Chapter 2 #2
Ciarán is ten and I’m nineteen. My little brother shouldn’t have to share a room with me. I’ve done my best to divide the tight space for us both to have some privacy.
Not that we’ll have to worry about that any longer. I meant what I said. I’m done with that fucked-up family.
I lift the hood on my hoodie over my head and tighten the drawstrings. I need to change my shirt, but I didn’t have time to pack a lot. I don’t want to waste an outfit.
My chest feels heavy as I begin to wake and the reality of that dream sets in. There’s a deep ache in my heart. I know I lost so much more than my mother, but I can’t remember what all that was.
My head hurts as I try to remember anything from before that accident. The doctors said I was lucky to survive. My mother wasn’t as lucky.
Ciarán and I lost her in that accident. My little brother was only a baby when we lost our mother. My brain begins to clear, and I look over to my little brother as he sits in the seat next to me.
He’s sound asleep. At ten, he shouldn’t have a care in the world. I wouldn’t have ripped him from the security of Theo’s home if that were the case.
My shoulders sag and I frown. This all seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago as I told him to pack a bag after I booked our plane tickets. I had to dip into my savings to get us both on this flight.
Now, I don’t know what I’ve gotten us into. We’re headed to San Diego and have no place to stay. I have no job lined up and if I’m honest with myself, I don’t have a plan either.
If I can find the underground rings around San Diego, then I can at least make money in those. Yup, I’ve become one of the desperate. I’m small, but once in the ring, I leave no doubt that I belong.
People underestimate me; that’s why Theo loved having me as a fighter. Bets are made before I step in the ring. At first glance, those who don’t know better bet against me.
Those who do know say nothing because the odds fall in their favor. In the end, I walked away with my portion of the purse and Theo walked with his betting earnings and part of the purse.
Lily never used to bring in as much as I could. Not in wins or earnings. She used to be Theo’s meal ticket before I was old enough to do it. I’m so happy to be away from all of them. However, I don’t know what to do now.
“What the fuck, Cee-Cee?” I huff to myself.
I reach into my bag and pull out my sketch pad. I flip through and stare at the image I’ve drawn over and over again. It’s of a boy.
I can’t remember who he is. He’s about ten or so. I know he’s not Ciarán. My brother looks like me, with his green-gray eyes and golden-brown skin.
Besides, I’ve been drawing this boy since before Ciarán was around his age. I’ve seen his face a million times in my dreams. He feels like he’s important to me, but I don’t know why or who he could be.
In my dreams, he has bright blue eyes with golden specks in them and thick blond hair. There’s always a mischievous smile on his lips. I run my fingertips over his face and try to remember something.
“Who are you?” I murmur, wishing the page would answer me back.
Nothing comes and frustration builds. I don’t have time for this. I need to come up with a plan.
Sighing, I place the sketch pad back into my bag and pull out the envelope with our documents inside. I snuck into Theo’s office to retrieve them. I’ll need to find Ciarán a new school.
My frown deepens as I read Ciarán’s birth certificate. His name is listed as Ciarán Walsh. I take out mine and read the name printed on it. Ciara Walsh is on mine.
I’m taken aback. Although Ciara feels familiar, I’ve always been called Cee-Cee. As far as I’ve been told, my last name is Young. Theo has always filled out paperwork for us and placed his last name as ours.
I glance at the names listed for my parents. Iesha Rogers is listed on both documents for our mom. However, I knit my brows as I see our father’s name.
Donald Walsh.
My brain tickles a little more. I grab a notepad and scribble the name down. I also copy his date of birth as well. My mouth falls open as I read both my father’s and my birthplace.
Ireland.
The accent. It’s not as strong as when I was younger. It mostly comes out when I’m angry, but Theo could never explain it. He always brushed me off when I asked and corrected me when it happened.
Quickly, I check what’s listed on Ciarán’s. My eyes bug out as I see New York as my brother’s birthplace. I have so many questions.
Theo was my mother’s husband when she died. I’ve never asked about or thought about my real father. Not that Theo was open about information when it came to my past or anything about my mom.
Sometimes I wonder if he knew her at all. His refusal to give me little tiny details about her has always made me so angry. If he loved her, how could he block out everything about her?
My chest grows tight. What does this mean? I was already nervous about taking my brother with me.
Theo could have me arrested and I’d lose my brother to the system or worse. He’d be stuck with the Youngs, but there was no way I was going to leave him behind.
This is why I’m headed to California. We don’t know anyone there, but Theo isn’t coming there for us. This will give me time to figure things out.
Hopefully, Theo will forget about us. However, as I look down at our birth certificates, I get this sinking feeling in my gut that this isn’t over. My goal is to protect my brother. I will do anything to make that happen.
“Cee, is everything okay?” Ciarán says sleepily.
I look up into his eyes. I hate the concern I see there. He deserves so much better.
“Yeah. Everything is fine.”
“Are we almost there yet?”
I look at the screen on the back of the seat in front of us. The map shows we’re still thirty minutes out from our destination. It isn’t a long flight, but I think we’re both exhausted.
I think we both passed out before the plane took off. My heart races as the magnitude of it all comes down on me. When we land, this will all get real.
“Yeah, buddy. We’ll be there soon.”
“Am I getting a new phone?”
I made sure he left his phone behind before leaving the house. I’ll have to get him a new one when we land. For now, I blocked anyone I don’t want to be in contact with from my phone. I begin to make a mental note of all the things I need to do.
“Yeah. We’ll get you a new phone, and we’ll get something to eat. I’m starving. Sound good?”
“Sounds awesome. I’m hungry too,” he says with that big, handsome smile.
God, I love this kid. He’s my entire world. As long as he’s safe and happy, I’m good.
Dylan
I wake in a cold sweat. I’ve been having the same dream since we moved away from Ireland. However, lately it’s been insistent.
For some reason, old memories have resurfaced. I haven’t been able to push them back into their box. For years, I have wondered what happened to my friend.
I don’t think I will ever be able to forget her. I never really tried to. My life’s mission has been to find my way back to her. We were the same, well, not really, but in a way.
We were both different from everyone else. I was the only one out of six brats with blond hair and ice-blue eyes with subtle flecks of golden brown. All three of my brothers and my two sisters have dark-brown hair and green eyes.
I was also the tiniest of the six. My siblings teased me all the time that I was mail-ordered by my parents. I guess all that teasing is why I was painful shy to begin with.
It was only around her that I ever felt like I could be me, like I belonged. It was okay to be different around her because, like me, she was different with her deep, dark-honey-colored, golden-brown skin and those big, bright, green-gray eyes.
They were the brightest eyes I have ever seen. Those long dark curls framed her heart-shaped face and spilled down her back, making her look like the perfect doll. It was amazing to have someone around who was actually smaller than me.
Granted, I was about two years older than she was, but that should tell you just how much of a runt I happened to be. I was never a runt to her though. I was her best friend, her buddy, her hero.
I never thought that day would be the last time our families would live on that same little road together. My family lived in that same home since before I was born and her da’s family had owned that big old farm for generations.
Ciara.
Just hearing her name brings back the anticipation I used to have waiting for her to return. Ciara’s da was a fighter. He met her ma in the States when he first went there to start his boxing career.
Once he married her ma and she got pregnant with Ciara, they started to make the trips to Ireland to stay on the farm during training seasons. Whenever a big fight came up in the States, Ciara’s whole family would go to support her da.
I would miss her terribly every time, as they would be gone for months at a time. However, they always came back. It was that time again.
She was only supposed to be gone for two months. Yet that last day, I felt a sickness I had never felt before. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me before she left. Even at the age of ten, I knew she was taking my heart along with her.
“Dyl,” she gasped in a little whisper.
Ciara had enough of an Irish lilt to her tiny voice to think she’d spent more time in Ireland than in the States. “Yer going to get in so much trouble.”
Her eyes were wide as she looked at the half a dozen pink roses I cut from my ma’s garden. I shrugged my small shoulders and looked at her shyly. Her small, full lips turned into a bright smile.
In that moment, whatever beating I took for butchering the roses would be worth it. Ciara had always said she loved the pink roses in my ma’s garden the most. I had to take them, knowing they were her favorite.
My sister will be after me too. I took a roll of her ribbon she uses for baskets to wrap the stems of the roses with. It was the prettiest roll she had, purple with sparkles.