Chapter 12 Reed
Reed
One year ago
When I open the door to Kat’s place, the first thing I notice is the broken frame in the foyer. My blood spikes with adrenaline as I search for any evidence of a break-in.
“Kat?” I call out her name, attempting to close the door quietly behind me although it creaks.
“In here,” her somber voice calls out and I’m given a fraction of a second to feel relief until I hear her crying.
Kicking the door closed, I bypass the broken glass from the destroyed frame and head to the kitchen to find Kat covering her face at the sink. The water’s running and when she peeks up at me, her eyes are swollen from crying and her reddened cheeks are tearstained.
“You okay?” Every step I take is careful as I approach her. In satin pink pajamas and without an ounce of makeup on, she’s both gorgeous and utterly raw. A primitive side of me wants to console her; another side craves to comfort her in the way I know she needs.
She sniffles and turns off the water, giving me her back as she reaches for the kitchen towel to pat her face dry.
Tossing the towel down she gives me a careless shrug as if she hasn’t lost all composure.
“What happened to the picture?”
“I threw it,” she admits with feigned strength and then her composure seems to diminish, leading her to confide in me.
“He yelled at me. Like I’m the reason his father died? He just … he’s losing it and I can’t help him.”
As tears well in her eyes, she grips the counter to hold her balance. “I loved his dad too. What can I do? I don’t know what to do.”
She loses it, and as she covers her face, turning away from me, I casually approach her. She’s wounded and I know the feeling. Cill’s father was a second father to me.
His death was sudden and I know Cill’s not taking it well.
None of us are.
But he shouldn’t yell at her. “He’s just angry right now, but he loves you.”
“I’m angry too,” she sobs. She’s anything but angry. She’s broken. Both of them, my two best friends, are nothing like what they used to be.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, and when I reach out to her, she leans into my touch. At first it’s only slightly, but as the grief takes over, she falls into me.
I’m grateful to hold her, to give her this. Because I’m struggling too.
I feel us all falling apart and I don’t know how to make it right.
When I kiss the top of her head and whisper into her hair it’s going to be all right and that he loves her, I mean it, and I have to stop myself from telling her I love her too … because at this moment, I know I mean it just the same.
Present time
“I’m not here to fight you.” That’s the first thing I have to say to Cill, even if it’s not quite true.
Hell, maybe we are here, in the back room of Nello’s, next to The Ruin, to fight.
Maybe we’re here to have it out. I’d rather have him punch me than some asshole across from the gas station. I won’t send him to jail.
My body’s still ringing from earlier today in Kat’s kitchen, even after the nearly two hours of silent driving to get here. I think we all needed a moment of quiet and time to think. But two hours wasn’t enough. I don’t know that any amount of time will prepare me for this.
The dim lights in the back room only make Cill’s bruised cheek look worse. He’ll get over it, just like I will.
My shoulders straighten with barely contained anger as I take in a heavy breath. Although I know the anger isn’t justified, it’s still there.
I never should have touched Kat, but inside all I can think is that he never should have left us. All of it was fucked.
“I don’t want to fight you,” I tell him again. “What happened between Kat and me is long over.” As I say the words, my heart is in agony. It feels like this is it for all three of us.
I fell in love with Kat, I fell hard for her and I only wanted to love her, because I knew CIll couldn’t. It wasn’t supposed to happen like it did. I never stopped loving her, though. Just like I never stopped wanting to be the friend Cill needed either.
We were both missing him. Both broken … hell, all three of us were.
Glancing over at Kat, sitting beside Cill in the circular booth and across from me, I know she’d choose him ten out of ten times. I’m the piece that has to go for them to be together now and it’s my fault. I know that, but I can’t stand that it has to happen.
Clearing my throat, I face Cill head-on, doing what needs to be done. “You need to know what happened with the club, even if you hate me right now. I want to tell you everything I know.”
The stark white tablecloth is gently lit by the candle in the middle of the table, and a basket of bread wrapped in a white cloth napkin to keep it warm separates us.
It’s quiet back here and the waiter is more than aware that we need time to discuss business so I doubt we’ll see him again until Cill calls for him. With the location so close to The Ruin, Nello’s is used to this. They’re paid well, even if we don’t order a damn thing to eat.
I could confess everything to Cill in this room. Spill every detail and I don’t know what will happen after. I dread what will come. But it has to be done.
“What the hell happened to the club?”
“Things changed when your uncle took over.”
“You keep saying that.” Cill looks me dead in the eye. He’s wary of me now and I don’t blame him. I would be too if he fucked the love of my life without me knowing. “Tell me the truth, Reed. You owe me that.”
It’s not always best to tell the truth. Anyone who grew up at the Cavanaugh Crest knew that.
Sometimes it’s best to keep your damn mouth shut.
Everybody loves to talk about how honesty is the best policy, but it’s bullshit.
Not saying anything is the best policy. Keeping your head down and doing what you’re told is what we’re expected to do.
I wish I hadn’t, though. I wish I knew what was really going on so I could have stopped it all.
“I think your uncle …” I say and swallow thickly, knowing how this is going to sound and praying he’ll believe me, “set it up. All of it.”
“What do you mean ‘all of it?’” His eyes narrow and Kat’s gaze moves to her clasped hands on the table.
“Can we eat?” Kat pipes up between us, her nervousness not at all disguised by her sweet, feminine tone. I’ve always thought she was beautiful, but more than that, careful and intelligent. She has intention behind every move.
Cill peers down at her. “I’m not hungry.” The way his eyes search hers is telling. He still loves her deeply, even if there’s pain there.
I’m thankful for that. I would never forgive myself if he stopped loving her. How could he, though? The two of them need each other.
My throat is tight as I swallow and watch her tell him, “I think we should get some food first.” Kat puts her hand over his. “I think we would all feel better if we had a bite to eat. A lot happened tonight.”
While they share a hushed discussion and then call the waiter who silently brings silverware and menus, I think about how it got this bad. I remember every day that led to this hell.
The only thing worse than losing Cill and watching everything turn to shit, was figuring out that his uncle had been behind it all. For a while, I couldn’t even admit it to myself. If I thought it was true, I’d have no choice but to tell Cill.
That would tear him up. When I finally decided it was real, a few months after his father passed, though I didn’t have any proof, I found reasons not to tell him.
If I told him while he was locked up, he’d go crazy.
Cill could never sit around and let shit happen to him.
He had to take action. At least he had to find out why something had happened, and maybe solve the problem.
Going to him with vague rumors while he was in jail would cause havoc and put him in jeopardy.
I couldn’t tell anyone. I did what we were told to do all our lives, keep our heads down and do what we were told.
All the while, I watched and caught on to the shit Eamon was doing and now I know too much.
When the waiter finally comes around, with a paper pad in his hand, I can barely find my words. It’s like I’ve been slowly unraveling the last year, when all of this started after Cill’s father died, and now there’s nothing left of me.
As another waitress quietly comes into the room to refill Kat’s goblet of ice water with the silver decanter—neither Cill or I have touched ours—our waiter asks what I’d like to order.
I peer across the table to ask what Kat and Cill ordered, a glass of red and two fingers of whiskey. Yeah, I’m probably going to need alcohol too.
Clearing my throat, I ask for the same as Cill. When the waiter’s gone Kat speaks up again, her fingers slipping down the stem of her goblet.
“I think we each have one drink to calm our nerves, we eat to settle our stomachs and then we can talk,” she states softly but in a matter-of-fact way, only lifting her gaze to reach each of ours once she’s finished.
“We’ve spent hours in the car in silence, what’s another hour here?” she points out as if it’s an innocent question.
The tension still bristles from Cill’s shoulders but he peers at me, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah,” I reply, “I think that’s best.”
Turmoil stirs in the pit of my stomach as Kat orders us appetizers of bruschetta and burrata that sound far too eloquent for men like us, but the way she reads it and admits she loves the glaze has me nodding my head in agreement.
We all order meals. I go with the same meal I get every time we’re here simply out of habit. Capellini with crabmeat. Cill and Kat do the same; filet and shrimp for Cill, and lasagna for Kat.
It’s quiet while we wait, each of us thinking maybe.
Taking small sips of my drink, I watch the two of them touch.
Occasionally she holds his hand and he squeezes hers.
It feels like an ending, like I’m forced to watch it, to sit in it so it’s burned into my memory what real love is and how I almost destroyed it.