“You don’t have to say anything.” Eve’s voice was gentle.
Unable to stand still, he continued walking, struggling to find the words to express his dismay. “You shouldn’t have done what you did.”
Eve came abreast of him. “I feel terrible, trust me. I only told you because I figured if you were carrying messages to her, maybe you could ask if she would see me so I can apologize? I don’t want to thrust myself on her again.”
An unholy urge to laugh came over him. “Why does everyone think I have some sort of direct line to Livvy?”
Eve put her hands in her pockets. “Because we remember how you guys used to be?”
“Key words areusedto be.” They reached his car. She was shivering in the fall air. He reached out and pulled her suit jacket together. “You need a coat.”
Her smile was warm, but wobbly. “I’ll remember that.”
He sighed, the anger seeping out of him. How could he stay mad at Eve? It was impossible. “Don’t try to buy any other women away from me, okay?”
“I won’t,” she said, meek.
He leaned down to kiss her but she surprised him by throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. He returned the hug gingerly. He’d showered her with physical affection when she was young, to make up for their mother’s loss, but they’d settled into a pattern of simple pecks on the cheek in the past couple of years. He gradually relaxed into the hug and patted her back.
“When I heard she was back, all I could think about was what life was like before the accident, and the fire. What it was like to have Mom around. How Dad was different,” she whispered. “He was, wasn’t he? He loved us then.”
He tightened his grip on her. That was what he’d led Eve to believe. When he’d sat with her day after day, night after night, in the pediatrics ward of that hospital, he’d told her their father would have absolutely been there if their mother’s death hadn’t broken him two years prior. What else could he have said to a fifteen-year-old?Sorry, your father is too busy to care about you.
No chance in hell.
His father had always had issues. From the timeNicholas was a small child, he could remember hiding in his room or escaping to the Kanes’ when his father grew angry or cold. No physical abuse. His dad was disdainful of men who used their fists. The man preferred to use words and leverage and silences as his weapons of choice. They left no marks. Not obvious ones at least.
Nicholas suspected his mother had shielded him and Eve from the worst of it, especially Eve. He’d taken over after Maria’s death. Their grandfather was the only other person who might have an inkling as to Brendan’s true nature, but not the full extent. John couldn’t know. He’d be devastated to learn what his son was capable of.
Nicholas lowered his head to speak directly into Eve’s ear. “Little bit, never doubt it for a moment. You were and always have been loved.”
She went so still, he wondered if she’d heard him, but then she dipped her head. “I love you too, Nicholas.”
He had things to do. Still, he remained there, content to embrace his sister for however long he could.
He rested his cheek on her head.Peace.A different kind of peace than the one he’d experienced briefly with Livvy in her chair, but peace all the same.
“Are you going to see her?”
He didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. “Yes.” He had to, if only to relay his grandfather’s message.
And apologize.For Eve, and also for himself. He’d barely been able to look at himself in the mirror when he shaved this morning.
“Be careful, okay?”
He drew back to peer down at her. “I’m fine.”
“I mean, be careful with her.” She grimaced. “I’m the last person to say that, after what I said to her, but I saw the way she looked at you when you came to my place... she’s not invulnerable.”
“You were drunk.”
“Drunk, not unconscious.” She gave him a wry look. “I know we aren’t the most sensitive people when it comes to emotions. But I know what I saw.”
“We are definitely not sensitive.” Their father was an emotional wasteland; their grandfather was sentimental but gruff; their mother had always been cheerful, but that had just been a different kind of mask.
Her small hand stroked over his sleeve. Her fingers were round, the nails blunt. “Maybe we could try expressing our feelings a little more. It might keep us from doing things like stalking people.”
Nicholas almost laughed. What would his life have been like if he’d been free to express how he felt? The closest he’d ever come to indulging himself that way was...
