I know, in my heart, that I’m doing the right things. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.’
Nora found purposeful interest in the neck of the bottle and she ran her finger over the gentle indents there, the amber liquid catching in the rays of the sun and casting a rainbow on the countertop. These things were sure and stable; it was why Jock had always found solace in alcohol. The bottle was sturdy, the liquid was always warm like fire and it was never pretending to be anything other than what it was. A liquid blur, a welcome embrace that prickled the flesh on your arms.
Lara was at the door now and Nora knew she was searching deep to warrant a response. Lara didn’t like to talk to walls, she had done that too long trying to get through to Pete. The only time he had truly given her a flash of his emotions was the night she had demanded a divorce. The energy seeping from him in waves had reminded Lara of who Pete was and had been. Nora had wondered if that remembrance would cause her to change her mind, but it hadn’t. Pete had been so full of life and she would agree with her friend that he had dulled. They had smothered one another with the simplicities of life, and the urge to be safe had overtaken the will to live. They were alive, but barely.
Nora and Dermot had been on route for the same path, the only thing stopping them was the sex. It was vulgar, but true. They were passionate and rough, and in the moments they were embracing one another, they forgot about everything else. It was primal, it was necessary, but they hadn’t been thinking of one another. Neither of them had been vacant, instead transported elsewhere as the euphoria gave them a moments peace. It was why only a few days ago, seeing Dermot there, Nora hadn’t wanted to talk, she had just wanted to silence his reassurances with her lips and had let him press her firm against the wall. That wasn’t love, that was lust and within the whirlwind of it all they had failed to make the right choices.
‘A year ago, you called me.’ Lara was speaking again and Nora felt herself turn slightly in the chair. Her tone had changed, almost fully defeated. ‘You’d had a dream about Jock. Do you remember?’
Nora turned herself fully but Lara was still facing away, staring into the distance as she recalled the memory. She wanted to say she did remember, but no words left her mouth.
‘You were in a wedding dress, y-you told me you turned up to the church, expecting Dermot, but it had been Jock at the alter. You’d woke up crying, you rang me even though it was only three in the morning. And you admitted to me how frequent those kind of dreams were… ‘
Frequent had been one word for it; unending had been another. Sometimes Nora couldn’t wait to lay her head on the soft pillow, her eyelids fluttering shut merely so she could see Jock. When he had left for those few years, it had been the only time she felt truly content. Constantly drawn to him, craving things she had never even experienced before. All she had to go on was a kiss, and that alone was enough to make her realise she loved him. Was that all it had taken Lara and Dermot?
Nora had been walking down the aisle to Canon in D and the veil covering her face had given the room a shimmering haze. Small diamonds were stitched into the lace detail and she glanced up, long eyelashes brushing the material. Broad shoulders were facing away from her in a smart suit but she couldn’t make out who it was; it made sense to be Dermot but her heart fluttered the idea of someone else. The longing for it to be someone else. So when Jock turned to her, every time, Nora smiled so broad her cheeks hurt.
He looked down at her with his dark eyes, brimming with the secrets of the universe and that slanted smile that made her heart yearn. The messy fiery hair and the beard framing his strong jaw. When she woke with a start and rolled over to see Dermot, her heart sank a little but she smiled all the same. His hair was always perfect, no matter if he’d just slept for eight hours. His features more soft and clean and gentle. Dermot would roll over and wrap his arms around her and Nora would accept the realisation this was her choice. She had made this choice, and it didn’t seem Jock was returning.
She recalled all too well calling Lara in the middle of the night. Wrapped in a dressing gown Nora had gone downstairs into the kitchen and opened the back door, letting the cold night air nip at her ankles. The garden lights sparked to life as she stepped forward, illuminated in a golden glow. Numerous occasions she had walked among the damp grass and daisies and told Lara what had happened, her voice low and ashamed.
‘…and I told you to follow your heart. Every time.’ Back in reality, Lara finally turned to face her and Nora swallowed. ‘I have to follow my heart, Nora. I’m sorry I hurt you, I really am. But I have to do this.’ She pressed her palm against her chest, her heart. ‘I have to.’
A beat passed between them, both watching one another uncertainly. Lara’s eyes were brimming with tears but Nora wasn’t quite softened by them. ‘I remember.’ She said quietly, jaw clenched. ‘I remember telling you everything. You were the only one I could tell.’ Nora agreed, and at the time had been welcome for the chance to be heard. Lara had never denied or judged her. It appeared that was merely because she’d had no right to – she was a hypocrite. ‘No matter how foolish I felt… I told you, and you made me feel like everything was okay.’ Eyes suddenly dark, Nora jumped down from the stool and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. ‘But you kept everything from me.’
Lara was still stood in the doorway and they could faintly hear Dermot and Jock speaking.
‘I always thought we could tell each other anything, but this past year it’s been like you were a ghost. I have barely seen you! I was the last person to know you were getting divorced, and I have to find out from fucking Max that you two slept together?’ Nora shook her head. ‘I don’t even know who you are anymore, Lara and I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could confide in me, but perhaps that’s because you knew what you were doing was wrong.’ Taking another sip of whiskey she poured three fingers worth into a tumbler and picked it up. ‘Dermot needs help, you’re right. But you can’t fix him. He needs /mental/ help, Lara. Do you know what he did to the man who kidnapped me? He cut his chest open – h-he beat Bovver to within an inch of his life. He’s no better than his fucking brother –’
Looking up, Nora saw Dermot appear in the doorway and cut her sentence short. Pain momentarily flashed on his features and she frowned, but kept her stance sure. ‘Are you happy being with his leftovers?’ Nora asked bitterly, and saw Lara flinch from the corner of her eye. ‘And do you think she won’t go back again? Or that he won’t try and break you apart – that Max won’t kill you both?’ she asked again, adamant the first time she’d said it, the seriousness hadn’t hit either of them.
Dermot defended Lara quite harshly and Nora suddenly felt guilty for her words. She wanted to cry. Once upon a time he had defended her like that. What did he think of her now? He had saved her from Nick, but was he regretting it?
Looking down, she shook her head as Jock pushed between them and came to her side. ‘I’m done.’ She assured him as he opened his mouth to once again calm her. As if the situation didn’t require her hysteria. ‘It appears we’re all just selfish liars, so there’s nothing more to say.’ Handing him the whiskey she’d poured for him she shrugged her shoulders.
Dejectedly moving past them all, Nora brushed shoulders with Dermot but didn’t spare a second glance before going upstairs. If she stayed, she would say something else she would regret and she knew that Jock was growing frustrated with her. Pacing upstairs, Nora could feel the whiskey coursing through her veins and she hated herself for giving in. She hadn’t known what to do, like a cornered wild animal she’d spat at them and now she had to live with those consequences. Lara had tried to be calm and reasonable, but the damage was already done.
A few moments later when she heard Jock climbing the stairs, she felt her heart racing and hurriedly wiped at the tears in the corner of her eye. ‘Don’t tell me to calm down again.’ She said quickly, before he could say anything else. Jock looked at her with a raised eyebrow and that was all it took for her to burst into tears. Perching on the edge of the bed she put her head in her hands with a sob.
Coming to join her, Jock put his arm around her shoulder which she shrugged off, so he did it again, more forcefully this time.
‘I made a right twat of myself.’ Nora mumbled and they both gave a small laugh. ‘I just… I feel like I can’t trust anyone anymore, apart from you.’ Looking up at Jock, Nora felt all the tension leave her body. ‘I told Lara everything. The first time we kissed I… I told her. She’s always understood, but was that just because she’s always loved Dermot?’
The question hung there but they both knew the answer. Love like theirs didn’t magically appear over night, especially not the kind you were willing to risk your life over. ‘She never told me anything. Not even about Max, not recently.’ Sniffing, Nora leaned her head on Jock’s shoulder. ‘I'm not upset about Dermot. I just miss my friend.' a heavy sigh left her lips. 'I’m sorry I let you down.’ Her voice was low and she wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘What did you and Dermot talk about?’
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Nov 26, 2022 8:13:38 GMT -5
“I remember. I remember telling you everything. You were the only one I could tell. No matter how foolish I felt... I told you, and you made me feel like everything was okay.” Eyes darkening, Nora slid off the stool, still clutching the bottle of whiskey. “But you kept everything from me..”
This was awful. And there was nothing Lara could say because Nora was speaking the truth. She should have told Nora right away. After the kiss, after that first night... but, she hadn’t. She couldn’t. She was ashamed. Not necessarily about Dermot, but for her actions the past few weeks. Nora had been kidnapped and where had Lara been? Too absorbed in her own misery and problems, too busy destroying her marriage and dismantling her entire life. She’d neglected Nora in the worst possible way and instead of seeking her help, she’d dropped this bomb on her and expected her to handle it.
Well, Nora wasn’t handling it. Lara could see in the way she held herself, by the way her dark eyes flashed dangerously... this is one thing too many after endless weeks of disaster and chaos. Ever since Charlie’s birthday, ever since she’d received the card from Max, it felt as if Lara had lost control of life; everybody had gotten sucked back in, there wasn’t a single person who was unaffected. And Lara didn’t know what she was doing anymore. She didn’t even know which way was up. What had once been normality was now nothing but a distant memory and part of her longed to go back to a time when none of this had even been fathomable. When Max had been very much dead and her love for Pete outweighed anything else.
“I always thought we could tell each other anything, but this past year it’s been like you were a ghost. I have barely seen you! I was the last person to know you were getting divorced, and I have to find out from fucking Max that you two slept together?” Lara couldn’t stop her own horror from betraying her, eyes widening at Nora’s words; she knew, and Max had told her? The funeral... Embarrassment reddened her cheeks and she opened her mouth to reply, to say something - anything - but Nora ploughed on, determined to say her piece. “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Lara and I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could confide in me, but perhaps that’s because you knew what you were doing was wrong.”
Lara felt the blow straight to her heart, opening her mouth before shutting it, unable to say a word to defend herself. Never had she felt more of a terrible person in her whole life and the self-disgust rose like a wave. She watched as Nora took a drink from the bottle before filling a tumbler generously and Lara felt a pang of dismay that she’d pushed her friend to such an edge. Why had she done this? Before they’d arrived, she’d convinced herself it was the right thing to do, the moral thing, but now she could see how stupid she’d been. This had been nothing but an attempt to ease her own conscience and make herself feel better, and how she’d expected any different was laughable.
“Dermot needs help you’re right. But you can’t fix him. He needs mental help, Lara.”
“He’s-“
“Do you know what he did to the man who kidnapped me? He cut his chest open - h-he beat Bovver to within an inch of his life. He’s no better than his fucking brother-”
“I did what had to be done,” a voice interrupted from behind, making both women look around. Lara’s mind was spinning and she didn’t even hear Dermot approach until he was pushing his way into the kitchen, brows knotted as he caught the last of Nora’s words. He’d given up on trying to get through to Jock and the first thing he noticed was the look of devastation on Lara’s face, her eyes red-rimmed.
Nora frowned at him, clutching the glass so tight he was afraid it would shatter. “Are you happy being with his leftovers?” she demanded; Lara flinched as if struck, looking away, lower lip trembling, and Dermot felt a surge of anger at her words. “And do you think she won’t go back again? Or that he won’t try and break you apart - that Max won’t kill you both?”
“Don’t speak about her like that!” he snapped back, ignoring the hand Lara placed on his arm. “She’s your friend. And we came here to do the right thing.” His gaze darkened, following Jock as he entered the room and moved past to stand with Nora. “We don’t want to hide it, that’s why we’re here. And whether you support us or not... At least we told you to your face. At least you didn’t have to stumble across the fact like I did-“
“Dermot.” Lara’s soft murmur quietened him, though it didn’t do much to ease the frustration gnawing at his insides. Nora was looking up at Jock now, telling him she was done, and he nodded, not saying a word as she pushed the tumbler into his hand with a shrug.
“It appears we’re all just selfish liars, so there’s nothing more to say.”
She moved past them, shoulders slumped and Lara couldn’t bring herself to chase her a second time. What was the point? Nora hated her. She hadn’t said it but her words had been drenched in it and it had burned in her eyes in a way Lara had never experienced before. She felt numb and cold and so fucking stupid. The tension in the kitchen was like Arctic ice, thick and impenetrable, and all Lara wanted to do was run away, away from everything and everyone, and to never stop running. It was familiar, this feeling; it had been the story of her entire life. Always fucking running. Dermot broke the silence first with a soft shake of his head.
“Well, that’s it, isn’t it,” he said with a shrug, and Jock flashed him a warning look.
“Dermot-“
“No, fuck you,” Dermot growled, voice low as he glowered at his cousin. “All these fucking years and for what? You’re a fucking arsehole. And you know what, I don’t even fucking care anymore, Josh.” He put his arm around Lara’s shoulders and turned her, guiding her back through the house and he was half-grateful and half-angry that Jock didn’t follow. Outside, Lara sucked in a shuddery breath of cold Autumn air before she headed straight for the car. Her back was stiff, shoulders tense, every muscle in her body taunt as she fought to keep herself together. Dermot followed, neither speaking until they were in the car. He looked over at her, but she shook her head, refusing to meet his eye as she stared out the window.
“Can we just get out of here?” She whispered. Pulling off the driveway, Dermot gave the house one last glance before they took off. It was taking Lara all she had not to break down right there. The lump in her throat was like stone and she couldn’t quite take a full breath, her eyes burning with unshed tears which blurred the world whizzing by outside. She could feel Dermot’s repeated glances but couldn’t bring herself to look at him. What had they just done? Were they even doing the right thing? Being together in the first place? Over and over, she kept replaying Nora’s words, knowing there’d never been another single moment in time where Nora had looked at her that way, spoken to her as if she were an enemy.
She didn’t realise she was sobbing until Dermot pulled the car over and yanked off his seatbelt, shifting in his seat so he could reach her. Shaking her head, Lara covered her face with her hands, unable to stop the tears now they’d broken free. His hand soothingly rubbed her back, leaning close so he could hug her and Lara clung to him for a few moments until she managed to calm herself. “We did the right thing, Lara.”
She shook her head, pulling away to wipe her eyes. “No, we didn’t. We’ve fucked up. All of this...” She looked at him and Dermot was already shaking his head, willing her not to say the words. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Dermot, it’s wrong. Max will kill us and for what?”
“What do you mean, for what?” His brow creased and she could see the hurt battling with the anger. “We love each other. That’s all that matters.”
“We don’t even know if this is love!” Lara snapped, regretting the words as soon as she said them. Dermot turned to stare out the front window, hands pressed firmly against his knees. “It’s been weeks and I was married, am married, and I have children-“
“Don’t do this to me, Lara,” he said, voice low yet heartbreakingly soft. He looked over at him and she saw the anguish in his knitted brows and the troubled clouds in his eyes. “I know you love me, and you sure as hell know I love you.” She stared down at her hands, saying nothing at all, but the ache in her chest grew stupendously as he spoke. “I don’t care if Max puts a bullet in my head tomorrow, because those few precious times I’ve been able to spend with you... it’s worth it. Whatever happens, you are worth everything. Just because this happened quickly... just because we didn’t see this coming... It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He reached to take her hand, relieved when she squeezed it tightly. “I love you, Lara.”
“I love you too,” she whispered. “Whatever happens.”
—-
Dermot was in turmoil as he left Lara’s and headed back for the penthouse. When they’d arrived back at hers, they’d spoken some more and it was clear how utterly devastated she was about Nora. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but she’d insisted and he knew Pete would be arriving at some point with Kimmy... But the numb look on her face hadn’t settled well with him and twice, he’d had to convince himself not to turn back. That wasn’t the only thing on his mind though, one thing bubbling to the surface, and that was Nora.
Even he hadn’t expected such a reaction. Her anger and disgust had been evident before she’d even slapped Lara, and that itself had been shocking. That wasn’t the Nora he knew. Gentle, big-hearted Nora, always eager to placate and put a heated situation at ease. How many times had he seen it over the years? With himself and Bov, with the GSE cunts when they were rowdy and drunk? He’d never bore witness to this explosive side of her and he wondered if that was his fault. Max’s fault. Jock’s fault. Their curse seeping into her bones, into her marrow, tainting her with the darkness they all carried so freely? Had introducing her to this life changed her? Or was this Nick? An aftermath of her time chained up and degraded for some sickening pervert? And yet, that had still been Dermot’s fault, so whichever way he looked at it, he was the sole reason for all her problems.
And then there was Jock himself. Jock, who’d never failed to have his back before. The brother he’d always needed. Now ready to turn his back on Dermot for good. It was clear he’d chosen Nora’s side and that hurt deeper than Dermot had allowed himself to acknowledge at the time. His hand tightened on the steering wheel and he had to force himself to think about something else. Like what he was doing now. Pulling into the underground garage, Dermot parked the car and sat for a moment, debating what he was going to say. He needed to shower and gather some things, but he also knew there was a good chance Max was here with Charlie and he wouldn’t get away with pretending nothing had happened last night. Because a lot had happened last night. Sighing, Dermot got out the car and headed for the lift, anxiously tapping his foot all the way and trying to ignore the churning in his gut.
When it pinged open at top, Dermot stepped out to the sound of squealing laughter and Disney music playing over the speakers. Heading into the front room, he saw Max knelt on the floor with a bunch of cars scattered around him, Charlie on his back, arms wrapped around his neck as he play-wrestled him. Charlie caught sight of Dermot and grinned brightly, instantly releasing Max to run over and tackle his uncle. “Uncle Dermot! Uncle Dermot, come, look! Arthair got me new cars!”
“He did, huh?” Dermot replied with a weak smile, slowly following him over with his hands in his pockets. He forced himself to look at Max, sheepishly, catching the dark look on his face. “Dearthair,” he murmured with a nod. “Can we talk?”
—-
It felt as if the world was crashing around him and Jock didn't even know where to begin. He stood there in the ringing silence of the empty kitchen, staring down at the whisky glass in his hand. He could hear Nora's footsteps on the floorboards upstairs, but couldn’t bring himself to move as Dermot’s words ricocheted around his head.
All these fucking years and for what? You’re a fucking arsehole. And you know what, I don’t even fucking care anymore, Josh.
These past few months, everything Jock had known and loved had gone to shit. Only his love for Nora, something so true and pure, was the only thing that hadn’t changed. But everything else? Fucked. Ruined. Crumbling like ash. And he felt bad. Dermot had repeatedly put his neck on the line for Jock over the years, he had given him a life when Barry had been determined to end his. And, it was with a heavy heart, that Jock knew what he had to do. He knocked back the whiskey, the familiar burn heating him from the inside. Then, he headed upstairs.
Dermot and Lara. Lara. He was still trying to figure out exactly when that had happened. They’d said it had started at Swill’s party, but how? She was married, she loved Pete, right? It’s what they’d all believed over the years. When had she stop loving him? And would her love for Dermot be the thing that got his cousin killed? Nora was right in that regard; Max would kill them both. And somehow, Jock had to stop that from happening. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw movement in the bedroom and made his way over. Nora was sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glossy.
“Don’t tell me to calm down again,” she sniffed, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye. Jock raised his eyebrow and she glanced at him, a second later bursting into tears. His heart gave a terrible ache and he moved close to sit beside her, wishing he could take all this pain away. Pressing her face into her hands, Nora leaned forward as she sobbed and he put an arm around her to soothe her. She shrugged it off, but he merely repeated the action more forcefully and this time, she didn’t fight him. “I made a right twat of myself.”
They both chuckled. “No, you didn’t,” he told her softly, smile fading. “That was a fucking shock for both of us.”
“I just... I feel like I can’t trust anyone anymore, apart from you.” She looked up at him and he reached to swipe a tear from her cheek. “I told Lara everything. The first time we kissed I... I told her. She’s always understood, but was that just because she’s always loved Dermot?”
The question hung between them and neither wanted to say the answer lingering in their minds. This couldn’t have just happened overnight. How long had they held these feelings for each other? And how could Dermot have been so hypocritical? And that’s if this had been going on for as long as they assumed. If it was a sudden as the couple made out... Well, it was a fucking mystery. Nora looked away, shaking her head, and it was clear she was still in stunned disbelief. Personally, so was Jock. He hadn’t expected any of that today. Their intervention had gone completely out the window.
“She never told me anything. Not even about Max, not recently.” Nora sniffed and rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m not upset about Dermot. I just miss my friend.” She sighed heavily and he could practically see the weight on the world on her shoulders. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
“You did not let me down,” he told her firmly, rubbing her arm and giving her a light squeeze. “You were pretty fucking fierce out there. And I don’t blame you in the slightest.”
“What did you and Dermot talk about?” she asked in a low voice, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
Jock gave a soft shrug. “I told him how convenient it all was. He didn’t like that. Even if it’s true. I thought maybe...” The tips of his ears reddened a little. “I thought maybe he was trying to make you jealous? I thought it might be a game, but then he said...” Dampening his bottom lip, he glanced at her. “He said he’d die for her if he had to. And he was serious, Nora. I know him. I know when he’s lying and... he wasn’t. I think he actually loves her.” He knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was the truth and Jock hadn’t known what to say when Dermot had uttered those words.
“I don’t know what’s going on with him, but... he’s the only family I have left, Nora. And I can’t abandon him. The amount of times he’s had to save my daft arse.” He sighed. “He’s going to get himself killed and I can’t sit back and watch it happen. I’m sorry.”
He could tell by the frown on her face that she wasn’t happy about it, but he also knew of the battle she was fighting inside right now; Nora was caring and kind with a huge heart and he knew that under any other circumstance, she would have supported them and helped protect them. But this had hurt her deep, the betrayal leaving a scar unseen to the eyes. And he wouldn’t blame her if she wanted no part of it.
Getting to his feet, Jock scratched his beard and cast a look towards the window. Grey clouds were thickening, blotting out the sun and the blue sky. A storm was coming in all senses of the word. “I’m scared, Nora,” he admitted, without realising he was going to say anything at all. “I don’t know what the future holds. For any of us. And while Max walks this Earth...” Would they ever find peace? That’s all Jock craved, deep in his old bones. A peaceful life with his woman at his side, away from all of this. “I just want to protect you. From everything.”
Turning back to her, Jock leaned down, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Downstairs, the front door went and they heard Robbie whistling to himself. At least someone had had a good day. “There’s something I need to sort out with Robbo. Are you coming?”
Downstairs, Robbie was making himself a cup of tea when they entered, and he knew instantly something was wrong by the looks on their faces. “What’s happened?” He asked slowly, setting the teaspoon down on the side. Nora and Jock exchanged glances, before Jock sighed and sat himself at the island. “I need a favour.”
“Oh?”
“Who in the Force can you still trust?”
Robbie fell quiet for a moment, brow creased. “... Well, there’s Olly, but he was involved with Carter’s beating, so... I’m not sure about him.”
“Anyone you are sure about?” Jock pressed.
“Carter,” he shrugged. “They’re all on Shaw’s payroll, nobody dares say a word against him. I don’t think I can trust any of ‘em now.”
Nodding, Jock rubbed his chin wistfully. “I thought that would be the case.”
“What do you have in mind?” Robbie asked and Nora was also watching him curiously.
“I’m trying to figure out how to get rid of two birds with one stone. Max and Shaw. I’m wondering if there’s any way we can distract them... with each other.” He glanced at Nora, at a loss of what else he could do. “I don’t know. I’m trying here.”
“There might be a way...” Robbie said slowly. “As long as I can make sure Olly is on our side.”
—-
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Post by katherinesullivan on Dec 13, 2022 12:02:18 GMT -5
Luke Winter’s was pissed off and in pain.
He had never felt so disrespected by so many people in his life – and not even people who mattered. Nonentities, the bottom of the barrel; people who had suddenly decided they were brave and wanted to take advantage of his moments of kindness, now obviously a weakness. Playing down his true self for Aoife had resulted in a suffocation of otherwise silent bodies. George Turner for one, and now his fucking cousin for another.
What had he even been thinking? Holding a handkerchief to his face, Luke could feel the blood still gushing and he clenched his fist on his lap. Lawrence was driving the car as if they had just left a bombing and the jolts of the vehicle were making him agitated.
‘Can you fucking not?’ Luke snapped through gritted teeth and Lawrence glanced over at him, jaw tight. His knuckles were white where he’d gripped onto the steering wheel and he let himself relax a little for a moment.
‘I thought she’d –’
‘Isla won’t do anything.’ Luke finished before Lawrence could even begin. ‘She won’t call the police.’
‘How do you know?’
‘She won’t call the police.’ Luke repeated, glaring over at the older man, a disgust in his eyes for the fear on his features. ‘I’m the one with glass in the side of my fucking face!’ he yelled and Lawrence briefly caught his gaze again before turning back to the road.
‘D- do you need the hospital?’
‘No.’ Luke replied, before even thinking. The answer was always no, for security, for secrecy, and yet he knew he would need stitches. He could feel the small folds of ripped skin weighed down with the ongoing outpour of claret. Would he be deformed for life? Or would it simply make him more appealing – more frightening – more like Max. ‘Take a right here, and then a left and pull over.’
‘What –’
‘Just do it.’ Luke demanded and Lawrence nodded, flicking on the indicator.
A few moments later they were pulled inside a parking bay on a quiet street. A couple of cars were parked ahead of them, and a few of those ridiculous electric bikes you could slot money into, the obnoxious ones that swayed in the way of vehicles and belonged to environmentally sound arseholes. Taking the handkerchief from his face, Luke groaned to see the blood had dripped down his forearm and stained his shirt cuff. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was also starting to feel a little dizzy.
‘Luke, what are we doing here?’ Lawrence asked, the engine still running gently, a strangely reassuring purr.
Luke wasn’t listening. Across the road from them a front door opened and a man hopped down the steps two at a time, a bag slung over his shoulder. A figure appeared in the doorway behind him and he turned on his heel to glance at the shape, a bare legged woman. She was wearing a dressing gown, her hair pulled up into a bun. It was Aoife Sullivan, and George was going to work. He didn’t fill the gap between them, racing up the steps to grip her middle and to kiss her as if he were going to war. He winked and she smiled and the encounter was over as Aoife shut the door.
‘The Irish –’
‘You can go home for the day, Lawrence.’ Luke murmured, eyes never leaving George’s figure as he headed the opposite way to them. ‘Don’t worry about Isla, I’ll deal with it –’
‘If Turner is working for Shaw, are you sure you should –’
‘Since when were you such a fucking pussy, huh?’ Luke asked, gripping the collar of Lawrence’s shirt. His bloody fingertips left stains and the man swallowed, glancing down.
‘I’m not –’
‘Yes you are.’ Luke snapped and shoved Lawrence hard so his head hit the window. ‘A fucking pussy –’
‘You’re just so fucking volatile, I never know what to expect!’ Lawrence snapped, rubbing his temple and shoving him away. ‘This is a serious business we’re in, Luke. You can’t just go around and do what the fuck you like –'
‘I thought you used to like that about me?’ Luke tilted his head to the side, a small smirk on his lips. Lawrence licked his bottom lip with a shaky sigh but didn’t reply. ‘How… unpredictable I was.’ Reaching out, he let his thumb wipe at a smudge of blood on Lawrence’s face, his hand lingering there for a moment. The two watched one another uncertainly, both feeling separate emotions. Luke felt power and control, and Lawrence felt wanted.
Letting his hand drop, Luke turned and climbed out of the car without another word. Bloody cloth still to his face, he cleared his throat before heading for Aoife’s flat. His blood was pumping as Lawrence pulled off with a squeal and in a few more steps he was knocking on Aoife’s door, his eyes darting nervously as he tried to think of an excuse for being here. In honesty, he had craved her kindness in those suffocating moments in the car. Isla had attacked and disrespected him and he wanted to be surrounded by someone who could nurture and Luke never thought that would be true.
Glancing down at his shoes, he saw a splatter of blood on one of the toes and sighed, trying to brush it off with his other foot. Pristine white, the red smeared prominently. The same for his top, thick droplets ruining its once bright cleanness and he knew Aoife would be startled. He wanted her to be.
What seemed like a lifetime passed and Luke reached out to lean on the wall, his mind swimming. When Aoife finally answered, she must have expected George because she asked what he had forgotten. Luke merely blinked up at her, his eyes full of pain.
‘Aoife.’ His voice was hoarse and he let the cloth on his face drop to expose the raw wound. ‘I didn’t know where else to go…’ eyes never leaving her face, he felt himself falter a little and she reached out to take him, putting his arm around her shoulders.
He could smell her sweet perfume as she led him up the stairs, murmuring things he wasn’t listening to. Too busy revelling in the feel of her against him through the thin dressing gown, and the way her hair brushed against his cheek when she turned to look at him. They were upstairs in moments, and all too soon he was recalling the last time he was here. George and him shuffling against the door, and Luke leaving with a black eye that was still frustratingly prominent. He didn’t look as endearing as he once had, but he knew that it was Aoife’s empathy for his situation that would attract her to him. ‘Where is George?’ Luke asked and hesitated in the doorway. ‘I-I don’t want another fight.’ He murmured but Aoife reassured him he was at work as she guided him into the kitchen. Placing him down on one of the chairs, she flicked the light on to look at him and the sadness in her eyes made his stomach swirl.
‘Why didn’t you go to the hospital?’
‘I was embarrassed.’ Luke murmured as she gathered her first aid kit, instincts suddenly kicking in. Watching her move, he saw a flash of thigh as she reached to the high shelf and he bit down on his lip. ‘Are you sure I can be here?’ he asked again when she turned back and Aoife paused for a moment before nodding.
Whatever Aoife was doing, it was somehow making it feel worse. She’d cleaned the wound and was now picking out the small fragments of glass with a pair of tweezers. Luke flinched as she took one particularly large piece out and dropped it into a bowl beside him. She was stood between his legs, one hand touching his jaw to keep him steady, the other doing the work. Her eyes were purposely focused on the wound but he was looking up at her, his cock itching to grab her. The temptation she placed in front of him on a regular basis, and on almost all occasions he’d had to deny. Luke was practically a saint.
‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’
Luke hadn’t thought that far. Looking down, he swallowed and didn’t say anything for a while.
‘My dad was... drunk.’ Luke settled on. ‘He didn’t get good news from the hospital and… I-I don’t really know what happened after that... This is a Glenmorangie ’89 in the side of my face.’ He tried to laugh but it pulled at the cut and he hissed in frustration. ‘I don’t seem to be in anyone’s good books at the moment, do I, Irish?’ he asked sincerely.
Aoife pulled back a little, but still close enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Her eyes were piercing blue today, like the fresh salt ocean and he could feel himself getting lost in them. Black lashes fanned her makeup free face, a handful of freckles on her rose tinged cheeks. She was blushing. Could she feel how fast his heart was going? Luke’s palms were faced down on his thighs, but he felt himself inching one closer, defying every sense that told him to stay controlled. His right index finger brushed her thigh gently and in seconds he could see her skin pimple from his touch.
‘Will I have an ugly scar?’ he asked, voice low. Aoife was looking directly into his very soul and for the first time, Luke wasn’t playing a game. He wanted her to see him, the real him. He couldn’t deny the overwhelming attraction he had always had for her, and was wanted to see if telling the truth would do him any favours. ‘Would you still care for me if I did?’ licking his lower lip, he let his palm caress her thigh and wondered why she wasn’t pulling back.
She mentioned something about him being on some strong medication she had given him earlier, but Luke shrugged it off.
‘Would you?’ he pushed and watched as Aoife bit her lower lip, the plump flesh puckering.
Their faces were so close now there was no point turning back. He had taken his jacket off and his blood stained t-shirt after she’d given him some medication, only wearing his trousers and trainers. Luke wondered if she liked what she saw, his definition more than someone with a manual job, more than George Turner. Luke had dedicated himself to making his body perfect, each abdominal defined, his shoulders and arms broad and toned in a way she hadn’t seen before. Brushing his nose gently against hers, Luke dared to let his eyes close, aware that any second now Aoife could bolt. But she didn’t.
His heart was hammering as he pulled her closed by the backs of her leg, bringing her onto his lap.
‘It takes two opposing forces to create fiction.’ He murmured softly. ‘Friction creates fire.’ Without further hesitation, Luke claimed her lips with his own.
Max Sullivan had never wanted children, until Lara. He had never envisioned himself as a father, unless it was in a strictly sexual way and the girl wanted to call him daddy and even then it was a bit strange. The idea had always just seemed absurd, and then one day the urge had hit him straight between the eyes as they were sitting in a restaurant.
Lara was opposite him, she must’ve been barely twenty and she was wearing a beautiful, black silk dress with a cowl front that he’d picked out for her. Earlier that day he’d finally closed on a new deal with a multi-million partner, so wanted to celebrate. The setting was perfect, with dark wooden walls, forest green lamps with retro oil burners on the wall. The food was duck, moist but crispy on the outside, and the wine was flowing. A sophisticated atmosphere, so why the fuck had someone brought their child?
‘How obnoxious.’ Max muttered and Lara flashed him a disapproving look.
Behind her, on a separate table was a small child screaming on its mothers lap. Perhaps a year old, or younger, with big round eyes flooding with tears. The apparent head of the family was a moustachioed man looking down at his phone, his mind and cares elsewhere. The flustered woman was holding her child beneath its arms and pleading desperately for it to stop wailing but the baby girl persisted.
‘Who brings a leanbh to a place like this?’ he hissed, face still as angry.
‘Max, please.’ Lara whispered as the man from the table got up and took a perfectly timed phone call outside. ‘It isn’t the baby’s fault –’
‘Don’t you dare look at it!’ Max snapped, reaching out to grab her hand as Lara turned around.
‘Hey, are you okay?’ Lara asked the woman, her voice calm and soothing and Max felt an uncomfortable heat climb up his neck.
The sound of a child’s scream did horrendous things for his nerves. It took him back to when he was younger and Dermot would shriek and throw a fit, his little cheeks puffed out in protests as he crawled across the floor. Their mother was arguing with Patrick in another room, the door locked, their rage challenging the battle cries raging in front of the fire. It was the lack of communication that flustered him; the inability to know what was wrong, and if you couldn’t magically guess it, the siren sounds continued.
Max had never been empathetic, and sometimes he contemplated holding a cushion over Dermot’s face when he squealed so intently. The threat of the cushion coming down on him always silenced Dermot’s complaints and he instead began to suck on the edge of the cover, his gummy mouth soothed by the fabric. Babies were stupid, Max had decided from a very young age. He didn’t want one; he’d spent his whole childhood protecting one unwanted being, that he didn’t want to purposely create another.
‘Do you want me to hold her for a while?’ Lara had gotten out of her seat and placed herself next to the woman. The strange woman with her own tears staining her face, who nodded desperately in acceptance of help.
At his own table, Max downed his glass of wine and poured another, his eyes glaring at the back of Lara’s head. He wanted to grab her hair and force her down next to him, but he also wasn’t prepared to make a scene just yet. Swallowing heavily, he swirled his glass and watched the two women interacting. The mother had her hair pulled up into a bun, a few tendrils falling down and giving her a frazzled kind of appearance. Next to her Lara looked even more goddess like and Max took a second to appreciate it.
She had scooped the baby up in her arms and was running the back of her fingers against its red cheek. The cries were still prominent for a moment and Max wondered how she was putting up with it, and why until suddenly it stopped. The whole restaurant noticed the silence and Max blinked in disbelief. She wasn’t doing anything astounding or magical, merely holding the child and looking down into her sad eyes. The two watched one another adoringly and it was mesmerising. There was a smile on Lara’s face that he had never seen before, one that implied purpose and contentment, and also a realisation of what she was surrendering being with him. A child of her own.
Watching her for the next few minutes, Max couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Lara was speaking gently to the baby, her voice soft and calming as the mother looked down with relief flooding her face. In this picture perfect scene, Max could see that being their child. He had a sudden wave of proudness, for her defying him and for maintain a struggling situation. He could see Lara had so much to give, and how she deserved to have more. Could they have a child, really?
The sentiment vanished like a wisp of smoke the second the father returned, took the child and scolded his wife. It had only been fleeting, but Max could’ve seen them as a family. Then work continued, their routine ploughed on and the thought never grew again, until the ultrasound. It was as if seeing the image of Charlie on the black and white scan had catapulted him back to that memory.
All the feelings of desire for a family had been reignited, and now it was all he could think about. Being a father – being wanted. Originally it had seemed a constricting horror, but Max had come to realise that parenthood was rewarding. Granted he hadn’t had to deal with the sleepless nights and the tantrum, but he felt able to manage, especially with Lara by his side.
It was why he had meant what he’d said the night after Charlotte’s funeral, telling Lara they should try again, that they deserved a future, a hope, another child. He craved it; he loved how his son looked at him and wanted that ten-fold. Max needed to be needed and Lara no longer cared for him, so something needed to fill the void. Playing with Charlie today was appeasing his frustration but every wrong move pulled on a sprained rib or tugged at his cut-lip and he was reminded that things weren’t as bright as he’d wanted. Dermot had attacked him, and Lara loved someone else.
Currently Pocahontas was playing through the apartment and Max hated himself for knowing every word to ‘Colours of the wind’. Charlie had dived into his new room the moment Max had brought him back and had pulled a handful of new toys out of the crate. They were now scattered all over the living room floor, and the annoyance he used to have for the chaos was not wiped away by happiness. Pure happiness in the pit of his chest, that he avoided thinking about for fear of overwhelming himself. Max was different now, and it was terrifying.
The elevator pinged and Max wondered if it was Ronan, coming back with an update on Lara. It had only been a few hours since he’d asked him to watch her, but who else could it be?
Suddenly out of nowhere, Charlie catapulted himself onto Max’s back, his small hands around his neck.
‘Got you!’ Charlie squealed in delight and Max chuckled, falling to his knees in mock defeat.
‘Oh no!’ Max cried, still faintly listening for the footsteps that headed towards them. He had a gun in the metal box by the fireplace if he needed it –
‘Uncle Dermot!’ Charlie clambered off of Max and shot across the room in seconds. Throwing his arms out he threw them around Dermot’s legs with a smile. ‘Uncle Dermot, come look! Arthair got me new cars!’
Max pulled himself to his feet, trying to hide the annoyance off his face. He saw the way that Dermot crinkled his nose at the name father, and was finding it hard not to pull him up on it. For Charlie’s sake, he remained calm.
‘He did, huh?’
‘He’s spoilt, aren’t you, pup?’ Max teased, ruffling Charlie’s hair as he filled the space between them. Meeting his brothers gaze, Max knew Dermot could see all the damage now in the light of day. The purple bruise on his jaw, the large split down his bottom lip and the black shadow beneath one of his eyes. Breathing made his chest ache, but he was used to pain, just not from someone he had trusted. ‘Dermot.’ Max murmured, trying to pretend it didn’t feel unusual to not say brother.
‘Dearthair.’ Dermot replied with a stiff nod. ‘Can we talk?’
Max held his gaze for a moment longer before looking down at Charlie. He was tugging impatiently on Dermot’s hand, his other small fist filled with toy cars. ‘Can we talk?’ Max repeated slowly, his eyes dark. ‘What do you think, Charlie? Can we make time for Uncle Dermot?’
Charlie looked between the two of them, taking the question really seriously. Time seemed to slow as his big eyes examined them, but Max didn’t take his eyes from Dermot’s face. He looked nervous. Good.
‘Yes!’ Charlie decided on with a vehement nod. ‘But only if we can all play together after?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid Dermot is a very busy man, aren't you?’ he asked his brother with a tilt of his head. ‘He hasn’t got time today, but I’ll play with you, okay?’
After sending Charlie to his room, Max collected a few of the toys on the ground and placed them in the wooden crate in the corner. Grabbing the remote he also turned the music down low, but high enough for it to still cover their conversation.
‘Give me one good reason why I should let you stand before me?’ Max asked before Dermot could open his mouth. He turned sharply, pressing him against the wall in seconds. Unprepared, Dermot stumbled a little on a wooden block and grunted in annoyance. ‘Do you know how I had to explain this to my son?’ Max hissed, pointing to his face. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near him, do you understand? You’ve lost your fucking mind.’ Stepping back, Max ran a hand over his head. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen.’
It seemed as if their whole life revolved around this kitchen, pouring drinks, having long conversations across the marble. Max poured himself a coffee but didn’t offer one in return.
‘I killed a man for you, you know? Do you think that debt like that goes forgotten?’ Max leaned against the work top, his face still dark. He wanted to pummel Dermot to within an inch of his life, but the man his brother had been at the funeral was one Max had always been afraid of. Seeing the look of confusion on his face, Max chuckled. ‘Sorry, did you think I was doing you a favour?’ he asked, stirring a sugar into the black drink. ‘Favours are for family, debt is for traitors.’
The tension between them was making him uncomfortable. He had never set boundaries like this before, and the detachment was making his heart unusually heavy. ‘What is it you want me to hear?’ he demanded. ‘Do you know who it is that Lara is fucking behind my back?’ he spat. ‘Because at the funeral you didn’t have much to say on the matter.’
The anger inside of her was starting to ebb as she heard the sadness in Jock’s voice. She had reacted in a big way, without giving thought to how he felt about the situation. Had she presumed he would just follow her path, because Nora knew that as much as he loved her, Jock was his own person. He had his own traits and boundaries, and it seemed that Dermot could never push them, no matter what he did.
‘I thought maybe he was trying to make you jealous?’ Jock mumbled, his ears pinched pink. ‘I thought it might be a game, but then he said… He said he’d die for her if he had to. And he was serious, Nora. I know him. I know when he’s lying and… he wasn’t. I think he actually loves her.’
Nora looked at Jock with a sigh, her shoulders suddenly heavy. She felt guilty for how he felt, but at the same time she had her guard up about Dermot and it wouldn’t budge. ‘Are you sure?’ Nora asked bluntly and then flashed an apologetic look. ‘I mean, are you sure?’
Were any of them sure of one another anymore? They had all lied to each other, mixed in their own selfish creations, as if their lives were in fact separate and not as messily intertwined as they appeared to be. How could he know what was the truth and what was the lie now?
‘He used the mark, on Nick…’ she started gently, trying to hold his gaze. He wanted to protect Dermot, but sometimes you couldn’t save someone, no matter how fiercely you loved them.
‘I don’t know what’s going on with him, but… he’s the only family I have left, Nora. And I can’t abandon him. The amount of times he’s had to save my daft arse.’ Jock sighed heavily and Nora could imagine the situations when they were younger, but they weren’t back there anymore. What had Dermot done for him recently? ‘He’s going to get himself killed and I can’t sit back and watch it happen. I’m sorry.’
‘I know you are.’ Nora mumbled with a frown. He was sorry he couldn’t jump on her side, couldn’t offer the biased backing she craved, because family came first. At the end of it all, Nora was just another woman. They’d known each other for years, they were /in love/ but they weren’t blood. It wasn’t the same, and she had slowly come to realise that about the Sullivans. Blood did just seem thicker than water in these situations, no matter how ridiculous. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Nora hated herself for feeling how she felt. Suddenly defensive and cautious of Dermot, she wasn’t willing to hear his story or offer her blessing. She was black and white; she was in or out. There was no suspense in the middle ground, and once Dermot had betrayed her, Nora didn’t want to go there anymore. It was different because of Jock, so she had wanted them to talk, but she didn’t want to be involved. She didn’t want to pander to him in the way she had when they were together. She was scared of getting hurt again, she was scared of losing Jock.
‘He’s not who he once was, and you know that, Jock.’ Nora said quietly as he got to his feet. He was looking out the window at the grim weather and she frowned. His shoulders looked heavy, a weight ladened on him he hadn’t had to carry for a while.
‘I’m scared, Nora.’ Jock admitted and Nora got to her feet to stand beside him, slipping her hand in his.
There had only been a few times he’d said that out loud and it had always been for a valid reason. The last time had been before the boat… before all the lying had begun. Then again, who was she kidding pretending she hadn’t loved Jock the moment she’d seen him? Chewing her lip, she examined the rolling clouds and felt a great uncertainty for what lay ahead.
‘I don’t know what the future holds. For any of us. And while Max walks this earth…’
What Jock was saying weren’t just words; they were a threat, something they all needed to accomplish to get their peace, and that was ending Max Sullivan’s life. Were any of them murderers, though? If you would’ve asked five years ago, Nora would’ve said no; now it was different. Malachi had been an accident, but Dermot had had intent, just as he’d had for Nick… It seemed the one person who had the strength to end all this was the one that needed saving.
‘I just want to protect you. From everything.’
‘You need to look out for yourself, too, mo gra.’
Jock turned to her and stole a gentle kiss which Nora savoured as if it were their last. It was hard to hear that Jock believed his only family was Dermot, because she would always be by his side, as defensive as any loving wife… Then the thought came to her. ‘Jock, do you –’
The front door slammed and cut Nora short as a whistling Robbie returned.
‘There’s something I need to sort out with Robbo. Are you coming?’ Jock asked and Nora nodded, biting back her question. It had been a silly thought anyway, right?
In the kitchen Robbie was making himself a cup of tea, his hat on the side and crinkled bandages on show. The two of them moved towards him and it didn’t take long for him to realise something was wrong. Did he not feel the tension in the air when he’d walked in? Dermot and Lara had left it dripping from the walls as they’d left.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I need a favour.’ Jock slumped down on the island and Nora busied herself with making extra drinks, even though she didn’t remotely feel like one. ‘Who in the force can you trust?’ Jock asked and Nora raised an eyebrow, wondering where he was going with this idea.
Robbie admitted there wasn’t really anyone he could trust and she rolled her eyes, placing a cup in front of Jock and stirring her own with great purpose.
‘Anyone you are sure about?’
‘Carter.’ Robbie shrugged and Nora smiled at the recollection of the man.
The time he’d been round this house, him and Jock toe to toe, Nora had still gotten a nice feeling from him. He was protective and warm, his aura glowing with kindness. Rosa wouldn’t have accepted or deserved anything less.
‘What do you have in mind?’ Robbie asked and Nora looked at Jock with equal curiosity.
‘I’m trying to figure out how to get rid of two birds with one stone. Max and Shaw. I’m wondering if there’s a way we can distract them… with each other.’ Jock glanced at her but she shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘I don’t know.’ He sighed and she sipped her tea, her mind still fuzzy blur from earlier encounter.
‘They hate each other, don’t they?’ Nora asked uselessly.
‘There might be a way…’ Robbie said slowly and she looked over at him, just as blind to their ideas as before. ‘As long as I can maker sure Olly is on our side.’
Nora wasn’t listening. All she could feel was thick fear in her very core, that something was going to go wrong. Jock was trying to resolve the situation, to save his cousin who hadn’t been as forgiving to him when the positions had been reversed. Dermot had acted irrationally and violently, and today had reeked of hypocrisy.
‘Do you remember when Dermot found out about us?’ Nora asked suddenly, cutting through their conversation. Jock looked at her, confusion on his face and perhaps annoyance she hadn’t mentioned this upstairs. ‘He’s a hypocrite. He almost killed you and he almost killed Max at the wake, which we now realise was because of Lara.’ Holding his gaze she frowned. ‘Are you sure you want to get involved when he’s like this? If you start this, you’ll have a target on your back too. Our backs.’ she practically pleaded but Jock nodded, pushing that he meant what he had said upstairs. ‘Then I need to speak to Bovver before he makes things worse.’ She announced, pushing herself away from the counter.
If Bovver got to Max and told his secret before Dermot did, then they’d have no chance. Bovver didn’t care for repercussions; he had nothing to lose. He had outed her and Jock, just as he would Lara and Dermot. All he felt was anger that he had been wounded, and that Pete had been made a fool, but the bigger picture required deeper understanding. She didn’t like the idea of having to speak to him, especially since his appearance at the wake, but something needed to be done. Nora felt useless, and she wanted to do all she could to save Jock.
‘You want to protect me, well I want to protect you.’ She kissed him sweetly, throwing a glance back at Robbie who looked thoroughly confused, asking if he had missed something whilst he was away. ‘Sorry.’ Nora gave a small smile, placing a kiss on his cheek also. ‘I don’t want to get involved in this. I hate him, Jock, because I did love him and he lied to me. I hate what Dermot has done to us, because he isn’t the real victim here, but he’s playing the martyr so fucking well. But I do understand that this is bigger than all of us, and I’m nothing in comparison to the people that Max has hurt, so I’ll do what I can. For our future.’
It felt like an awful comprise, because she had voiced how uncomfortable she felt in a way that could make Jock feel guilty. She saw the look on his face as the emotion threatened to swallow him whole but she shook her head and took his hand.
‘It’s fine.’ She reassured him. ‘I trust you, but if it gets too dangerous, I’m calling time on our involvement, alright?’ Jock went to argue with her again but she narrowed her eyes. ‘Humour me, please.’ She gave a small smile when he agreed and turned to grab her coat.
When was the last time she had seen Bovver, alone? He had been just like Dermot once, someone she had confided in and adored. He too had betrayed her, hurt her; he had revealed her secret relationship to the world with no hint of remorse. It wouldn’t be a good encounter, but it would be a necessary one. It was the only thing she felt like she could do right now to help their situation.
What was Jock even thinking? Trying to pit two evil men against each other, with the hope they would counteract one another and save them. The other side of this was, they could become a united team and something more threatening then they could ever have imagined. That thought needed dampening and Nora shook her head, her feet taking her to the underground and to Bovver. Her mind hadn’t forgotten where he lived; two underground stops, a brisk walk and the rickety block of flats that never looked too inviting.
As she took the stairs slowly, she examined each door and recalled all the times she had walked up here to see him. Chinese under her arm, his laughing face throwing prawn crackers at her, or drunken slur happily chanting about bubbles. It seemed a life time away, and now it seemed dark and unwelcoming. Wrapping her arms around herself she sighed as she got to Bovver’s door. She was wearing Jock’s shirt from this morning, hanging over a pair of skinny jeans and a vest, with a green shacket over the top.
What was she even planning on saying?
So many things had happened today that her mind hadn’t had time to stop, too afraid that if she did she may implode. She felt anger at what Bovver had done to them, but then the same heated fury towards almost every other man in her life and the frustration at this emotion was tearing her apart. She wanted to be happy; she wanted them all to be safe. Chewing her lip, Nora knocked on the door, her heart in her throat. Would he be unhappy to see her? She wanted to punch him.
There was silence so she knocked again, only to be startled by the sound of a dog barking and she gasped, wondering how she could’ve ever forgotten about Bobby Moore. The dog was supposed to have calmed him, been a companion, but Bovver seemed more riled up than ever.
There was a grunt on the other side of the door followed by a yell of something incoherent. Unsure what to do, she wrapped her arms around herself and took a step back as the door opened. Instantly Bobby sprung out of the small gap and pushed her against the opposite wall, his big paws on her middle as he licked her all over. Nora gave a squeal of shock but was smiling, unlike Bovver who was mad he’d let him escape in the first place.
Bovver yelled for the dog to return and hunched in the door, he looked more battered and bruised than he had been at the wake and Nora frowned as her eyes landed on his face. The last time she had been here, she’d left him a note to say she was leaving. Was he thinking of that too? Managing a small smile, Nora couldn’t quite find the words, instead putting her attention into scratching Bobby’s head. The silence between them was deafening for what seemed an eternity before she finally spoke.
‘I think we need to talk, don't you?’ She murmured as he leaned in the doorway, disbelief on his face.
——————
What was he even supposed to do?
Bovver had come back from the funeral ignited with vengeance but Pete felt broken and exhausted. He needed to see Lara today and the uncertainty of their meeting was making him nauseous. He had been furious at her; betrayed and threatened by the revelation she didn’t love him anymore. He’d lashed out, he’d said things he had never dared to say before. Words that weren’t his and yet his lips moved in time with them as though they were. Pete never wanted to hurt Lara, but she had found no hesitation in maiming him.
He tried not to think about it as he looked down at Kimmy. Tried not to let the confusion and fear flash in his piercing eyes; the same blue that looked up at him as his daughter turned her head and smiled. Everyone said they were twins, but suddenly all he could see in her was Lara. The shape of her chin, the way that she laughed, the scent of her hair. All the things he no longer had – things another man had tainted.
It was as if his brain was refusing to process the last week; no matter how much he tried to understand it, it didn’t make sense. Pete was a man, and he liked things to make sense, to be as cut and dry as the grass was green. However there was no logic to the crumbling of his marriage, it had merely been continuous small chunks of disruption that overtime had uprooted them. Lara had had enough; or had she’d never had enough to begin with? The self-pity swirling inside of him would have perhaps been better used against the Sullivans, than being drowned in cups of bitter coffee. Nothing seemed to soothe the ache inside his chest, and with Kimmy by him, alcohol wasn’t a choice.
They were in the Abbey and Kimmy was sat on the table chewing on a beer mat. Behind the bar, Isla was sticking bright yellow tape over the space where a mirror once was. She looked distracted and he wondered if she and Swill had argued again. He hadn’t seen it but Dave had overheard them the other day — well, heard Isla telling Swill she needed her privacy and that it wasn’t being respected. It wasn’t personal, Swill wasn’t inconsiderate he was just infatuated.
It appeared they were all having their own little troubles in paradise, as even Alice and Dave had been a bit tentative since the miscarriage. Pete had to hand it to him though, Dave hadn’t once let him down despite everything that had happened and a slither of guilt still settled in his heart for how he’d treated him over the years. They all just needed to weather the storm and hope it was a rainbow and not destruction awaiting them on the other side.
Glancing at his phone he sighed heavily, startled when the chair beside him was pulled back. Alice looked down at him with a smile.
‘This seat taken?’
‘Only by you.’ Pete smiled back. ‘Where are the boys?’
‘Dave is buying Freddie his first proper pair of football boots.’ Alice rolled her eyes to imply they had been in the shop for a while before she’d abandoned them. ‘I never thought I’d be the one leaving a shoe store, you know?’ A small laugh. ‘How are you? Hey, Kimmy!’ She tickled her beneath the chin earning a happy giggle.
Pete shrugged his shoulders, waving at Terry across the room. ‘What d’ya want?’
‘Just a small white wine, please.’
Pete ordered the drinks and Alice took Kimmy, placing her on her lap. It was sweet watching them and he could really see why Dave had fallen in love with her; fiery red locks, big blue eyes and the kindest smile. That was Alice; kind. The way she had raised Freddie so well was a testament to her nature and he wished more children for them in the future. Watching her reminded him of all the times he’d watched Lara from afar, a goofy smile on his face which she’d roll her eyes at.
‘Stop it!’ She’d mouth and he’d flash a wink.
‘You’re stunnin’’ he’d respond.
‘Are you really alright?’ Alice asked and broke Pete from his reverie.
Swill had come over and scooped Kimmy up, saying she was his good luck charm as he started up a game of Pool against Ned. It was just the two of them at the table now and Alice was raising a sceptic eyebrow.
Pete shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about me, love.’
‘I do.’ She defended. ‘We all do. We’re family.’ She smiled and Pete felt a moments sadness pull at his chest. Family had had all the loving sentiment behind it but had merely reminded him of what he didn’t have.
‘I don’t know what that word means anymore.’ He muttered and then flashed an apologetic look. It was true, he was alone and Steve probably couldn’t wait to say ‘I told you so’. ‘You and Dave are perfect — you wouldn’t understand.’
Alice chewed her lip, swirling her finger round the rim of her glass. ‘I… wouldn’t… understand…’ she repeated, knowing he hadn’t meant it yet still feeling distracted about it. ‘I know heartbreak.’
‘You didn’t lose your husband to someone else…’ Pete struggled. ‘He died in the war, h-he didn’t leave you—‘
‘It’s still a loss!’ Alice snapped, voice suddenly loud. ‘One that I didn’t have any control over.’ She had gotten past Freddie’s fathers death years ago, but the thought still brought a tear to her eye and she glanced away. ‘You’re going through a loss too and you can’t control it either. You need to accept that.’
Her voice was low and Pete couldn’t seem to find the words. He suddenly felt more shit than he had before and the look on Alice’s face was breaking his heart.
‘I spent years wishing I could bring him back, which you’ve no doubt been doing for Lara these last few days. Trying to figure out what you can do, or why it happened but there isn’t always a reason. You just need to love your children right now, Pete. Put them first and your love for yourself will return.’ She caught his gaze. ‘You deserve happiness.’
‘Do I?’ Pete replied quietly, glancing across the room as the men flew into applause as Swill finally potted a ball. He high-fived Kimmy with a toothy grin.
‘Don’t we all?’ Alice asked and reached out to touch his hand. ‘We loved Lara too, but she wasn’t your whole world, Pete, just a part of it. So life moves on, so move on with it.’
It might have felt abrupt but Dave had come home on numerous occasion to say Pete wasn’t doing well, and they were all concerned he may slip back to his old depressive self. The worst version of Pete that none of them had ever recognised. Someone needed to say something.
Neither of them said anything for a moment, Pete glancing down to see her hand holding his. Her wedding ring glinted up at him and he felt nauseous again.
‘I’m happy you’re happy.’ Pete said earnestly. ‘You’re the best thing to happen to Dave, he —‘
‘Not the best.’ Alice corrected. ‘Just one of the best. Like Kimmy is one of yours, and all of this—‘ she pointed behind them to Swill, Ned, Terry, all of the boys together with Isla on the bar ‘— you do know family, because you created this, so enjoy it.’ Leaning forward she kissed him one the cheek just as Dave walked through the door.
‘Ey!’ He called jokingly. ‘Hands off my woman.’ Coming to stand behind Alice, Dave kissed the top of her head with a smile. ‘Alright, Boss.’ Dave winked to Pete.
‘We’re gonna look after Kimmy this evening.’ Alice announced as she turned to look at him with a smile. ‘Pete’s got some things to sort out with Lara.’
Pete knew an incentive when he saw one and he didn’t really want to argue anymore. Alice was feisty, in a different way to Lara, but all the same persistent if not forceful. Nodding slowly he glanced at the time on his phone again and got up with a sigh.
‘Did Freddie pick out some good trainers?’ Pete asked as he shrugged on his jacket. The boy in question was helping Ned aim his cue, tongue between teeth.
‘You’ll never believe it!’ Dave shook his head as if greatly disappointed. ‘Bloody Manchester United colours. Said the red was cooler than the claret and blue.’ He rolled his eyes but then gave a laugh. ‘We’ll have to teach ‘im who’s really the best, eh?’
‘That we will.’ Pete agreed, and then all too soon he was kissing Kimmy goodbye and jumping in his car to Lara’s.
What Alice had said about loss really struck him, and as he drove to the home that used to be theirs, Pete could really feel the mourning settling in. There was no going back from what had happened or what had been said, even if they wanted to, and he doubted Lara did. Everything was different now, everything was wrong. The thought of kissing her again left a sour taste in his mouth because he knew it wasn’t right. Unhealthy was the word Dave had used once, and if he and Alice could find love again, then perhaps he had a chance. Even if it just meant loving himself for a while.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Dec 20, 2022 11:04:29 GMT -5
For the first time in what felt like forever, Aoife woke up with George by her side. Had they even been apart a full week? The entire time had felt like a decade, stretched out and lonely, and as she snuggled into his chest and breathed in his familiar scent, Aoife had never been so grateful to have him back. They’d never fallen out like that before, and the shock at having Luke back in their lives left her uneasy and vulnerable. As if she were floating on a rickety raft in the middle of the ocean during a storm. Barely holding onto the edges, her body numb with cold.
Spending time at Max’s hadn’t been much better. She knew she’d been toeing a line, the way she’d chosen to behave to him, but if he expected her to bow down and kiss his feet like her Da, he had another thing coming. Aoife didn’t care who the fuck he was. Max had destroyed everybody’s lives back then and seemed intent on doing the same now. And if she had to cut ties with her Da over this, she would. It was painful. Dermot had been all she’d had for many years but he wasn’t the same recently. He was on a downward spiral and nothing she seemed to say could change that.
Sighing, she ran her fingers over George’s chest and eventually roused him from his slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock, and then to her; a soft sleepy smile on his lips. “Morning,” he murmured, rolling to face her, arm heavy as it rested over her waist. He reached up, fingers trailing her jaw.
“Morning,” she whispered back, her own smile soft. George saw right through it. He always did.
“You look sad.”
“I was just thinking about Da.” Aoife sighed again and shuffled in closer, entwining their legs. “And Max. And just... everything.” She felt him nod, her face buried in the crook of his neck. “I just want it all to end.” She listened as he promised that it would, that he was going to make sure it did. She wasn’t sure if this reassured her or not. She knew George and she knew he’d stand by his word. He would find a way to end it. But at what expense? That’s the part that terrified her, the part she tried not to think about. They’d already lost so much to this war; Mark and Susie, both slain within days of each other. Countless others too, caught up in the cross-fire, names she’d only heard whispers of; Keith and Hatcher and Nick. A trail of destruction left by the Sullivan name. The sooner she married George and rid herself of this shame, the better.
They got up and shared a shower and kisses, the hot water running out long before their steamy session against the tiles did. Afterwards, Aoife took her time drying off and applying some moisturiser as George went ahead to get breakfast. He had work and Aoife wasn’t due in until the evening, another grinding twelve-hour night shift. Pulling her hair into a bun, loose tendrils hanging around her face, Aoife tightened her dressing gown around herself and headed downstairs. George was putting the finishing touches to a couple of bacon and egg baps and her stomach growled appreciatively as she walked into the kitchen. George flashed her a grin.
“Just in time.” They ate together at the table, George wolfing his down, eyes darting from the news app on his phone to his watch every minute. “There was a big collision this morning,” he muttered and she flashed him a sympathetic look. Traffic was bad enough in the city, but near-on impossible during car accidents; when there was a patient in the back and time was of the essence, it caused a great deal of frustration for paramedics. She reached to squeeze his hand.
“Text me if you need to.”
Taking their empty plates to the sink, Aoife then followed him into the hall where he pulled on his jacket and grabbed his bag. “I love you,” she murmured, leaning up to kiss him. George held her close, kissing her back, then taking a moment to just study her. He tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“I love you. Try and relax, okay? I’ll call you when I can.” They kissed again before George turned and opened the door. He stepped out, jogging down the steps before turning to look at her. Aoife leaned in the doorway, keeping the dressing gown tight around her to ward off the autumn chill. Leaving the gate, George looked back at her with a smile and wink before he carried on down the street, Aoife’s eyes following him until he was out of sight.
Turning back inside, she shut the door and headed back to the kitchen to make a coffee. Filling the kettle, she set it back on the stand and flicked it on, before going to the sink to turn on the hot tap. A moment later, there was a knock at the door and she frowned and turned the tap back off. George must have left his keys. Heading back through, the kettle growing louder behind her, Aoife made her way back to the door. Unlocking it, she pulled it open. “What have you left now...” She trailed off, eyes widening when she saw it was Luke at the door and not George. And he wasn’t in a good way; he was clutching a blood-soaked rag to the side of his head, blood streaking down his jaw and throat, splashing vivid red marks over his shirt. It was fresh and Luke looked pale, the pain clear in his eyes.
“Aoife.” His voice sounded rough, and he removed the cloth to reveal the nasty wound; she could see glass glinting in the flesh. What on Earth had happened? “didn’t know where else to go...”
Luke faltered on the step, and without hesitation, Aoife put her arms around him and guided him inside. Already her mind was racing ahead of her; what she needed, what she would need to do. She knew hospital was out of the question - it was the only reason he was here. People like Luke preferred to keep their business private. It’s why they all came to her. She remembered still being a teenager and doing her best to fix the back of Max’s head. Would she always just be mending people? Glancing at Luke, she saw the bright blood, and on the other side, the bruise George had left him with. If he hadn’t been tucked up in bed with her this morning, she might have feared he’d done this.
When she went to usher him into the flat, Luke hesitated, his eyes darting to hers. “Where is George? I-I don’t want another fight.” Aoife felt a guilty ache in her chest, hearing the low panic in his voice, though he tried not to show it. He was weak, pale from blood-loss, and he sank heavily against her when she urged him inside, reassuring him George wasn’t here. But what if he did come back? What if he saw them here again? Then she told herself to stop being ridiculous; Luke clearly needed help. Settling him onto a stool in the kitchen, Aoife moved to switch on the light so she could get a better look. God, it was a mess, and still oozing blood. She gave him a sad look.
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“I was embarrassed.” Luke shifted and she turned away to fetch her well-used first aid box; she leaned up to reach up from the high shelf. “Are you sure I can be here?” he asked again and she made a note to check for concussion, in case he was confused.
“...It’s fine,” she reassured him again after a moment, bringing down the box. Heading back to Luke’s side, she set it out on the table and glanced at him. “Hold still. This might sting a little.” After dosing him up on some high-strength painkillers, she set to work. He’d taken his shirt off by then, revealing a gym-worked body; she tried not to let her eyes wander, focusing on the more severe task that needed dealing with. To give it to him, Luke was a good patient. He sat quietly and allowed Aoife to do what she had to do, the only sign of his discomfort being the odd hiss and clenched fist. After cleaning the wound, the skin twisted and torn badly in places, she began the pain-staking job of tweezing out the shards of glass.
It wasn’t a pretty job, but she’d learned to have an iron-stomach a long time ago, and not much phased her these days. Standing between his legs, unaware of how close they actually were, Aoife frowned as she concentrated hard on the task at hand. Removing a particularly large piece, she dropped it into the glass bowl beside him. “You’re lucky that didn’t go any deeper; I’m no brain surgeon.” Her free hand was against his jaw, holding him still, and she glanced down to find him watching her intently; it made her stomach swoop and she quickly looked back at the wound. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
He finally looked away, but didn’t answer for a while. By now, she’d removed all the glass and was now giving it a second clean. It would need stitches in several places. “... My dad was drunk. He didn’t really get good news from the hospital and... I-I don’t really know what happened after that... This is a Glenmorangie ‘89 in the side of my face.” He tried to laugh, but Aoife could only look at him sympathetically. That was awful. She knew Luke was struggling. Despite the front he was putting up for the world, he was lost beneath the surface. She could sense it. And he had nobody to turn to, and his Dad... “I don’t seem to be in anyone’s good books at the moment, do I, Irish?”
She pulled back a little, a heat spreading across her cheeks at their proximity. “It’s not easy. Life isn’t easy,” she told him, words barely a whisper in the sudden quietness of the kitchen. And then, she felt the slight touch of his finger against the bare skin of her thigh and her breath caught. His gaze held hers, steady and sure, and she found herself gazing right back into his pale blue eyes.
“Will I have an ugly scar?” His words low, gaze never leaving hers. “Would you still care for me if I did?” Did she? Care for him? She knew she’d harboured negative feelings towards him in the past, but they weren’t those people anymore. Young and naive and stupid. And if she didn’t care, she would never have invited him in. Not now, and not the first time either. Dampening his bottom lip, Luke began to caress her thigh, and Aoife surprised herself by not moving. The touch sent a shiver right through her.
“I gave you some strong medication earlier,” she said, not entirely sure why. Perhaps to convince herself his actions were down to that and nothing else. It couldn’t be anything else. It couldn’t be attraction.
“Would you?” He insisted and Aoife bit her bottom lip, unsure if, and how, she should answer. He turned his face a little, so close she could feel his breath against her lips, and she saw it play out in her mind before it actually did. His nose brushed hers, his eyes falling shut as he silently pleaded with her, begged her. She could sense his tension, body taunt, ready to snap at any moment. And she knew she shouldn’t. After everything that had happened... and it was wrong. Yet she didn’t pull away. Why didn’t she pull away? Once again, she was toeing the line and she didn’t know why. Why did she keep taking these risks? It was all her.
Luke’s hands slid to the backs of her thighs, pulling her until she was straddling his lap, and that was all it took the ignite the fire that had been smouldering between them for... what? Days? Weeks? Or years - since the night of the poker party? Unfinished business, Max would have called it. “It takes two opposing forces to create friction.” His words were a soft murmur against her lips. “Friction creates fire.” And then he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or hesitant or unsure. Luke knew what he wanted and he took it. Hands reaching to loosen her bun, letting her dark hair fall in tousled waves over her shoulders. He knitted his fingers there, drawing her closer as his tongue pressed into her mouth, and Aoife felt betrayed by the moan that escaped her.
One of her palms pressed flat against his bare chest and she could feel the racing drum of his heart beneath her touch. Her other hand moved to cup his jaw - the good side - and before she could give herself time to think, she kissed him back. Luke gave a low growl of satisfaction, grinding her hips above his, and she could feel how hard he was beneath her.
Breaking the kiss, eyes still shut, Aoife took a moment to catch her breath. There was a throbbing ache between her thighs that desperately needed soothing, but she couldn’t do this. Not to George. And not for the fact Luke was still in need of medical care. “I really need to get that stitched up,” she murmured, taking herself off his lap. She couldn’t look at him, face burning. What the fuck, Aoife?! The last thing she needed to do was encourage him. She busied herself with putting surgical thread on a sterile needle, and when she turned back around, Luke was still watching her. He had his fingertips against his lips, but he dropped his hand when she moved back to his side.
“I-I’ll leave you with some painkillers, but I don’t think you should take anymore tonight,” she warned, trying to mask the unsteady tremor in her voice. She began to stitch up the worse cuts on Luke’s head and he hissed a little. “I’ll try not to scar you too badly.” Five minutes later, she was finally done; the wounds neatly stitched, the blood finally ceased. She wet a fresh cloth and cleaned the blood from his face, but before she could pull away, Luke grabbed her wrist and stood.
Maybe her lips found his this time, she wasn’t sure. His arm snaked around her waist, hoisting her onto the table and sending the first aid supplies scattering. He grabbed her face and kissed her back fiercely, already forcing his way between her thighs. Aoife gasped, head falling back as he dropped his mouth to her throat. And in that instant, she felt the last of her resistance truly slip away.
—-
"He’s spoilt, aren’t you, pup?" Dermot glanced up as Max filled the space between them, ruffling Charlie's hair in the process. Then, he looked up and caught Dermot's gaze and he saw, in the cold light of day, the damage he'd inflicted. Max's jaw was bruised, swollen, a cut to his lip where Dermot's knuckles had made contact. A dark shadow beneath one of his eyes - the blue one, to be exact. And he knew there were more bruises, beneath his shirt, spread over his ribs. He felt his stomach turn in disgust at his own capabilities, and wondered, not for the first time, why it was so easy for him to flip between the two personlities. The one where he just wanted to love and protect, and the one where he wanted to hurt and damage. "Dermot," he murmured and Dermot instantly noted the use of his name, and not the term they'd normally use.
One he couldn't help but use now. It was familiar and offered him a kind of comfort he knew he wasn't going to get from Max. Not today. Perhaps not ever. Asking if they could talk, Charlie still clinging to his hand, Max held his stare for a long moment. Long enough for Dermot to fear he might not respond at all. "Can we talk?" Max repeated slowly and Dermot noted the darkness in his brother's eye; his stomach tensed. "What do you think, Charlie? Can we make time for Uncle Dermot?"
Dampening his bottom lip, Dermot glanced away for a moment. Charlie looked between them, thinking hard, and Dermot began to worry that he might say no. His entire fate left in the hands of a three-year-old. Perfect. He could see feel Max's stare locked to his face, but he didn't look back until Charlie finally decided on his answer. "Yes!" He nodded vigorously. "But only if we can all play together after?"
If only it was that easy, he thought sadly. "Oh, I’m afraid Dermot is a very busy man, aren't you?" He caught Dermot's eye, tilting his head. "He hasn’t got time today, but I’ll play with you, okay?" He sent Charlie off to his room and Dermot watched the little boy go, a slight ache in his chest. What would Charlie think of all of this? It would be least of all confusing; his mother dating his uncle, his uncle becoming his stepdad. That's if it even got that far. This time next week, Dermot might be in a shallow grave. He looked back as Max gathered a few stray toys, placing them into a wooden crate in the corner, a sight he never thought he'd actual see; Max playing the role of *athair* and actually playing it good. It was clear he genuinely wanted to be that figure to Max, that figure both he and Dermot had needed and not had when they were young. Picking up the remote, Max turned the music down, but kept it loud enough to muffle their conversation. Dermot braced himself.
"Give me one good reason why I should let you stand before me?" Max's words were cold and Dermot felt them cut beneath his skin; Max was looking at him as if he didn't have the worth to be stood before him. Then, he turned sharply, slamming an unsuspecting Dermot back into the wall, his ankle twisting on a wooden block. "Do you know how I had to explain this to my son?" Max’s words were a low, threatening hiss, as he pointed to the bruises on his face. "I don’t want you anywhere near him, do you understand? You’ve lost your fucking mind."
Dermot's eyes widened and he felt the flare of panic in his chest. He'd never once considered the fact Max might stop him from seeing Charlie, but before he could protest, Max released him and took a step back. He ran a hand over his head and turned away. "Let's go into the kitchen." Straightening, Dermot followed, ignoring the twange in his ankle. He had to stay alert; this morning could go either way and he just wanted to ensure he got back to Lara safely. Max moved and poured himself a coffee, not offering Dermot one.
"Max, I came to apolog-"
"I killed a man for you, you know? Do you think a debt like that goes forgotten?" he asked, darkly, probably itching for an excuse to punch Dermot in the face.
"Debt?" Dermot's brow creased, his brain slow to catch up on what Max was implying.
Max, leaning against the work top, gave a low chuckle. "Sorry, did you think I was doing you a favour?" He stirred sugar into his coffee, before glancing back at him. "Favours are for family, debt is for traitors." Dermot nodded, looking away as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. He could feel the tension building in his shoulders and rolled them, trying to ease it out. So, Max was done with him? After everything Dermot had put up with over the years, it was Max who was done with him. Max glowered at him.
"What is it you want me to hear?" he demanded, setting the spoon down sharply on the work top, and Dermot forced his gaze up to meet his brother's; he couldn't look like a coward here, not now. Max would pounce on any sign of weakness and he felt as if he were truly standing in the lion's den. And this lion was hungry. "Do you know who it is that Lara is fucking behind my back?" Max spat and it was all Dermot could do not to flinch. "Because at the funeral you didn’t have much to say on the matter."
"I'm not her fucking keeper, Max," he retorted, holding his arms out wide. "What do you want me to say? I only just found out she was getting divorced, let alone seeing somebody else." The lie spilled too easily off his tongue, but what other choice did he have? After all, it was what he was best at. “I’m just as shocked as you, Max. If she was going to leave Pete, I assumed the same as everybody else... that it would be for you.” Max flashed him a disbelieving look, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. I came here to apologise, Max, not start another fight.”
“Oh, you think it’s that easy?” Max went on to reiterate how much Dermot had humiliated him, how he’d made the Sullivan name a joke, and Dermot had no choice but to bite his tongue the entire time. “What’s your fucking problem, Dermot, because you obviously have one. Aside from being fucking insane.”
Dampening his bottom lip, Dermot shook his head and glanced away. “Isn’t it obvious?” He began with, searching for something that would at least be plausible; you didn’t kick the shit out of your own brother for no reason. “I... I was jealous, okay? Everything is falling right into your lap and... and my life is crumbling. And I know that was fucking selfish of me. It was childish. But I have literally nothing left, Max. Nothing at all. And watching you...” He shook his head, ashamed. “I made a fool out of you and I would do anything to go back and change that. I’m sorry, dearthair, I truly am.”
Max watched him for a few long drawn-out minutes, and Dermot could sense the cogs ticking in his mind. Could he see through Dermot’s facade? Or did he simply already know the truth? His heart beat double-time in his chest and he fought to stay composed. Then, Max spoke up, demanding to know about his little chat with Bovver at the funeral, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I know Dunham is getting into your head. And I want to know what he’s saying.”
“Dunham?” Dermot frowned, then shook his head. “I haven’t said a word to Pete. Not since the party and that was weeks ago. And Bov? ...He’s declared war.” He shrugged weakly. “I’ve been trying to figure out how best to deal with them... I know you’ve had a lot of your plate with Charlie, that’s why I kept it to myself.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Dermot lifted his gaze back to Max’s. “Dunham thinks it’s you. The one Lara’s left him for.”
Trying to ignore the feeling he was digging an even bigger hole, Dermot gave his brother a pleading glance, stepping forward and closing the distance a little. Max watched him warily, but seemed to have swallowed his words for now. “Dearthair. This debt. What the fuck do I need to do to get rid of it?”
—-
"Are you sure?" Nora's words were blunt and she flashed him an apologetic look. "I mean, are you sure?"
Jock nodded, reaching to settle his large hand above hers, which were still clasped together on her lap. He understood her need to ask though; ever since Nora had stepped foot into the wide world, ever since she'd fallen victim to Malachi, she'd been used and abused. Her kindness, her large heart, had been surely scarred over the years, if not by fists, then by words. Bovver had betrayed her, punished her in the cruellest way, simply because she'd wanted to leave. Because she'd wanted to be her own person, to explore her own individuality. She'd done nothing wrong and he'd still lashed out and hurt her. And then Dermot, his own cousin, his own blood. The first man in her life to treat her with respect. Never raising a fist, or even his voice. Their love had been gentle and soothing, but Dermot had too many skeletons, couldn't keep his demons at bay. In the end, he'd lied to her and his love for his brother had won out over his love for her.
It was a wonder she could even trust Jock now. Every man in her life had betrayed her, even her own father, who'd disappeared when she was young, never to be seen or heard from again. But, that was testament to Nora. All this hate and pain in the world, all this agony she'd had to deal with... and she still offered the small fraction of love she had left to him. Nora looked at him, a little unsteadily. "He used the mark, on Nick…"
"I know," he murmured softly, hanging his head a little at the thought. How had he allowed the situation to spiral so far? And Dermot's actions in the past few weeks were getting worse, he couldn't deny that. What would he do next? And now with his affair with Lara on the brink of being brought to the light... He rubbed his jaw, looking at Nora as he told her how he couldn't sit back. He just couldn't. "I'm sorry."
"I know you are." Nora frowned, dropping her gaze to her hands. "I'm sorry too." Jock stood, moving to the window, and her next words were quiet. "He’s not who he once was, and you know that, Jock." He didn't say anything for a moment because there was nothing he could say. He couldn't defend Dermot's actions. They'd been excessive. They'd come to expect this kind of viciousness from Max over the years, but not from Dermot. Ever since he'd arrived in London and gotten back under his older brother's influence, he'd only gotten worse, and it was hard to watch. When Jock admitted he was scared, Nora moved to his side, sensing the severity of his words. He knew the only answer to this would be to rid the world of Maximilian Sullivan for good, but he also knew what he'd be sacrificing if he took that step; that would be everything. And that everything was standing right beside him. He looked at Nora.
"I just want to protect you..."
"You need to look out for yourself, too, mo gra," she replied, and Jock smiled, dipping his head to kiss her gently. "Jock, do you –" The front door slammed, signalling Robbie's arrival and Jock gave another weary sigh. Hand slipping to the back of her head, he pressed a firm kiss to her brow.
"We'll talk more later, yeah? There’s something I need to sort out with Robbo. Are you coming?"
Nora nodded, and the two headed downstairs to greet the injured young man - who seemed in much better spirits than he had yesterday as he whistled to himself. Robbie was making a cup of tea, but he soon realised something was up. As Nora went to fill two more cups, he sat opposite Jock and did his best to answer the questions. Jock hoped the kid had concussion, because he wasn't getting much in the way of real answers and it sounded like every copper in London was riding on Shaw's coattails. But, for Rosa's sake, something had to be done. He needed to be dealt with and so did Max. After Robbie promised he'd try and speak to Olly, Nora spoke up, the mention of Dermot confusing him for a moment.
"Do you remember when Dermot found out about us? He’s a hypocrite. He almost killed you and he almost killed Max at the wake, which we now realise was because of Lara." Nora held his gaze, brows knitted. "Are you sure you want to get involved when he’s like this? If you start this, you’ll have a target on your back too. Our backs." He could hear the desperation in her voice and the guilt intensified when he realised she was literally pleading with him. She didn't want him to do this. He nodded, meeting her gaze again.
"I meant what I said upstairs, Nora," he told her, quietly but firmly, hating the acceptance in her eyes as she nodded and sat back.
"Then I need to speak to Bovver before he makes things worse." She pushed away from the counter and stood, and Jock instantly got to his feet and moved around the table towards her. He couldn't think of a worse idea. Bovver was volatile at best, but if there was anyone who could get through to him, could it be Nora? She’d held his heart once; would it be enough to make him listen? She must have read the internal battle within on his face as she leaned up to give him a sweet, reassuring kiss. “You want to protect me, well I want to protect you.”
Robbie glanced between them, confused, tea cup half-raised to his mouth. “‘Ave I missed summing while I was away?”
Nora gave him a small smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek too, and colour bloomed across his face, right into the tips of his ears. “Sorry. I don’t want to get involved in this.” She glanced back at Jock and he could see the resolute determination gleaming there. “I hate him, Jock, because I did love him and he lied to me. I hate what Dermot has done to us, because he isn’t the real victim here, but he’s playing the martyr so fucking well. But I understand that this is bigger than all of us, and I’m nothing in comparison to the people Max has hurt, so I’ll do what I can. For our future.”
The guilt took Jock’s breath away and for a moment, he could only stand there and stare at her. He understood the underlying meaning; that in the grand scheme of things, who was she compared to the bond he and Dermot had held for years? And she was disappointed in him, without even having to say it. He could see it in the crease of her brow and the downturned corners of her mouth. Because, still, even after everything, he was willing to take the risk anyway. Jock swallowed hard, and she smiled, albeit a little sadly.
With a shake of her head, she took his hand. “It’s fine. I trust you, but if it gets too dangerous, I’m calling time on our involvement, alright?” Jock opened his mouth to protest, but she narrowed her eyes at him. “Humour me, please.”
“All right,” he said softly, nodding in agreement. “But if he touches one hair on your head...” He left his threat hanging. If she wasn’t back in a reasonable amount of time, he’d come for her; he still remembered where Bov lived. Nora smiled and turned to grab her coat off the back of the stool. And then she was gone and Jock couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d let her walk away from him; she’d nearly lost her life because of it. Running a hand over his face, Jock wracked his brains at what he should do. There were so many loose ends, like a knotted ball of unravelled cotton he slowly had to untangle. Robbie was still watching him, sipping his tea thoughtfully.
“If it ‘elps, I know a lot about Shaw. Even been to his ‘ouse one time. Right fancy place, it is.”
Nodding, Jock moved to sit back at the table, one part of him still desperate to follow Nora out the door. He fixed his eyes on Robbie. “Right, kid. Tell me everything you know.”
—-
Bovver sat in his armchair and rubbed his eyes. It had gone lunch but he’d only been up for ten minutes, head aching from the beers last night. Despite his eagerness to go ahead with torching Max’s garage, Pete had managed to dissuade him. He was meeting with Lara today and Bov had relented, for the mere fact that no doubt the talk would go terribly. Pete would be in a worse mood when he saw the boys later and any plans Bovver had up his sleeve would go ahead. So last night, he and the boys had drank - the ones without families to go home to, anyway - and laughed and played pool and did their best to reassure themselves they were doing the right thing.
The GSE wouldn’t get humiliated, or shat on, not under Bov’s charge at least. He’d rather die than see that happen. And one thing was for sure. He’d be taking Dermot fucking Sullivan with him.
It wasn’t a threat Bov spat without thought. In fact, he’d been pondering on this for quite a while. He hadn’t killed Tommy because he’d wanted to, but because he’d had to. To save Pete. And that had taken Bov a long time to come to turns with, even if he hadn’t regretted it. But this was different. He wanted to kill Dermot. He didn’t have to, but he wanted to, and it was a bloodlust Bovver had been trying to simmer for a while. But it was slowly reaching boiling point and Bov knew, sometime in the future, he would have to act. Dermot had been a thorn in his side for too long and it was time he was plucked free.
He hadn’t been expecting the knock on the door. Bobby Moore, who’d been laying at his feet, suddenly burst up and ran, barking, into the hall; he hadn’t been so fucking alert when Jock and Dermot had come barging in, but in his defence, the dog had been outside at the time. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he muttered as he got to his feet; the dog’s barks were ringing in time with his throbbing hangover. “Shut up!” He snapped at Bobby, who was scratching frantically at the door, tail wagging. Who the fuck was it? Must be one of the boys, given his reaction. Grabbing his collar, he yanked Bobby back, then opened the door a crack - and the dog shot out as soon as the gap was revealed, leaving Bov cursing.
But as the door swung open and he saw exactly who Bobby was greeting with vigorous tongue licks, his eyes widened in shock. Nora. She was smiling, pinned against the wall by the huge dog, and it took a moment for Bovver to react. “Bobby! Get the fuck down.” Finally, the idiot dog seemed to catch his tone and dropped back to all fours with a soft whine. Bov hunched himself in the doorway, his eyes trailing Nora’s figure. Well, now this was a surprise. Her smile faded as her eyes roamed his face and he knew she could see the damage Dermot had laid to him. The swelling of his eye had only just gone down enough for him to see properly, and the bruises had faded to grotesque yellow and grey marks. It was about time she saw what that psychopath was capable of; did she really think he was so far removed from his brother? They were the all the fucking same.
Nora met his eye and managed a small smile, one he didn’t return. What was she doing here? For some reason, he couldn’t find the words to ask her. His throat had gone entirely dry. How long had it been since she’d stepped foot here? Four years. The last time she’d been here was a painful memory Bovver had been trying to blot out for so long, and it felt cruel that she was stood here again. A glimpse into what could have been.
He watched as she looked down, scratching Bobby’s head with her cast hand, and the dog wagged his tail in return, but knew better than to try jumping up again. The silence was almost painful and it was a relief when she finally spoke. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”
Unable to keep the disbelief off his face, Bov gave her another mistrustful once-over. Was this another trick? Were one of the Sullivans lying in wait somewhere, waiting for him to drop his guard? He looked up and down the landing but there was nobody but Nora. Looking back at her, he gave a hard deliberate sniff. “If we must.” He whistled for Bobby, who shot back into the flat, then stepped aside to let Nora in. He peered out the door once more, just in case, before shutting it and putting the bolt across. Then, he turned the key in the door and peered through the peephole. He turned back to find Nora staring at him and he knew what she must have been thinking. Paranoid. He scowled at her. “Your precious fuckin’ ex came in here and nearly beat me to death, so forgive me for bein’ precautious.”
He moved past her into the small kitchen, yanking open the small fridge that sat beneath the counter, which was empty other than a pack of beers and a tub of butter. Grabbing a can, he kicked the door shut and cracked it open. He turned back to face her and took a drink. “... So? What is it you wanted to say?” He swiped a tongue over his bottom lip, leaning back against the counter and gesturing to her with his beer can. “Wait. Let me guess. You want me to stop whatever it is I’m doing and leave youse all alone? No? You want me to leave you and that ginger cunt out of it? Or is it about Dermot?” Bov smirked and knocked back more of his beer. “You know he’s fucking Lara, right?”
—-
Bruce yawned, rubbed his eyes, then picked up his coffee and took a sip of the steaming liquid. He’d finished the graveyard shift an hour ago, but Brian had called in one last favour, one quick errand, before he could head home. Bruce had been too tired to protest, to insist that he had a number of scumbags on his payroll who could run a quick errand, but here he was. Sat in an unmarked police car, desperate for slumber. Glancing at the address Brian had text him, Bruce looked up again. He’d deliberately parked out of sight at the end of the street, but his eyes were fixed to the house as he waited. Sipped his coffee. Waited some more. Tried not to fall asleep. Thought about Daisy and the money. Sipped more coffee.
Finally, the door opened and a young man came out. He winked back at a young woman, who was stood in a dressing gown in the doorway and she smiled in return. The man headed down the street, towards Bruce, a bag hunched on his shoulder. Bruce watched him pass, eyes on the rear view mirror as he rounded the corner and headed away from him. Brian let him get a few paces before starting the engine, carefully pulling out of the side road, and he just happened to glance up the street the young man had left ... to see none other than the shady thug Luke Winters head towards the same house.
He wasn’t sure if that was a concern or not. Brian was probably pulling strings everywhere; give everyone one quick errand and the machine keeps working smoothly. Luke disappeared into the house, aided by the woman, and Bruce stored this nugget of information in his head and carried on cruising down the street. He wasn’t sure why but his gut told him he might need it later. George, the young man he’d been instructed to pick up, was crossing the main road when Bruce reached him. A quick blare of the siren, a flash of blue lights in the grill of his black Volvo... George slowed to a stop and Bruce pulled up and wound down the window.
“Hop in, son.” George hesitated and Bruce half-expected him to bolt. “Don’t make me chase you. I don’t have the fucking energy.” He watched George come around the other side, climbing into the passenger seat and shoving the bag at his feet. As he pulled on his seatbelt, Bruce pulled away. They sat in silence, George looking rather uncomfortable; he kept glancing repeatedly at Bruce, who kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead. It was bad enough he was now nothing but a fucking errand boy for some corrupt copper, let alone escorting criminals around the city. It went against every moral he had. This wasn’t why he’d joined the force, but all it took was one thought of his daughter to remind him why he was doing this.
Finally, George spoke up, asking where they were going, and Bruce gave him a glance. “The Station. Boss wants to see you. Don’t ask me about what because I don’t know.” He scowled a little and took a right turn, then muttered beneath his breath. “I just take the fucking orders, I don’t give them.” Reaching the Met Police HQ, Bruce pulled up inside the underground car park and cut the engine. Getting out, he let George follow as he made his way up the stairs and into the building. The place was bustling, as always, a few curious looks sent his way as to why he was still here. Bruce ignored them all and led George all the way to the lifts. He gestured for George to go ahead, then stepped in after and jabbed the button for the fourth floor.
He wondered what George was thinking. He seemed tense, despite trying not to look it. Bruce checked his watch. He just wanted to go home. The lift doors pinged open and Bruce led him to Brian’s office, Superintendent Shaw in gold lettering on a plaque on the door. He knocked and Brian called them in. Opening the door, Bruce nodded at his superior. “I’ve brought that gentleman you wanted to see, Sir.”
“Perfect.” Brian stood from behind his desk. “Get yourself off. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce nodded, glancing at George before he left and headed for the lift. Brian told George to shut the door and take a seat, and when he had, he pulled out a cigar and held it between his lips. He offered the box to George. “A new partnership calls for celebration, no? I apologise about the pick up. It’s easier this way.” Lighting his cigar, Bruce leaned back in his chair and let the thick, pungent smile cloud. “George Turner. I knew the name rang a bell somewhere. Mark Turner was your old man, right? I’d picked him up a few times in the past, he used to go around with that firm, didn’t he? What was it now?”
His brow creased in thought before he grinned. “The NTO. That’s it. Fuck, I miss the 80s, when fucking football hooligans were my only worries. Now it’s all knives and guns and drug shipments. Not to mention the human trafficking...” He looked back at George, tilting his head. “Wasn’t he murdered? Your dad? Quick way to go though. Bullet in the heard. Can you imagine? One minute you’re alive and the next... gone. Just like that. Crazy.”
—-
The house was silent. After Dermot had left, Lara had sank onto the bottom step in the hallway and sobbed. Gut-wrenching sobs which shook her body and made her throat and eyes ache. Eventually, she pulled herself together enough to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen, and she stood in the window, staring but not seeing, as she drank it. What had she done? What was she doing to herself? In the space of forty-eight hours, Lara had single-handedly destroyed every aspect of her life and now she didn’t even know how she felt. Lost? Confused? Numb.
Setting the glass down on the side, Lara tried to pull herself together. If her mum was here now, she’d tell her to stop moping. She’d tell her to be strong. This is your decision and something you have to stand by, no matter how hard. Was it Sarah’s voice she heard, or merely her own conscious, trying to ease her guilt? Wandering back into the hall, not exactly sure what she was planning on doing with herself, something caught her eye. The photo-frame of her and Pete. She was sure she’d left it face down, but there it was. Pete’s smiling face, crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, an arm around a beaming and radiant Lara.
Had she left it like that? Reaching down, she picked the photo-frame up and stared at the picture. It felt like it had been taken a lifetime ago, when in fact it had only been a few years. Why hadn’t she fought harder? Why hadn’t Pete? He’d so readily accepted her words and he hadn’t even tried to fight for her. Would she wanted him to? She wasn’t sure, yet she wasn’t sure why she might have wanted that either. She feared her love for Pete had never been as strong as she’d imagined and she hated herself for not seeing it sooner. For allowing him to get so entangled in her life. They’d brought children into this world, they’d raised them together.
And now what was it? No longer a family, now torn and adrift. And as hard as it was to admit, Lara was glad he wasn’t fighting. Even if it made her a horrible person. It was better for both of them this way. Setting down the picture, Lara was about to splash her face with some water when there was a knock at the door. Her heart leapt, gaze snapping towards the front door; was it Pete? The thought of seeing her daughter again - it felt like a lifetime since she’d held Kimmy - was enough to propel her to the door and she yanked it open, her desperate look turning to utter confusion when she saw Ronan on her doorstep.
Her brain didn’t process properly for a moment as she stared at him. “Yes?”
“You alone?” There was a smile on his face, a look in his eye, which told her that he knew she was. Her stomach tensed and she straightened a little, trying to look a little bigger and more threatening. Which was laughable compared to the man standing opposite her. She’d always known Max was a scary man who provoked a lot of fear in a lot of people, but there was always something about Ronan that had terrified her more. Whether it was his false hand or the old scars or the way he looked at her... Lara felt goose bumps rise as ice filled her veins. “Can I come in?”
“Do I have a choice?” She stepped aside, fighting the urge to glance at the clock; Pete would be here soon. What would he think if Ronan was still here when he arrived? He wouldn’t deem it safe to leave Kimmy here and frankly, she wouldn’t blame him. “Let me guess; Max wants you to keep an eye on me? How predictable.” Slamming the door shut behind him, she stalked off into the kitchen and went to wash her glass. “Well, you’ve wasted your trip. I’m busy. I’ve got Pete coming around so you can report that back to Max and fuck off.”
She heard Ronan’s low chuckle and turned to face him. He was a lot closer than she’d expected and she found herself forced back against the counter, his hands either side of her. Lifting the prosthetic hand, he brushed some hair from her face and Lara pulled away, lip curling in disgust. “Don’t touch me. I assume this isn’t what Max had in mind when he told you to come around here.” She glared hard at him, eyes never leaving his face until he pulled away. “I meant what I said. Pete’s on his way. You need to leave.”
She pushed past him as Ronan made some comment about leaving when he was ready, and she shook her head and made her way for the stairs. “I need to get ready.” She stood on the bottom step and glared at him again, turning to him as he approached. “Do I have your permission? Anyway, where’s your notebook? Shouldn’t you be writing this all down?” She mimicked writing on her hand. “12.08. Lara went to get dressed. I waited outside, scratching my arse.”
He grabbed her chin and Lara stared at him, forcing herself not to flinch away. Wasn’t this what she was used to? Men, men like Max, believing they had the right to put their hands on her? To intimate her?She was done with it, and she wasn’t sure where this inner fire was coming from, but she slammed Ronan in the chest with two hands and forced him back. “Don’t fucking touch me. Make yourself useful and find a children’s movie on TV. Then, leave.” Turning, she stormed upstairs and made sure she slammed her bedroom door loudly. She was going to fucking kill Max. It was obvious what he was doing and that made her angrier than the fact that arsehole was downstairs. Even now he believed he could control her. Even now when she’d told him to his face that she was in love with someone else? Did he think having Ronan here would change that?
Ronan was still downstairs when she returned, in a loose grey jumper and jeans, and she made no attempt to hide what she thought about that. “If you think you’re staying, you’ve got another thing coming.” He was sat at the kitchen table, idly flicking through that morning’s newspaper; Charlotte’s funeral had made front page for the sheer number of attendees alone. Ronan shut the paper and she saw Charlotte’s face in a photo above the coffin. Lara quickly looked back at Ronan. “Why are you still here? What do you want exactly?”
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Post by katherinesullivan on Jul 21, 2023 18:30:50 GMT -5
Nora had never been of the opinion she was a good person, yet certainly not a bad person, but with recent events unfurling she was starting to think she was actually quite a vile person indeed. Sometimes it took a lot to see the repercussions you had made, rippling towards you like icy waves, ready to take you under if you couldn’t stick to the surface and Nora could barely see the surface some days. It was only with Jock besides her she felt she could really breathe.
The death of Charlotte still made her skin crawl and within the recollection of her final hours, Nora relived all the other selfish and foolish decisions she had made over the years, and one of them had of course been Bovver. Dermot had made sense; their relationship had functioned well — almost thrived for a while but Bovver… it had been a relationship of convenience and she wondered if he knew that now. Knew she had needed an out and he had been the begging answer.
It wasn’t to say she hadn’t appreciated him, but loved him? Loved him like Dermot, like… Jock. She had loved the fleeting safety, the chance to leapfrog from one failing relationship to a momentarily sturdy one. Loved how much he had adored her, lapping up every inch of her in a way Malachi hadn't, when Bovver had assured himself romance and women were not anything of interest until she’d devoured his heart whole. Nora had given him a need for something he had long stifled through the years and she felt wrong for that. Emily should’ve been the one to guide him but she’d dropped him just as heavily.
When Bovver had admitted to killing Tommy Hatcher, something about it settled like acid in her stomach and she couldn’t accept it. Didn’t… want to accept it; had seen it as an excuse to leave. How many times, however, had Dermot done this to Bovver? Battered him to within an inch of his life. To Nick? To Malachi… she had let it go, defending him because it was easy. And although Jock had been the one driving the car that night Malachi met his end, he had never attacked anyone with purposeful malice and she respected him for that. Knew he was the right one. Her one.
Looking at the black and blue rippling across Bovvers face, Nora knew his features were also marled with sleep and anger beneath. His lip curling so consistently into a sneer nowadays that a faint line has arisen above his mouth. His eyes were darker, no longer that playful sparkle that Pete could ignite in him during a match or a round of pool. His hair was dirty and tousled, the only decent feature of him was the strength in his arms which he’d obviously been working on before the injuries. Preparing himself physically for… for what? For a war? Perhaps he wasn’t far off.
‘I think we need to talk, don’t you?’
Her words came out stronger than she felt but the disgusted look he flashed her made her stomach flip. He hated her; it was warranted.
‘If we must.’
What had she been thinking? She wanted to be helpful. She didn’t want to waste her time, when Charlotte certainly hadn’t been wasting hers. What did she think she was going to manage coming here, however, she didn’t know.
As Nora stepped into the room, Bovver came in close behind her and locked the door abruptly, making her back stiffen. He checked the door was locked and glanced down the peephole and for a brief moment she felt uncertain of what was going to happen. He had never laid a finger on her; but laid many on her behalf on other men. Swallowing, she glanced around at the disarray of furniture, beer cans and dirty clothes and found herself looking at her shoes instead. Despite it all she could still smell his aftershave and it made her sad.
Tilting her head to look at him she caught his gaze and he looked offended. Was her pity really that evident in their fleeting glance? Her concern at his paranoia? Or was it merely rational caution, given the battered ribs, the blackened eye, their history…
’Your precious fuckin’ ex came in here and nearly beat me to death, so forgive me for bein’ precautious.’
His words were like small blades and Nora struggled not to flinch at them. He had all right to be bitter and angry and she wasn’t going to argue it. Did he think she was here as another warning? With him? For Dermot? The last time she had seen Bovver was at the funeral and she wondered what he’d said. Why he hadn’t spoken to her. If he regretted it.
Words failed to find her lips and she just mumbled something incoherent in acceptance. Bovver wasn’t interested anyway as he moved into the kitchen, grabbed a beer. She had almost forgotten standing in the same room, a plate of Chinese in one hand and a beer in the other; carefree. It had been easy but it had also been naive. There had never been any chance for them to grow; they had lived and fucked like teenagers, it had been fun for a second. But everyone had to grow up in the end.
‘So?’ He was looking at her expectantly and Nora hoped the sharpness of his tone would frighten words to her mouth but they didn’t. ‘What is it you wanted to say?’
Sorry, she thought of saying briefly but then knew apologies would be nothing short of patronising right now. Sorry for what exactly? Everything.
‘Wait. Let me guess. You want me to stop whatever it is I’m doing and leave youse all alone? No? You want me to leave you and that ginger cunt out of it? Or is it about Dermot?’
Nora gave a small sigh at the mention of Dermot and hated how she was here to somehow defend him. Did he even deserve it? Did she? And why was she protecting him? Because of Jock. Because family was family and family always came first to the man she wanted to make her own. ‘I’m not here to defend what he did.’ Nora managed finally but Bovver was looking at her as if he knew a dark secret and she closed her mouth.
‘You know he’s fuckin’ Lara, right?’
Somehow it sounded worse when someone else said it. Resurfaced the betrayal, the truth. Nora couldn’t help but flinch and hated that she felt unruly upset, because she had no right to. Her actions at the house had been hypocritical, selfish; for someone who had broken so many rules and hearts, it still had been overwhelmingly crushing to discover someone else had been doing the same. That she wasn’t the only one who could lie.
‘I do now.’ Nora nodded after a while. ‘Yeah. They told me not that long ago. So I hit her.’
Bovver had obviously known before her, that was what he’d wanted to tell Dermot no doubt. Finally having something to hold over his head. He was looking at her in a disapproving way, scoffing at the thickness of hypocrisy that dripped from her features.
‘I’m not here to defend myself either. You can think whatever you want.’
When he told her that she wasn’t the Nora he knew for hitting her friend, she felt her jaw clench but tried to maintain herself. What did he know? Jock needed her help but she still felt defensive. Her best friend Bovver reiterated and she scowled.
‘People change.’
‘That they do.’ Bovver agreed sourly as he downed some more beer and Nora finally glanced away. He was standoffish and she was unsure what to do.
Pacing the room, Nora moved over to the window and cracked it open. Bobby wandered beside her and she scratched his head with a small sigh, feeling Bovvers eyes on the back of her head. He watched her with such contempt she so rightly deserved but had never imagined. How had they all become so bitterly entwined?
‘You’re at war with the wrong person.’ Nora said as the silence overwhelmed them. ‘Dermot isn’t the problem.’
Bovver defended he was at war with the right person ‘thank you very fuckin’ much’ but Nora shook her head and turned to face him.
‘Max has orchestrated this all so well, he’s got us fighting each other for him, don’t you see?’
‘Max Sullivan isn’t the one who broke down my door and tried to fuckin’ kill me —‘
‘Max made Dermot do it!’
‘I thought you weren’t ‘ere to defend ‘im?’
She hadn't thought she was…
Bovver scoffed, rolling his eyes at the mere idea Dermot was a naive little puppet and took another swig of beer. He then asked if Max made Nora do all the things she had done and wondered where her lack of accountability had suddenly come from.
‘Max Sullivan needs to be stopped, someone needs to end this and I thought you —‘
‘Would do the dirty work for you, Princess?’ Bovver was scowling as she took a step towards him but he didn’t back away. ‘I’ve got my own agenda.’
‘I thought you would understand.’ Nora finished. ‘I thought you could see it. Always saw it.’
He murmured something about only seeing a little girl defending her boyfriend and Nora knew he was right. She nodded. ‘I am here for Jock.’ She agreed, ignoring the way his eyes blackened and rolled. ‘But that doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to be done.’ Reaching out she went to touch a cut on his lip that had pulled open during their talk but he pushed her hand away.
‘I need you to leave Dermot and Jock out of it —‘
Bovver swore in disbelief and so Nora took another step forward.
‘Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do —‘ he snapped
‘We need to stop this another way.’
Bovver argued and she struggled to touch his arm.
‘Please, listen to me —‘
Bovver was angry, snapping that he’d known all along what she was really here for. Not that she wanted to see if he was okay. Not that she wanted to apologise.
‘Bovver. This is bigger than us —‘
He shrugged her off and Nora felt exasperated.
‘Charlotte didn’t die for nothing —‘ she started.
‘No, from what I heard she died because of you!’ Bovver spat and both knew he hadn’t meant what he said, but all the same Nora recoiled.
It was true, she knew, as Bovver tried to backtrack. Looking down at the cast on her wrist she knew she was lucky; knew she was weak. The sleeves on Jock’s shirt suddenly felt big and engulfing as she pulled them over her hands, desperate for his protective touch. A ringing in her ears deafened her as she moved to sit on the edge of the sofa. Sending her distraught, Bobby nuzzled her knee but she couldn’t even bring herself to stroke him.
‘I know.’ Nora said quietly, looking up to meet his gaze. Bovver looked somber but she shook her head. ‘I don’t want your pity.’
He wasn’t offering it, he said.
‘I’ve never thought anyone else was to blame but me. I’d say I wish it was me but I don’t. I don’t want to die. I’m not brave. I’m not you. And I don’t want anyone else to die either, except Max.’ Chewing her lip she let a small sigh escape. It was callous but true. ‘I know you’re angry and I know some of it is because of me. You’re just trying to protect your friends, your family. I’m angry. At Dermot and Lara. At myself. I thought they were my family… But this hatred isn’t doing anything but destroying ourselves. We’re just setting ourselves on fire. I caused this mess by letting it engulf me, so I want to fix it and I can’t do it by myself. You can’t do it all by yourself.’
It was hard to tell someone you had broken that trust was needed; team work was necessary. So much betrayal in the past and they all had to hope it wouldn’t repeat itself. Nora didn’t know if she could trust him, just like Bovver didn’t know if any of this was real. That was the risk; that was life.
‘The one difference between us and Max is we’re not alone. We don’t have to be. And telling him about Dermot and Lara isn’t going to make things better for you. It’s only going to hurt Pete. It’s going to make things more personal than they already are, do you understand?’
Was that even possible?
‘Please don’t tell Max.’ Nora found herself pleading in response to the silence. Bovver wasn’t speaking and she knew he didn’t like what she had to say. ‘I… I genuinely think he loves her. Dermot… and Lara….’ Swallowing the words like grit, Nora knew it was true. He wouldn’t risk everything for nothing; he had never risked everything for her. ‘I’m just going to leave.’ Nora pulled herself up from the sofa and headed for the door. ‘I want to say I’m sorry and I know it doesn’t carry any weight right now. But, just so you know… I am.’
As she hesitated in the doorway, she glanced at Bovver who seemed unsure what to do. He looked frail for a fleeting moment and it made her ache. ‘You’re one of the good guys, you know?’ Her voice was gentle, sincere in the silence around them and she swallowed heavily. ‘Pete didn’t deserve what Lara did. It was shit. And so was what we all did to you. What… I did to you. I don’t trust Dermot, okay? He’s volatile and scared and he’s stuck protecting someone he shouldn’t, but I trust Jock. More than anything. So, can you trust me again?’
Chewing her lip she glanced down at her phone to see Jock’s name. ‘What are you guys planning and how can we help?’
‘You alone?’
Of course she was. Ronan couldn’t help but smirk as Lara opened the door, the sweet scent of her perfume filling his senses; he could detect her anywhere. No matter what else she thought had changed over the years, Lara still wore the same perfume which came in the same petite, amber bottle. Many a time when she and Max had been out the house, he’d enter and rub it on his wrists or spray it on one of her silk dresses and inhale. Intoxicating then and now.
‘Can I come in?’
Why was he asking? He knew he could come in, he just wanted to hear her invite him.
‘Do I have a choice?’
Close enough. Ronan tilted his head to the side as Lara made room for him to enter. Defense was already crinkling her beautiful features and it was hard not to laugh at her determination to appear fearless. She was threatened; he was excited at the prospect. There was something so empowering about intimidating a woman, especially one like Lara; the kind that fought, making a somewhat game of it all.
Ronan had watched her grow from a timid girl to a woman, and although her arrogance somewhat irritated him, the rewards from persevering intrigued him. Max had never spent so much time and energy devoted solely to one single person, so he knew there was something special about her. Knew it would be all the more satisfying to taste the forbidden fruit after all these years.
'Let me guess, Max wants you to keep an eye on how? How predictable.'
The door slammed behind them and Ronan appreciated their brief moment of closeness in silence, before Lara stormed off in the other direction. It was apparent she didn't want to be too close to him and he wondered if it was all out of spite or perhaps lack of self control. From the stories he had heard, Ronan knew Lara hadn't been playing happy families for a long time and no doubt she had wandered down some fortunates path; Charlie had been born and he hadn't been from their marriage bed, had he?
'Well, you've wasted your trip. I'm busy.'
With who, Ronan wondered as he made his way down the hallway. Letting his finger touch the edge of the table he'd readjusted the photo frame on not long ago. He watched the light drift in over the sink, washing Lara in an ethereal glow. Thoughts of coming home to a dinner and then bending her over the sink came to mind.
'I've got Pete coming around so you can report that back to Max and fuck off.'
Ronan chuckled at her audacity, stepping behind her in an instant, so when she turned their faces were close. So close he could feel the release of air at her shock, albeit she tried to hide this behind narrowed eyes. Backing her against the counter he let his hand settle either side of her, examining her features, her breathing; the way her chest rose and fell in an unnaturally restricted way. He'd startled her like a small starling, panicked and unsure.
'You really need to watch how you speak, a pretty little thing like you, it makes you almost ugly.' lifting his prosthetic hand, Ronan brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, watching her figure become rigid with contempt. '...No.' he shook his head slowly as she shrugged him off. 'You could never be ugly, could you?' his eyes were roaming her desperately, seeing nothing but perfection.
'Don't touch me.' she seethed and Ronan let his eyes land on hers, defying her steely gaze. He still had her boxed in, jaw clenched. He could snap her like a twig if he'd wanted to. 'I assume this isn't what Max had in mind when he told you to come round here.' she glared at him and for a moment he didn't move. A reminder she saw him as nothing more than a little guard dog, when really he was something greater than them all. Someone with so much more control and depth.
Pulling back, Ronan ran a hand over his face with a sigh.
'I meant what I said. Pete's on his way. You need to leave.'
'On his way home, is he?' Ronan asked with a tilt of his head. 'I mean, this is his house isn't it, so why does it need announcing? Surely he won’t mind if you have a visitor.’ A brief pause. ‘Surely he’s used to your male visitors, anyway… from what I hear.’
Lara pushed past him, not hearing or not caring for his crude remark. ‘I’ll leave when I’m ready.’ He added, following her leisurely as she hesitated by the stairs. She wanted to act wild and strong but had stopped for his approvsl.
‘I need to get ready.’
‘Don't make an effort just because I’m here.’ He replied with a small smirk.
‘Do I have your permission?’
Ronan wanted so bad to ask her to call him ‘Sir’, demand she speak to him with some authority before he’d let her leave. His thoughts of the scenario dissipated as she stated to mimic him, holding an invisible notebook and jotting in a journal. The disdain and disrespect was no longer appealing and more appalling.
‘… I waited outside, scratching my arse.’
Lunging forward, he gripped her chin hard, pulling her closer to him as further sarcastic remarks threatened to surface. She was foolish; Max obviously had been light on her recently and it only reconfirmed his thoughts that Sullivan was going soft. Malleable and desperate for affection he’d been chasing all these years; another king pathetically defeated by a pair of breasts and soft lips.
‘What did I say about that pretty mouth of yours?’ Ronan seethed, both shocked and enticed as Lara shoved him hard in the chest, knocking him off course for a moment. He’d expected the verbal insults, but the physical movement had been an unexpected delight.
‘Don’t fucking touch me.’ She hissed and he released her without hesitation, not wanting to make the situation volatile before it had to be. He had a plan to stick to, no matter how much he wanted to lay his hands all over her for those remarks.
Watching her leave upstairs, Ronan paused for a moment even after her bedroom door slammed and just stared at the space where she had once been. There must be more reason to her sudden confidence, and he wondered if she had a new, bigger protector in her life. But who? Who was the person making Lara suddenly feel invincible and why was it not Max Sullivan? Chewing his lip, he turned away and headed into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and then turned to the fruit bowl, picking up a fist full of grapes.
He could hear Lara upstairs and enjoyed the sounds of her feet pattering across the floor, the anger she was desperate to showcase with each purposely heavy bang. Ronan thought about all the other times she’d stormed upstairs, slammed a door and pulled a lock across, her body flat against the door, heart hammering in fear. She was different now and so was he. If she wanted to play, he wouldn’t deny her. There was nowhere else for him to be today.
Pulling up a kitchen chair, Ronan grabbed the daily newspaper and flicked through a few pages before he found something worth reading. They never put anything good in here anymore, not really; too soft and polite to upset the British public with the truth. Nothing but celebrity scandal and weight loss bollocks, so it was surprising to see Charlottes murder on the front. Skimming past some basic robberies and the weeks weather, he found himself humouring his horoscope when Lara reappeared looking just as disinterested as before.
‘If you think you’re staying, you’ve got another thing coming.’
Slowly putting the paper down, Ronan raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t sugar coat your hatred for me, will you, little bird?’ He caught her reaction to the image on the front and wondered if she’d even known her, or merely felt somehow responsible for being a person of the same gender.
‘Why are you still here?’ She asked and Ronan shrugged. ‘What do you want, exactly?’
‘That’s a broad question.’ He smiled slowly. ‘What… do I want….’ musing he threw a grape into his mouth. What didn’t he want from her?
Her lips on his neck? Her back arched against that wall. His hands around her throat...
‘I’m just doing my job.’ He replied cooly. ‘Making sure you’re safe. And there’s no harm in meeting the husband, is there?’ Glancing down at her bare left hand he wondered if she’d taken the ring off long before the issues arose. Like when she saw Max, or when she realised she’d made a huge mistake. ‘Or is it ex husband?’
Ronan wasn't one to judge a failed marriage, because he had never managed to maintain one. He never pretended too, either. Never acted as though it was simple, because of all the things in the world -- birth, death, famine, suffering -- marriage was the most destructive of all. It held with it the possibility of complete growth or complete downfall, and ninety-nine person of the population fell for the weaker option. Lara included.
He listened as Lara reacted ferociously to his words and thought back to a simpler time; when she was a silenced, non-existent memory. After she'd left for the first time, when Max was fun. He'd gotten back his penchant for violence and laughter and alcohol and freedom. No longer caged by the notion his girlfriend needed continuous watching. The women he fucked were easy and fresh and Ronan got to share in the spoils. A specific night and he was doing just that, sat on the sofa in Max's living room with a woman either side of him and a glass of whiskey in one hand.
The redhead next to him got up, stroked his thigh and sauntered after Max, but when her friend went to do the same, Ronan gripped her wrist.
'Where do you think you're going?' he asked with a raised eyebrow as she threw a fleeting glance to her friends retreating back. Less tattoos littered his features and he had all his limbs; for all purposes he was a reasonably attractive man, but he would never rival Max Sullivan and that mere fact would always make his teeth grate.
The woman settled back down, turned to him and in that swift movement her silky skirt road up that extra inch of thigh, showcasing the smooth panties beneath. They were sisters, so they'd said in the club; a lie to seem more appealing, it didn't matter, they'd still caught their eye. They did a line of coke in the bathroom, chased by a course of vodka and a taxi to the penthouse. More of the white substance greeted them on the glass table, smooth and enticing like freshly fallen snow the women lapped it up with ease. Ronan drank more and more, the drugs and liquor making his veins feel like fire.
In the next room, above the thumping of the music, Ronan could hear the rhythmic pounding of Max and the redhead and decided he wanted some fun of his own. He'd been left with the more timid of the two, although the drugs were making her loose and she looked at him pleadingly for more.
'Not everything in this world is free, darling.' his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a toned torso and her hands snaked down his chest to settle on the thick metal of his belt buckle.
As the girl, no more than nineteen, took his hardened member against her soft lips, Ronan threw his head back and imagined her. Dark hair, doe eyes and slender legs; Lara flashing him the same innocent expression she always did, pretending she wasn't Sullivan's dirty whore. Ronan thought about her a lot, too; when he was with women and even when he was alone, his hand slipping down his member as a piercing shower cascaded over him. He lived in the past, he knew, but it got him to cum in minutes.
Back in reality he settled his gaze back on her bitter features and felt a flutter of irritation. She had never given him the chance, writing him off the second Max had once day brought him home. They could be good together, why was she denying it?
When he'd heard how Max had tried to kill her, Ronan had felt fury rise through him like molten lead. Defensiveness or envy, he hadn't been sure. Looking at her now he let his eyes roam the scar still evident on her slender neck and believed it was both. The thought of digging a jagged blade into that supple flesh of hers made his dick ache. Subconsciously he scratched his own throat and then nodded his head.
'I don't agree with that.' he said shortly, albeit only partly true. 'So it's my job to protect you now.'
Lara asked who it was she needed protection from -- angrily stating she wouldn't need protecting if neither of them were in her life. Ronan chewed his lip, knowing full well none of this made sense. It was the things you did to climb the ladder, to earn loyalty; being paid to protect a woman from the man whom she needed protecting from? A load of bollocks. Lacing his fingers he glanced at the clock behind her and wondered what time her husband was going to be home.
'Your old man?' Ronan asked with a raised eyebrow after a while and he saw something flicker across Lara's features, confirming that indeed even her precious spouse had held no hesitation in harming her. She was so delicate, it was like she practically begged it. 'In this world we all just do what we have to survive, and for me, it's being here. If you don't like that, well...' he gave a low chuckle. 'It's tough shit, to be honest.'
Right on time, a heavy hand knocked on the front door and both glanced down the hallway as if gazing into an abyss. They could see a pair of broad shoulders behind the frosted glass and a thrill of excitement coursed through him. Ronan knew Pete wouldn't want to meet him, but he couldn't wait to exchange blows with the man who had been foolish enough to let his beauty go.
'Shall you get that, or shall I?' he asked.
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Post by MrsCarterRivera on Jan 4, 2024 7:07:41 GMT -5
Why had Nora come here? Her physical presence alone was enough to cause Bov pain. Not that he would ever admit it. Not to her. Not to Pete. Not even to himself. But he was still aware of the pain on a cellular level, a subconscious one. It was there, lingering and festering; a wound that had been infected and raw for years. Whether it would ever heal, Bov had no idea. But he did know that whenever he was around Nora, whenever he looked into her face... he felt that wound as if it had been made yesterday. At her feet, Bobby whined and pawed at her shoe, but her gaze never left Bov's face; pale, anxious and lined, she looked... older. More severe. The cast on her wrist didn't help matters.
Still, he knew why she was here. Sensed it; the underlying truth behind the pitying expression. Yet if she thought that he'd make this easy for her, she was wrong. He wanted to hear the words from her own mouth, wanted her to feel the pain when she spoke them. Nora was nothing but a catalyst, primed to explode at the worst-possible moment. It was a shame Bov had been clinging on with two hands when it all went to shit. Emily had been a good-enough distraction, but nothing more. His future had disintegrated as soon as Nora had left that letter and walked out of his life. He lifted his beer and took a long pull without taking his eyes off her.
"I'm not here to defend what he did."
Surprising. Bov didn't let that show on his face though. His scowl deepened, the words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. "You know he's fuckin' Lara, right?" It was a low blow, even for him. And he knew in an instant, as soon as she flinched and the agony shot across her features, that he was wrong to have spat those words. He didn't try to take them back though. Was there really any point now? The rift between them had turned into a canyon and there was no fixing the distance. Not now. Too much shit had passed, too much had happened to be forgiven.
"I do now. Yeah. They told me not that long ago. So I hit her."
He hadn't quite been expecting that. Nora had hit Lara? Surely he'd misheard? The two women were practically sisters. But, there was something else in Nora's eyes, a hidden emotion he struggled to identify. Was she ashamed? Or just hurt that everything had come full circle? That every pain she'd inflicted on others had now been inflicted on herself? Karma was a bitch after all.
"I'm not here to defend myself either. You can think whatever you want."
"You're not the Nora I used to know," he muttered quietly after a moment, brows puckered. Then he scoffed and shook his head. Did she really think she was the victim here? "You would never 'ave hit your friend. Not before... Your best friend," he added, just in case it wasn't clear enough. Lara and Nora were a force to be reckoned with together, but there seemed to be nothing left now but shrapnel. The bomb had detonated and it hasn't cared what it destroyed in the process. It was almost a relief. For the first time in a long time, the playing field was levelled. Max Sullivan's perfect little family were happy enough to tear each other apart. All Bov had to do was clean up the mess. Slit the throats of those still gasping for life at the end of the battle. Easy.
Nora scowled back at him. "People change."
"That they do," Bov agreed, the words sour on his lips. He gave Nora another once over before taking another swag from his can. She finally looked away, moving slowly to the window and cracking it open; he felt the early autumn breeze on his face and eared the stagnant air in moments. Bobby whined again, padding after her with a slow wag of his tail. Bov watched as she leaned down to scratch the top of his head. Neither spoke for a few long minutes, as the noise of the traffic outside filtered in with the wind in the trees and the birdsong.
For the briefest of moments, Bovver was taken back. Right back. To one of the first times Nora had been in his flat. They'd drank shandy and picked at a Chinese, and afterwards, Nora had perched herself in this very window, glass in hand, watching the sun disappear over the towering block of flats opposite. The light had cast shades of red and pink across her features and she'd looked so beautiful, so ethereal, that Bov had vowed then to never let her go. Real love had been rare in his world and to have found a diamond so stunning, a woman so full of love and kindness and goodness... It had taken his breath away.
And then Nora opened her mouth and the illusion was shattered. "You're at war with the wrong person. Dermot isn't the problem."
He glared at her. "Erm, I'm at war with the right person, thank you very fuckin' much." Had she missed the fact that Dermot had burst in here and beaten the fuck out of him? But she shook her head, straightening as she turned to face him.
"Max has orchestrated this so well, he's got us fighting each other for him, don't you see?"
"Max Sullivan isn't the one who broke down my door and tried to fuckin' kill me-"
"Max made Dermot do it!"
Bovver's whole face twisted in disgust. "I thought you weren't 'ere to defend 'im?" Her precious fucking Dermot. It was enough to make him sick. As if he was fucking innocent in any of this! Bov scoffed at her, rolling his eyes to show her exactly what he thought about that. He knocked back the luke-warm end of his beer, letting the tense silence stretch a little longer. "What about you, eh? Did Max make you do everything you've done as well?" His lip curled into a familiar sneer. "I wonder where this sudden.... lack of accountability has come from? Huh? You ain't so innocent yourself, Nora."
She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "Max Sullivan needs to be stopped, someone needs to end this and I thought you-"
"Would do the dirty work for you, Princess?" And there it was. The real reason she was here. The final blow while he was still on the ground. Bov scowled at her, yet despite his anger, part of him was impressed. Impressed because despite everything, Nora was here. And she needed him.
He had an advantage, again, finally. He wondered if Jock knew she was here.
"I've got my own agenda," he told her, hating how hoarse his voice had turned. Nora stepped towards him and this time, he didn't back away. It ached to have her so close. His anger and hatred couldn't mask everything. His tongue darted to trace his bottom lip, even as his gaze dropped lower. Really taking her in this time. Fuck. He missed her.
"I thought that you would understand." Nora's voice was barely louder than a murmur. "I thought you could see it. Always saw it."
"I only see a little girl defending her boyfriend," he replied, but there wasn't quite so much heat in his words as before. Would he have done the same if he were in her shoes? When it came down to survival, Nora took the trophy. Her instincts to live and fight were more powerful in her than anybody he had seen, even if she didn't see it herself. To his annoyance, Nora nodded.
"I am here for Jock. But that doesn't mean that it isn't the right thing to be done." Nora reached for him, an automatic movement he wasn't even sure she was aware of. But before her fingers could graze his lip, he pushed her hand away and stepped back, putting distance between them again. He could do it, he could. He could snatch her wrist and pull her close and kiss her. It would be all too easy. "I need you to leave Dermot and Jock out of it-"
Bov cursed, desire fading, as Nora stepped towards him again. No matter what, it would always be them. No matter what they did or who they hurt... What did Nora expect? A few soft words and a fluttering of her lashes, and Bov would do anything for her? Did she really think it would be that easy? So much had happened, too much, and Bov wasn't even sure where he stood anymore. Everything he'd been working towards, everything he had been fighting for, was inches from turning to ash and blowing through his fingertips. The GSE, their reputation, Bov's own happiness... Everything. "Don't fuckin' tell me what to do-"
"We need to stop this another way." Nora reached for him again as Bov began to pace, muttering harsh words beneath his breath. "Please listen to me-"
"I knew this was all you was really 'ere for!" He turned on her, stormy eyes flashing. "Not to see that I was okay. And definitely not to fuckin' apologise." How had he even allowed himself to believe otherwise?
"Bovver. This is bigger than us-" He shrugged her off again. "Charlotte didn't die for nothing-"
"No, from what I heard she died because of you!" And that was too too far, he knew. Worse than anything he'd said during this miserable little meeting. Nora's face crumpled slightly as she recoiled from him, her shoulders lifting, body tucking inwards as if he'd physically punched her in the gut. Maybe he should have. Maybe that would have been more forgivable than this. Because he knew Nora, and he knew her goodness, her selflessness, could never tolerate this. To be the reason somebody had died... He knew she would never forgive herself. "Fuck... Nora... I didn't mean that..."
Bov trailed off pathetically. Nora sank down on the sofa, the colour drained from her face. His insides twisted uncomfortably. Despite his anger and his harsh words, he never actually wanted to hurt her.
"I know." Bobby sniffed at her hand, but she didn't move, eyes distant. Slowly, she looked up at him. Bov stared back. "I don't want your pity."
"I wasn't offering it," he muttered before he could stop himself. The snide remarks were more out of habit than anything. He felt suddenly out of place, as if he was the one coming to visit Nora. As if he was the one bleating apologies.
"I've never thought anyone else was to blame but me. I'd say I wish it was me but I don't. I don't want to die. I'm not brave. I'm not you. And I don't want anyone else to die either, except Max." Well, at least they could agree on one thing. Max would die. Whether it was by his hand or Pete's, Bov didn't know, but it was inevitable. Max Sullivan would take his last breath very soon and Bov would be there to witness it. Max and his scumbag brother. Nora sighed softly, chewing her lip for a moment. "I know you're angry and I know some of it is because of me. You're just trying to protect your friends, your family. I'm angry. At Dermot and Lara. At myself. I thought they were my family... but this hatred isn't doing anything but destroying ourselves. We're just setting ourselves on fire. I caused this mess by letting it engulf me, so I want to fix it and I can't do it by myself. You can't do it all by yourself."
For the first time, Bov didn't interrupt. He tried his best to push aside the anger and listen. He'd allowed his views to be marred by Dermot's actions, but... Nora had come here, alone, desperate to fix this. To fix their lives. To give them something to live for. At this very moment, as much as he hated it, they were on the same page. The same - mostly - objective; end the Sullivans. Should he turn her away? Could he? Was there a benefit, an advantage, he could take from this? And on the other hand, what if this was another trap? Could he trust her? What would Pete think about all of this? His head and heart battled as she continued to speak.
"The one difference between us and Max is we're not alone. We don't have to be. And telling him about Dermot and Lara isn't going to make things better for you. It's only going to hurt Pete. It's going to make things more personal than they already are, do you understand?"
Of course he fucking understood. The only reason he hasn't said anything was to protect Pete. Lara had made her bed and she could fucking die in it for all Bov cared. He remained silent, still watching her, still battling wills inside of himself. Nora looked up at him, brow pinched, pleading.
"Please don't tell Max."
He sighed. "Even if I don't say anythin', it don't mean nobody else won't. Max will find out, Nora. Sooner or later."
"I... I genuinely think he loves her. Dermot... and Lara..." She fell quiet, swallowing hard. Then, she stood. "I'm just going to leave." Turning, she edged past Bobby and made her way to the door. Bov hesitated, but she paused anyway. "I want to say I'm sorry and I know it doesn't carry any weight right now. But, just so you know... I am." Nora turned to look at him and the sadness and regret in her features made his chest clench in a way it hadn't in a long time. "You're one of the good guys, you know?"
Was he? He didn't feel like it, most of the time.
"Pete didn't deserve what Lara did. It was shit. And so was what we all did to you. What... I did to you. I don't trust Dermot, okay? He's volatile and scared and he's stuck protecting someone he shouldn't, but I trust Jock. More than anything. So, can you trust me again?"
Trust. It was such a big element in their world. Trust with the Firm, with the lads, knowing they always had your back. Trust in rivals not dobbing you in to the coppers after a particularly bad fight. Trust in the sweet game, where ten minutes extra time was all that was needed between a win and a loss. Trusting Nora, and in extension that dickhead Jock, felt nigh-on impossible. He had to look at the facts. He knew Jock wanted Max gone as much as the rest of them and that there was no love lost between the cousins. Nora was naturally on Jock's side. Maybe he couldn't trust them fully, but... they could be useful. Before he could open his mouth, her phone buzzed softly and she glanced at the screen. Then, she looked back at him and there was a more determined look in her eyes.
"What are you guys planning and how can we help?"
Another beat passed. Bov was stock still, his entire body tense. They didn't need help. They couldn't risk any more fuck ups. Yet... "We're gunnin' for Max," he blurted out when she turned, resigned, to leave again. "All his connections, all his businesses. Any pie he has a fuckin' finger in. Everything. We're gonna leave him with nothin' and then..." His lip curled into a smirk. "Then we put a bullet between his eyes. Well, at least two. We all know how indestructible that cunt is. Ain't gonna risk him coming back from the dead again."
Bov turned away and fetched himself another beer. When he returned, Nora was sat on the sofa again and Bobby had his head resting on her lap. He cracked the can and perched on the edge of the armchair opposite her. "You know I'll 'ave to talk to the lads first. I don't think any of them forgive your boyfriend for trashing the Abbey that time." He took a sip, still watching her. Trying to see any hint of betrayal, of some other plot, that Nora might be hiding. Her face expressed complete sincerity, eyes open and honest. She'd always been so easy to read that he had no doubts now.
"If this goes ahead, this little... truce... Jock's following orders. He does what we say, or he can fuck off. I can't risk messing this up, Nora. We have one chance to strike and if we fuck this up..." He shook his head, eyes darkening. That couldn't happen. Bov wouldn't allow it, and he'd stick a knife in that ginger prick's throat if he felt things were getting out of hand. "We need more information," he told her after a moment. "We need to know exactly who's in Max's pocket. We have a feeling some of the coppers might be on his payroll; he gets away with a little too much in this city to sit comfortably with me. We need names; contacts, businesses, anything you two can get your hands on."
Bov paused, thoughtful for a moment. "... We'll 'ave to meet. Us, the lads, Jock. Somewhere we ain't likely to be seen..." He stood, moved to the sidetable and picked up a pen. He scribbled an address on the paper pad, tore off the sheet and turned to hand it to her. "Tomorrow night, 9pm. Meet us at Baxter's Gym. They have a underground ring, we can meet there." He caught the look on her face and chuckled. "Don't worry. We won't be in the ring. Unless Jock struggles to keep his mouth shut, that is." He drank some more beer. "If you ain't there, you're both out and we'll go ahead ourselves. All right?"
After Nora had left, Bovver picked up his phone. He knew this news would go down like a sack of shit, but what choice did they really have? In some ways, having Jock onside was handy. He knew the ins and outs of the Sullivans, he was an inside man in a way. But it didn't mean Bov liked it and he knew the lads definitely wouldn't. Allying with the enemy. It might as well have been Tommy Hatcher standing there. Still, if things did start to slide... Bov would be ready and Jock wouldn't be walking away this time. Pete didn't answer, so Bov left a message.
"Bruv, call me as soon as you can. I 'ave some news for ya. Whether it's good or bad is to be determined...."
---
"You really need to watch how you speak, a pretty little thing like you, it makes you almost ugly." Lara couldn't even release her breath as Ronan raised his prosthetic hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear; her entire body seemed to seize, unable to tear her gaze from his face. She'd always relied on Max being the buffer, the protection she'd needed, but... alone as they were now, would Ronan have any qualms about touching her? There was little she would be able to do. The knife block was on the other side of the kitchen and he was a lot bigger, a lot stronger than she. "...No. You could never be ugly, could you?"
His greedy gaze lingered on her body before they reached her face again. The next words she hissed were low, fierce; the sound made by a lioness backed into a corner. "Don't touch me." Another mention of Max and she saw Ronan still, his stare not leaving hers for a long moment. Then, thankfully, he eased back and she felt like she could breathe again. Would her life ever be hers? Or would she spend the rest of her days following orders? Yes, Sir. No, Sir. It wasn't a life. And she'd be damned if that was the example she wanted her children to follow.
Her children. Even the thought of them made her chest ache and took the breath out of her very lungs. Neither of them with her, she felt lost. Empty. It was only the fact that she knew she would be seeing Kimmy again very soon that she didn't break down on the spot. She was doing everything she could to hold herself together, even if it felt impossible. Clinging to that thought of having her children back in her arms.
"I meant what I said," she tried again. "Pete's on his way. You need to leave."
"On his way home, is he?" Ronan tilted his head gently. "I mean, this is his house isn't it, so why does it need announcing? Surely he won't mind if you have a visitor." He paused and she felt his cool breath on her face. "Surely he's used to your male visitors, anyway... from what I hear."
Lara couldn't stop her face blooming with heat and she twisted away, pushing past him, half-mortified, half-angry. And amidst the humiliation and rage was a sharp panic. Ronan knew. He knew, at the very least, that she hadn't been faithful. But, did he know exactly who her lover was? If he knew, had he already told Max? Was Dermot walking into a trap right now, while Ronan remained here, playing babysitter? For a moment, her throat closed up and she couldn't get air. She headed for the hall.
"I'll leave when I'm ready," he added as he turned and followed her. Lara fought for composure, somehow smoothing her face of any emotion when she turned back to face him. She would play his bluff. There was no way he knew, and if he did... she would soon find out. Gathering all the anger simmering inside her chest, Lara wielded it like a weapon. It was easy to rile Ronan. He liked to be in control, much like most of the men in her life. He didn't like to be mocked, taunted. So that was where she began. Pretending to scrawl across her hand, she'd barely finished her sentence when he was striding towards her, the unmissable fury burning in his eyes. He lunged, hand snatching her jaw painfully as he pulled her towards him. But Lara fought against her instincts to recoil, to run and met his glower head on, her own eyes blazing. One palm flat against his solid chest, the other clenched in a fist at her side. His fingers dug into her skin, into bone.
"What did I say about that pretty mouth of yours?"
Lara shoved him hard, seeming to catch him by surprise as he stepped back; she saw something flash in his eyes. "Don't fucking touch me." Ronan released her instantly.
Instantly.
For a second, she stared at him, almost confused. But, she didn't allow herself more than that second before she whirled around and stormed upstairs. The bedroom door rattled in the frame as she slammed it behind her, pausing to lean against the back and catch her breath. She didn't need this today. In fact, this was the worst possible day for Ronan to make an appearance, full stop. As if things between her and Pete weren't bad enough...
Lara breathed in through her mouth and out her nose until she felt a little calmer, then moved to change. She had to focus. She needed to look good, but not too good. She didn't want to rub anything into Pete's face nor look like she was making him jealous. But, she couldn't look too rough either. She didn't want to look like she wasn't coping because she feared he might take Kimmy away for good. Would he? Was he the type of person who would do that? It scared her that she didn't seem to know the answer anymore. How the man who was her husband could now be a complete stranger. She opted for light blue jeans and an ivory blouse, and left her dark hair loose to curl down past her shoulders. A light coating of make-up and she was ready. Well, as ready as she could be as her heart pounded and nausea gripped and twisted her stomach.
She made her way slowly downstairs, focusing on her breathing. The clock in the hall seemed to tick loudly - too loudly - as if she was walking the final mile towards the electric chair. A few months ago, her life had been entirely different. Maybe she hadn't been at her happiest, but she'd been content. Life had been stable. Now, she didn't even know what each day would bring.
She rounded into the kitchen where Ronan, as she knew he would be, was seated. He had the newspaper laid out in front of him, his prosthetic hand resting over the print of one page while he read the other. Another pang of irritation flooded her. As soon as Pete saw him, he was just going to assume the worse. How many more black marks did she need against her name? "If you think you're staying, you've got another thing coming."
Ronan lifted his head as he slowly lowered the paper. He raised an eyebrow. "Don't sugar coat your hatred for me, will you, little bird." And she tried to ignore the flash of Charlotte's face on the front of the paper as he flipped it shut. She'd come so close to losing Nora, only to betray her anyway. The slap had been the least she'd deserved after what she'd done. To her best friend. Lara tore her gaze from the picture and demanded to know exactly what he wanted. Ronan smiled slowly, shark-like.
"That's a broad question." He leaned forward and gently plucked a grape from the bunch in the bowl in the middle of the table. "What... do I want..." She shouldn't have asked, regretted it as he mused over the question. Did she really care? He tossed the grape into his mouth, thoughtful as he chewed. Then, when he eventually spoke, his tone was cold, indifferent. "I'm just doing my job. Making sure you're safe. And there's no harm in meeting the husband, is there?[/i]" His gaze dropped, briefly, to her bare left hand; there was a pale line where the ring had sat. She flushed. "Or is it ex husband?" And it didn't seem to matter what she said, what protests fell from her lips because Ronan had his orders and he didn't care.
"I don't agree with that. So it's my job to protect you now."
"Oh, it's your job, is it? And who exactly do I need protecting from?" It was beyond ridiculous and she couldn't stop the words spilling if she tried. Her anger was a physical thing, threatening to break free. "I wouldn't need protecting if neither of you were in my life!" Not for the first time, she wished she'd never laid eyes on Max Sullivan. She hated the stupid little girl she'd been, the one who'd actually believed Max loved her. That stupid selfish naive little girl... She watched as Ronan laced his fingers, then shifted to look at the clock. When he settled his gaze back on her, she saw something she wasn't expecting. Understanding? Or something similar? The silence stretched a little, until she shifted, uncomfortable.
"Your old man?"
She blinked, unable to stop the flicker in her eyes before he saw it. Protection from Pete? Is that what Max had told him? Sure, Pete had lost his temper, and she didn't need to look to know the fist-sized hole was still in the living room wall, now hidden beneath a picture. But he'd been angry. And she didn't blame him, she couldn't. Not after the news she'd just delivered to him. Pete had never harmed her, would never intentionally lay a hand on her... She dropped her gaze to her shoes, teeth clenched, without saying a word. Let Ronan assume what he wanted; the only real villain was Max. She didn't look up as Ronan spoke again.
"In this world we all just do what we have to survive, and for me, it's being here. If you don't like that, well... It's tough shit, to be honest."
Lara nodded. That much she could understand. Ronan's wording piqued her interest though; for him to survive, he had to be here. He didn't have much choice in the matter either. Max said jump and everybody asked how high? and that was how it always was. How it would probably always would be. It didn't mean Lara had to like it though. But before she could respond, there was a heavy knock on the front door and Lara froze, head snapping upwards. Ronan turned in his seat and for a moment they simply looked towards the hallway in silence. Ronan was the first to break it.
"Shall you get that, or shall I?"
Starting, Lara stormed past him and strode right for the front door. She could see Pete's figure through the frosted glass and her heart began to accelerate. Grabbing the handle, she swung it open to reveal him. She barely met his eyes before she was gathering Kimmy into her arms, tears burning and blurring her vision, bringing her close and inhaling deeply. Her heart ached, swelled, throbbed so painfully that Lara wondered if it might pop out of her chest altogether. "Oh, Kimmy, I've missed you so much." Her voice broke around the sob that escaped.
"Mama!" Kimmy wrapped her chunky little arms around Lara's neck and squeezed just as tightly. For a minute, Lara forgot about Pete's anger and Ronan lurking in the background and all the mess her life had become; all that mattered was being reunited with her beautiful toddler daughter; gorgeous blue eyes and a cherub's tight blonde curls. Lara had missed her incredibly.
But good things never last. She felt Pete tense beside her, saw his head jerk up as the figure emerged from further into the house. But, Lara didn't have time for this. Her time with Kimmy would be so short, every moment precious, and she wasn't going to waste it on these testosterone-fuelled thugs. She turned, shouldering past Ronan, to whisk Kimmy into the house. "Ignore the guard dog," she said to Pete over her shoulder. "He's only here for his paycheck." Then, she disappeared into the living room, kissing Kimmy all over her chubby cheeks and neck. "I missed you. Did you miss Mummy?"
She could hear tense voices in the hall, but forced herself not to listen. Instead, she focused her entire attention on Kimmy. Settling the tot down on the carpet, she dragged over the box of toys and opened the lid. Kimmy instantly clambered up and began to rummage through, pulling out one of her favourite dolls. She whacked it against the box, then held it up, beaming at Lara. It nearly broke her. That beautiful smile, those sharp little white teeth that Lara had nursed her through gaining for long endless months. She still remebered cradling her in the early hours, the house dark and quiet, just the two of them in the kitchen with a teether fresh from the freezer. Long months. Hard months. But completely worth it. How had she allowed Pete to walk out with her? How had she lost both her children in such a little amount of time?
She was their mother. And she wasn't going to let anybody else take them away ever again.
----
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