Chapter 2
2
Declan
T he drive into town feels longer than usual, but that’s probably because I’ve spent most of it trapped in my own head. The mountains blur into a monotony of white snow and green pines, their beauty dulled by my wandering thoughts. It’s always the same these days, like an old movie reel playing on a loop: voices I’ll never hear again, places I’ll never go back to, decisions I can never change.
The tires crunch over gravel as the cabin disappears behind me. Snow flurries scatter across the windshield, clinging for a moment before melting into streaks. It’s peaceful out here, in the middle of nowhere, but peace is a double-edged sword. It gives you space to breathe but also space to remember. And I’d give just about anything to stop remembering.
The town comes into view as I round the final bend. It’s small, just a handful of streets fanning out around a quaint downtown strip, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, or at least thinks they do. I keep to myself as much as I can, but a stranger living alone in a cabin tends to raise eyebrows.
When I first arrived, the local women tried to throw themselves at me, always making excuses to talk me up when they saw me at the tiny grocery store or in the diner. They would make excuses to come up the mountain to my cabin and make sure I was okay all alone up there. Maybe I would have even taken them up on their offer if I wasn’t so consumed with my own grief, but the names and faces all blurred together, and I didn’t want to get myself tangled up in anything.
Thankfully, they started to take the hint, and now most people leave me alone. They might wonder why I show up once or twice a month for supplies and then disappear again, but they’ve never asked.
I pull into the parking lot of the hardware store and kill the engine. Snow crunches underfoot as I step out, the cold biting at my face. The bell above the door jingles as I push it open, and the warmth inside hits me like a wave.
“Morning,” Ron, the owner, says from behind the counter. He looks up from his crossword puzzle, his wiry frame hunched over the counter like usual. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Morning,” I reply, giving him a nod. “Just need a few things.”
He waves me off, already returning to his puzzle. That’s one of the reasons I came to the hardware store first. Ron doesn’t engage in small talk and he doesn’t ask questions. He’s the kind of guy who is content to mind his own business and let others do the same.
I grab a cart and start down the aisles. Duct tape, nails, some replacement lightbulbs, batteries. Nothing exciting, just the basics to get me through the next few weeks and the storm that’s coming. As I move through the store, a feeling creeps over me. That prickling sensation at the back of my neck, like someone’s watching. I glance over my shoulder, but the aisle is empty.
Stop it, Declan. You’re being paranoid, I think to myself.
Still, I can’t shake it. I keep moving, forcing myself to focus on the list in my head, but every so often, I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, and I lose track of what I’ve gotten and what I need. When I finally reach the checkout counter, I feel like a rubber band stretched too tight, ready to snap.
“All set?” Ron asks, barely looking up as he rings me up.
“Yeah.” I pull out my wallet, my gaze flicking toward the door. It’s quiet outside, just the usual trickle of townspeople going about their business, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me.
As I step back outside with my purchases, I quickly scan the parking lot. My truck is parked where I left it, the snow piled a little higher on the windshield. A couple of cars drive by, their tires hissing over the wet pavement. Nothing unusual. No one I don’t vaguely recognize from my previous trips into town.
“Pull yourself together,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as I load the supplies into the truck. The problem with living like a ghost for five years is that it makes you see things that aren’t there.
I slide into the driver’s seat and let out a slow breath before pulling out my phone. A handful of new messages light up the screen, most of them junk. But one stands out:
Call me. Urgent.
It’s from an old friend. Or what passes for one in my world. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen. Instead of calling, I open the message thread.
Your brother’s looking for you. He’s not happy.
I stare at the words, my grip tightening on the phone. Of course, Patrick’s looking for me. He’s been looking for me, even if he pretends otherwise. He can’t stand the idea of me being out in the world, away from his influence, living my life on my terms.
And he’s not happy? When has Patrick ever been happy? Even when we were kids, he carried bitterness around like a badge of honor. It only got worse after Dad died, leaving a void that neither of us could fill.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and start the engine. The road stretches out in front of me, empty and endless, but my mind is stuck in the past. I try not to think about it too much, about the business, about Patrick, about the mess we made of everything, but it’s harder now as I get older.
I was never supposed to be the one in charge. That was Patrick’s role. He was supposed to be the golden child, the heir to the McGregor legacy. He was the one Dad groomed, the one who knew every detail of the family business inside and out. Me? I was the kid with his head in the clouds, more interested in computers than in running a criminal empire.
I still remember the look on Dad’s face when I told him I wanted to go to college. He laughed like I’d just told the world’s funniest joke.
“College? What for?” he’d barked. “You’ve got everything you need right here. Your family, your future. You can help your brother out, have a cushy position in the organization. All the money you could ever need. You don’t need college for that.”
But I wanted more. I wanted something different, something clean, something real. Something I earned. So, I taught myself, buying books and scouring the internet, learning everything I could about computer programming. And for a while, I thought maybe I could actually escape, to make something of myself.
But then Dad was killed, and everything changed. Patrick ran the business for a while, but he was a mess. He was harsher than Dad had ever been, and also sloppier. He didn’t clean up his messes, and it was all too easy for the Feds to build a case against him.
When he went to prison, the weight of the family suddenly fell on my shoulders, and I wasn’t ready for it. I tried to make it work. I really did. I thought I could change things, go legit, turn the business into something we could all be proud of. I poured everything I had into it, investing in wholesale computer parts, trying to build a legitimate enterprise out of the ashes of what we’d been.
It could’ve worked, I think. Even to this day, I believe that we could have been successful. If Patrick had stayed out of it, if he’d just let me do my job, we’d be richer now than we ever were. But Patrick couldn’t stand the idea of me doing things my way, of me succeeding where he’d failed. So, he made his power play, pulling strings from prison, undermining me at every turn.
Eventually, I had to walk away. I told myself I didn’t care, and that I was better off without any of it, without him. And for a while, I believed it. Especially when I met Cassidy.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I turn onto the main road, the memory still hitting me like a punch to the gut all these years later.
She was everything I didn’t deserve. She was kind, smart, funny, and so damn patient. She saw through all the bullshit and saw the man I wanted to be, not the man I was. We fell in love so quickly, so easily, and got married just a few months later.
I thought I could have it all with her. A fresh start, a real life. But the past has a way of catching up to you, no matter how far you run.
I grip the wheel harder as the memory floods back.
“Let me drive for once,” she said, her hand resting on the door. I should’ve argued harder, should’ve told her no. But I didn’t. I just handed her the keys, thinking it didn’t matter who was behind the wheel, as long as we were together.
I was wrong.
The explosion was deafening, the heat searing, the force knocking me off my feet. By the time I reached her, it was too late. The fire consumed everything. Her, the car, the future I thought we could have.
I shake my head now, forcing the memory back down where it belongs. I spent so long wondering what I did to deserve this. Maybe I was born into the wrong family, the wrong life. I still don’t know. Five years later, and it still feels like yesterday. Some wounds don’t heal; they just scab over, waiting to be torn open again.
I force myself to stop thinking of Cassidy. Discipline has been the name of the game these past few years, and it challenges me still every day. As much as I know she would’ve loved it here, she’ll never see it.
After her death, I needed a new start, away from Patrick’s control, away from anything that reminded me of my family and their violent tendencies. I told Patrick to do whatever he wanted with the family business. I wanted no part of it anymore. Then I moved as far away as I could, not even bothering to tell him where I was going.
At the small grocery store, I try to take deep, calming breaths as I meander down the aisles, loading up with everything I need to get through thnext few weeks. I have a huge freezer in my basement, and I’ve set up a nice little pantry as well. The more I can stock up, the less I have to come to town, and that’s especially useful during this time of year.
I’m loading up the truck when I realize I’ve forgotten the new generator I was planning to buy. I curse under my breath, realizing that I was too lost in thought to even think about it when I was at the hardware store. It isn’t a long drive back, but I hate that I was so distracted.
One day I’ll learn to let the past stay in the past but today is obviously not that day.