“Gone… All my fault…”
“Gone?” I whisper, praying that he isn’t saying what my numb brain thinks he’s saying.
“My son…” His shoulders heave with the force of his emotions, and tears well in his eyes. “My Ruairi… I should never have… Too late… Too fucking late.”
He tries to stand and crashes back into the seat, and I barely stop him from rolling onto the floor by throwing my body on top of him.
“Out of my way.” He pushes me weakly, but I don’t budge. “Don’t… try to… stop me.”
Anger is punching through his alcohol-soaked brain cells, and I’m scared of what he’ll do. He’s too drunk to go anywhere. He can barely even stand up. But I know how strong people can get when they’re under the influence; I’ve seen it too many times in the nightclub.
I need help. I can’t stop him on my own.
Where is his son Eoghan when I need him?
Or the driver; I don’t even know if he lives on the property. I never see him around the house; he just seems to materialize when Declan needs him.
I’m running out of options. I know how this is going to look, but right now, getting Declan to sleep this off must be my priority. I’ll deal with the backlash later.
So, I fix Declan another drink from a bottle on the cart, place it into his hand, and wrap his fingers around it, then I leave him in the study and run upstairs to Orla’s room.
“Orla?” I knock on the door. I don’t want to scare the life out of the poor woman, but I also don’t want to leave Declan alone any longer than is necessary. “Orla!” Louder now.
I wait, breathing heavily, more from fear than the exertion of running up the stairs.
I’m about to knock again, when I hear movement behind the door.
It opens, and Orla appears, clutching a robe to her chin. Her hair is messy, and I can’t think about what she’s wearing underneath the robe. She blinks at me. I’ve clearly woken her up when she’s normally the first one to stir in the house.
“I overslept,” she offers by way of an explanation. “What’s happened, Amelia?” Her eyes narrow in my direction, taking in my robe and bare feet.
“It’s Declan. He’s drunk. I need your help… please.”
She peers at the top of the stairs, then back at me, and nods. “Give me a moment.”
Thirty seconds later, she reappears wearing her glasses and house slippers on her feet. She doesn’t ask any questions. She simply follows me downstairs and into the study, where Declan hasn’t moved since I left him.
I want to cry with relief, but the brandy glass is empty, and his eyes are closed.
“Declan?” Orla doesn’t touch him. She’s eyeing him up, assessing the situation while he sleeps through it, oblivious. Then she turns her attention to me and asks, “How did you find him?”
My pulse spikes. I thought I’d have time to figure out an answer once we’d gotten Declan upstairs and into bed.
“I woke up early and heard a noise. I… came down to investigate and found him in here.”
Her eyes rake my state of undress. She knows. “I haven’t seen him like this since Niamh died.”
Bile rises in my throat. “He said something about Ruairi. About him being gone.”
I keep my eyes on Declan. I hope I’m wrong. I hope I misheard him. But Orla’s admission that she hasn’t seen him like this since his wife died is starting to freak me out.
“Help me get him up, child.”
Orla takes control. She grabs Declan’s left arm, I take his right, and we haul him forward in the seat.
The instant he realizes what is happening, he wrenches his arms free, and tries to stand, swaying precariously. His eyes are allover the place. I can’t even be certain that he recognizes either of us.
My heart breaks in two when he says, “Why Ruairi? Why my son…?”
