“I also need you to keep your eye on Declan. I want him followed. After the shooting, he’s been off, if you know what I mean.”
“The kid is fucked up, Cal.”
“Yeah, well, that’s his issue. You need to make sure my issue is the one you’re protecting, got it?”
“Wrap it up, inmate,” the guard snaps at me.
“That money needs to be moved yesterday.”
“I’ll handle it,” he responds before the phone is snatched from my hand.
EATING ONE OF Isla’s Scotch eggs I’ve come to enjoy and sipping on hot tea, I flip through a local Edinburgh publication. It’s been several days since my last run-in with Declan. I’ve been holed up in my room, crying and feeling defeated. Wondering what to do, where to go, and how to move on in this life.
I was with Pike last night. He lay in bed with me; we haven’t done that in such a long time, and I forgot how very comforting it felt. I was finally able to breathe. He spoke to me, soothed me, and in that moment he was real. My head knows it’s a phantasm, but my heart refuses, so we talked, cried, and eventually he made me smile.
When I woke this morning, he was gone, but somehow I still feel him here. I remember when we were kids, and even living in the vilest circumstances one could imagine, when I was in his arms, I was okay. He was magical in that way. So was Declan. Both of them loved me and healed me in entirely unique ways.
Pike reminded me of my strength, and I showed him the back of my head, where Declan had ripped out my hair. I told him that I continue to pick at the scab and make myself bleed to feel better, proving to him that I’m weak, that I can’t handle the pain anymore, so I create my own. A pain I can control and use to mask the true ache that runs deep inside of me. But he assured me that what I’m doing is a symbol of strength. The fact that I refuse to let my emotions control me, and instead control them, is a testament to my vitality.
I decided to take his words and apply them to Declan. Instead of letting him control me and keep me away, I will take the control to get what I want. I’ve done it before; I can do it now. Pike is right. I’ve been allowing myself to crumble and feel as if I’m nothing on my own, but he reminded me that I’m not. That I’ve always been strong. Reminded me that even though I no longer have him as my vice, I’m powerful enough to create another.
“It’s so nice to see you eating,” Isla says as she walks out from the kitchen and into the dining room where I sit.
“I’ve been a little under the weather,” I excuse my lack of presence.
She sets down a bowl of mixed berries and eyes the magazine I’m flipping through.
“I found it on the coffee table,” I offer. “I was thinking about getting out of town and going into the city for a day trip.”
“Have you spent any time in Edinburgh?”
“No. I drove through when I arrived, stopped for a quick meal, and then came here.”
“It’s a great town,” she says and continues to talk, but her voice fades into the distance when I turn the page.
She’s muted noise, and everything around me tunnels as I focus on the eyes looking up at me from within the grains of the paper. Dapper as always, in a vested, tailored suit, no tie, and top buttons unfastened. The very essence of Declan, unkempt in a classy way. His face, a couple days unshaven, and I can remember the way the bristles felt against my lips when he kissed me. The way I would find comfort in running my hand along his jaw.
Setting my fork down with ease, my pulse slows in admiration and shock. I hone in and examine every curve and line of his face.
That used to be mine.
No more though.
He loathes my very existence, wishes me dead, prays for it. But that filters out and what remains is the lovingly harsh way his hands felt on my body. The good of Declan takes over my thoughts, and I rush back in time to when he would look at me with his powerful eyes that told so much in the depth of emerald. They would nearly illuminate and brighten when his emotions of adoration were on high, and dull out, blackening when desire and his need to claim and control would ignite. This man is built in impermeable layers, but I was the one he allowed to seep in. I guess the same could be said in reverse because I let him in as well.
Isla’s touch on my arm pulls me away from my love.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” I say with a slight shake of my head.
She nods to the photograph in the magazine. “No need to apologize. With looks like that, you can’t help but become distracted.”
Laughing, I agree, “Yeah.”
“He used to live in Edinburgh before moving to America years back. A perpetual bachelor that the lassies would fawn over.”
“You know him?” I question.
“Of him,” she clarifies. “The McKinnons were a prominent family here, but tragedy struck and they soon found assuage in the US. But recently, Declan, the son, returned.”
“Hmm,” I hum, feigning nonchalance.
“He lives here in Gala, you know?”
“What happened?”
When she gives me a wondering look, I clarify, “You mentioned a tragedy.”
“Oh, yes. Declan’s mother was murdered in their home. Callum, his father, soon left, but Declan stayed in Scotland for a while. I think I read somewhere that when Declan finished his studies at University, he moved to the States and went into business with his father. They’ve both been living in America until Declan’s recent return.”