‘Where are your parents?’
His shock and following condolences had been utterly genuine. If he had no idea they were dead, how could he have known his father was responsible?
My eyelids press tightly together as I try to sort through the tangled confusion in my mind. The oppressive outrage pressing in my chest softens, replaced with a fraction of sympathy.
The crux of it is, I don’t know if I can trust him. Even if he didn’t know about the tragic events of the past, there’s so much history to wade through and it feels like deep, dirty water that has the potential to drown us.
And ultimately, after this morning’s events, I’m petrified he’s going to break my heart again. Because there’s only so much one heart can take and mine is at its limit.
Jayden steps forward, his steely irises exuding an irrefutable sympathy. ‘I know you might not want it, but Dad asked me to give you this.’
From the back pocket of his stonewashed jeans he draws a crumpled, musty envelope.
Disgust crawls over my skin and into my heart. I might be able to forgive Jayden and Ryan for leaving and not knowing, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive their father.
Jayden barely moves as I try to push out the doorway he blocks. ‘I’m nowhere near ready to read a hastily scrawled apology from the man who took everything from me.’
‘This is a ten-year-old letter my father took from the kitchen the night we left. It’s not from the man who took everything from you. It’s from the man who wanted togiveyou everything. And from what I can see, he still does.’
He pushes the note into my hands before turning his back. Moments later, the front door bangs.
Shaky fingers tear at the time-worn envelope.
Truthfully though, it doesn’t matter what it says. Its mere existence is the reassurance that Ryan didn’t simply abandon me. The same way he didn’t abandon me this morning. So why should I abandon him because of the terrible things his father did all those years ago?
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
RYAN
With a beanie pulled over my head and an utterly unnecessary pair of Ray-Bans wrapped around my face, I slip into the driver’s seat of Angela’s rental car. With Pierce, Frankie and Archie still resolving the situation in reception, there’s no one to stop me.
While the entire country thinks I’m on a chartered flight out of Dublin airport (as if), I might get enough peace to do what I’ve longed to do since I landed back here. Walk the length of Velvet Strand, Portmarnock.
The sleet is just about subsiding, miscellaneous hints of blue emerge through the greyness of the sky at intermittent intervals. The unpredictability of the weather is the one sure thing that can always be relied on in Ireland, but even if it lashes from the heavens again, I couldn’t give a shit. The need to escape is overwhelming. Sasha isn’t the only one with a lot to get her head round.
Images of my father in cuffs haunts me. Yet, I can’t deny the peace it brought him. I only pray that eventually it will bring Sasha some peace.
Though there’s nothing any of us can do for him, I’m going to use every connection I have to ensure he gets a smooth ride inside. He might have to serve time but I don’t want him to have to do it in fear.
Angela’s rental is a BMW with tinted windows. At the castle gates, the security guys don’t even bat an eyelid. I hope they’re more vigilant about who they’re letting in than letting out.
As the heavy wrought-iron gate swings open, a van appears outside. The sign emblazoned on the side is for Homeless Ireland. Sasha’s still committed to ensuring all produce that isn’t used never goes to waste.
My first thought is that I wish someone had been as kind to me and Jayden when we were on the streets. The second is that Sasha Sexton really is a fucking saint. Pride swells in my chest at the generosity of the woman I love, even if she’s unable to reciprocate that feeling.
She’s too fucking good for me. She was ten years ago, and no matter how many records I sell or how much money I earn, she always will be. Because she’s a decent person. A good person. Pure of heart. The kind of person who raised her sisters and runs a castle alone, even if it almost ground her to the bone, while I was busy driving fast cars, and even faster women. Mooning around complaining I couldn’tfeelanything.
What have I actually done that’s meaningful with my life?
I can’t undo the wrongs of the past, but maybe I could give something back, like Sasha.
Without any real recollection of the journey, I find myself in Portmarnock. It’s almost three o’clock. I should be able to walk the length of it and still be back with loads of time before tonight’s ball kicks off. Even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing, I’m going to give the performance of my life. Not only do I need to ensure the night’s a massive success for the castle, but I’ve got a growing feeling it’s going to be one of my last few performances on stage.
As much as I’ve loved the journey, I think I’m finally ready to hang up my microphone. Writing music these past few weeks has ignited something else inside of me. Something I’m compelled to devote more time to.
The wind whips against my face, tossing sand across my reddening cheeks as the Irish Sea crashes against the shore, providing the soundtrack to my walk of self-imposed atonement. The salty scent of seaweed fills my nostrils and I feel so fucking alive. It’s more invigorating than anything LA could ever offer.
This beach will always be my favourite, no matter where I go in the world, because it brings back so many amazing memories. It’s where I first worked up the courage to kiss Sasha. She always thought I was so confident. It was all an elaborate act. She was way out of my league and I knew it. The confidence really only developed with our relationship. It was the only thing I was ever certain about in this life.
