24. CANT TAKE YOUR MEMORY
24
CAN'T TAKE YOUR MEMORY
JACK
S o, it looked like Penny wasn’t who or what he’d thought she was after all.
American Roots video Penny was sweet and sincere. In the imaginary relationship he’d built with her, she was also fiercely loyal. Dream Penny would never have decided to pack her things and take off without a word. Not a phone call or a text. Not even a Dear Jack note on the nightstand. Just a silent fuck you .
A quiet No, I don’t want you, I never loved you .
That’s what she’d left him with. That’s what was inside him — a scream in the void where his soul should be.
Fuck that.
He should’ve walked away and never looked back the night he saw her wedding photo by her bedside, knowing she was walled off from caring about a new man. Even if she’d revealed she wasn’t romantically passionate about Brendan, she was still using him as her excuse to keep Jack at arm’s length.
There’d never been a real shot for them. Brendan was the only man she wanted in her life. For the rest of her life.
Now he had nothing left but his pride and his rage. The thirst for blood.
FitzGerald excelled at keeping affairs in the castle a secret. And in a secret fight, there’d be no rules. No laws. He could kill La Roque and there’d be no consequences.
On the other hand, if La Roque killed him with a lucky blow angled just right, at least it would silence that scream inside him once and for all.
It would be a mercy compared to what lay ahead without Penny. Without their child.
Nothing mattered.
Jack trained harder, and longer, increasing his workouts until his body groaned, until he could end the day falling into a mindless, dreamless sleep or drown in a bath of ice. Yet every morning, he woke up clutching her pillow to his body as if he’d been holding her. Disgusted with himself, he’d leave the house and everything in it that reminded him of her and not come back until the next bedtime.
“What’s wrong with you?” Charlie asked him that question at least once every day.
“Nothing,” he’d mumble. “Everything’s grand.”
He was too busy to have dinner with Deirdre and Bran. His mother kept pushing to speak to Penny on the phone, pushing to come over and meet her. And when he didn’t produce their precious Penelope, Dierdre showed up at the house one day and more or less demanded he let her in. Jack did not. He cracked the door open enough to talk but no further.
“Is Penny in there? Because I’m starting to think she doesn’t want to meet me. Have I offended her? Did I say something?” Dierdre asked with her hands on her hips.
He remembered that pose well from his childhood when, once again, he’d misbehaved or gotten into a fight at school. She’d be so tired from work but had to deal with his shite anyway. The child he’d been had felt a twinge of guilt about that.
Now Jack only shrugged. “Can’t think of anything. Chat later, I’m busy right now.”
Before he could shut the door entirely, Deirdre exhaled sharply. “Jack Valentine, what is going on? You’ve been doing your best not to see or talk to me or your father. Not a word from Penny when I can get you on the phone. Now you open the door and let me in. Now .”
She wasn’t going to drop it and leave. Fuck it.
Shuffling away from the door, he let it swing open and allowed Dierdre to enter. She stared at him when she got a good look at him.
“Jesus, you got big again.”
“I was never small,” he retorted listlessly.
“You’re definitely bigger,” Dierdre said, eyeing him critically. “I guess all that working out you’ve been doing…” He could practically see her mind working. Her coffee eyes bounced back up to his face. “And you could do with a shave. And your hair needs a good cut. You look like a werewolf. One of those mangy ones that lives in the subways in those movies.”
“I love it when we get together,” Jack said with a sigh.
Giving him a “hmph,” his mother slowly walked through the living room. She ran a finger along the mantle, and it came up gray with dust.
“When’s the last time Colleen was in here?” she asked. Colleen was the woman who came by to clean once a week. He was still paying her but he hadn’t let her in since…
He shrugged. Another “hmph.” Jack suddenly spotted the pregnancy books he’d stopped reading at the end of the mantle right around the same time she did. Fuck. The plan had been to tell his parents the news when they were back in town. Obviously, that plan had gone to shit like everything else in his life.
Dierdre touched the book stack and turned back to him with the biggest smile.
“Jack…I’m going to be a nana?”
Quickly, he shifted his gaze. He couldn’t stand to see what was going to happen to that smile when she realized how quiet his house was and why.
“I suppose.”
A silence fell on them, blanketing everything in stillness. Jack shifted from foot to foot, like he was in his corner and waiting for the buzzer to go off to get in the mix.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” The question wasn’t a question. Dierdre’s voice was soft, so soft he wouldn’t have heard her if there had been any other noise. Another long pause followed. Then she spoke again, haltingly. “What happened?”
The wall of fire that he’d kept stoked all these weeks since Penny had burned down his hopes and left them in ashes threatened to weaken under his mother’s soft, wounded words. He shook himself and ignored the weakness. “Does it matter?”
“Of course, it matters,” she exclaimed. “Whatever it was, you need to fix it.”
He still wouldn’t look at her. “Why are you assuming I’m the one that did something that needs fixing?” His chest was thumping, and his fists clenched. The boiling liquid in the cauldron inside him was rising, threatening to topple the lid.
“It doesn’t matter who did what. For God’s sake, Jack, there’s a baby involved! You’re not a teenager anymore, and neither is she. Talk to her and fix this. I know you have your pride, but you’ll have to get over it.”
A buzzer went off on his wristwatch. He held it up, turned on his heel, and headed toward the coat closet. “I’ve gotta go for my run.” There was a vest in the closet, weighted down with metal bars. He shrugged it on over his T-shirt, then followed up with a thick zippered hoodie and his knit hat. Penny had made it. He’d almost thrown it out but decided that would be a waste. Soon as winter was over, he’d toss it, along with all the other things she’d left behind.
Dierdre followed him out the door. “Jack, are you fighting again? Is that why she left? You’re fighting ? Why? Why would you do that?”
He did look at her, finally. Her normal vanilla-and-roses complexion was now mottled dark pink. It was like that Old Testament story where Lot’s wife had been warned not to turn and look upon the destruction of a city. The disappointment and anguish in his mother’s face when she realized what he had planned was almost enough to turn him to salt, to stone. Almost enough to sway him from his sole purpose left in life.
“Gotta go, Mam,” he said shortly.
She was still calling his name as he jogged down the street and escaped.
If he’d believed for one second that was the end of it, which he did not, he would have been mistaken. When he got to the gym to check up on the students and some paperwork, Charlie was waiting for him.
“Yer mam called me crying this morning,” the old man said, hustling to follow Jack to his office.
“Did you tell on me?” Jack asked absently, turning on his laptop.
Charlie made a scoffing noise. “Did I have to? You’re almost as big as that green fella from those movies you watch except really feckin’ hairy.” Jack shot him a look and pursed his lips. “She’s not daft. She already figured out what you’re up to.”
“Don’t tell me she wore you down with her tears, and you came in here to tell me you’re backing out of helping me win.”
Sinking into the chair facing Jack’s desk, Charlie put his gnarled hands on his knees and sighed hard. “I’ve been with you since the beginning, and I’ll be there now.”
Jack nodded. “See. That’s the correct answer.” He scanned an encrypted email from FitzGerald. More questions about specifications for the cage.
“Assisted suicide. Sure, why not? Honestly, I’m only surprised it took a piece of shite like La Roque to get you back in there. You’ve been depressed since you gave up your title. Always knew you were waiting for an excuse to jump back in, no matter what the docs said. Anyway, she did tell me something I didn’t know. About yer wan, and why she hadn’t come around since that afternoon when youse were in here screamin’ like a pair of feckin’ banshees. She’s up and left, hasn’t she? Because of this fight and what could happen to you.”
Jack had to take a minute to hold down the surge of anguish that rushed up his throat, nearly closing it. When he could speak again, he said, “Sure look. I know you liked her. She liked you, too. But she’s not here because she didn’t want to be. She couldn’t support me. Nothing more to say.”
“It’s asking a lot to have the person who loves you see you hurt yourself for no good reason. I’ve been around blood and senselessness me whole life. I can take it, but not everyone can,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “She was the only thing that got you smiling again. I hoped it would be enough to keep you out of that cage. And it’s not too late. You can call this thing off. She loves you, lad. It was clear to me as the sun is shining. How many people can you say that about? Count them on yer fingers and see if you can use more than one hand.”
Jack froze, out of arguments. Charlie got up from the chair, wincing when his knees audibly cracked, then shuffled out of the office.
On the way out, Charlie said, “Well. Let’s get you sparrin’, kamikaze.”
Over the next two weeks, Jack trained hard, harder than he ever had in his life. Hands, elbows, knees, kicks, throws, takedowns, holds. They’d brought in his old sparring partners, who’d agreed to pretend they were only there for fun. Everybody was sworn to silence about why he was training like this.
Jack ignored his mother’s increasingly desperate phone calls and dodged her drop-ins by spending most of his time at the gym rather than at home. Not that he enjoyed being there anyway. Penny was in everything he saw there, everything he touched. Sometimes he even imagined he smelled her juicy fruit and roses scent still on her pillow, despite him stripping the bed and washing all of it repeatedly himself. It made him weaker, and he couldn’t weaken, not now.
All at once, there was one week left until the fight. Charlie and his corner team were resigned yet ready. FitzGerald texted daily about the arrangements; Jack could sense his giddy bloodlust in every message. Seems this was going to be the battle of the century for his posh cunt friends, and he was sparing no expense to prepare the castle.
Jack wondered how many hypocrites would pay to be in attendance. Which “decent citizens” would come to place highly illegal bets, wagering on how many pints of blood would be spilled on the mat. All while publicly denouncing inner-city knifings and crime.
“Hey, Coach. Got a visitor.” It was Rain, the American girl who’d traveled all that way just to learn from him. She was the one who Penny had really liked working out with whenever she’d come by. Now she was rapping gently on Jack’s office door with her meek grin.
He’d just ended a call with his solicitor, making sure all his affairs were in order. Not that anything was going to happen to him, but just in case… If anything happened, he was leaving a chunk of his estate to his parents and some to Charlie to live comfortably. Meghan and the twins would be set too. But Penny and the baby would get the lion’s share. Whether she’d moved on or not, whether she gave a shite what happened to him, he’d made a promise to take care of them, and he’d fulfill it regardless.
“Send them in.”
In walked Bran, looking tan and healthy as though the months in Southern Europe had permanently embedded sunshine in his skin. Retirement looked good on him. As far as Jack could remember, Bran had always had his paunch and thin sandy-brown hair. His round face always bore a good-natured smile. But not today.
Jack sighed. “If Mam sent you to try to talk me out of this again, please tell her to stop. My mind’s not changing.”
“Mam didn’t send me. Thought I’d take you out to lunch. I hear you’ve been holed up in here,” Bran said, looking at the folding cot that was near the wall. There were blankets and a pillow stacked on top. “Come on. Get some fresh air with me, mate.”
Best mates. That’s what Bran had said they were going to be when he’d shown up trying to woo Dierdre so many years ago. His twinkling blue eyes had been so kind. Despite Jack’s attempts to challenge him and keep his position as the man of the house, it had been hard to fight off Bran’s genuine goodness.
Best mates they’d become and still were. It was the only reason Jack wouldn’t tell him to piss off and mind his business.
“Fine.” Jack pushed away from his desk and got his coat. “But we’ve got to keep it quick. I’ve got —”
“I know. Training. Come.” Bran looked at him expectantly and cocked his head in the direction of the main entrance before heading out.
They took Bran’s car to a seafood restaurant that served some good fish and chips up in Malahide. The restaurant had a view of the sea. It was peaceful in the afternoon. Jack ate quickly, his eyes on the choppy gray water and the docked boats, avoiding Bran’s gaze.
“I’m coming to your fight. I want to drive,” Bran said.
Startled, Jack’s eyes moved to his face. Bran was serious. But then he’d always come to Jack’s fights, even if Dierdre could never stomach watching them.
“Alright,” Jack said. “Charlie and the other fellas are coming, too.”
Bran nodded, looking down at his crispy, golden chips fried to perfection. He dipped one in curry sauce and munched contemplatively. Penny had never gotten used to that, preferring ketchup, which Jack had teased her about.
Stop thinking about her.
When Bran got down to his last chip, he wiped his mouth and sighed with satisfaction.
“This place is the best, as usual. Have you contacted Penny? We’d like to know how she and the baby are doing.”
Damn, he went right for it. Bran never wasted time easing into the hard conversations.
At the thought of Penny getting rounder with his baby and everything he was missing out on, Jack’s eyes burned. Quickly, he shut that shite down. No tears. Not now. He couldn’t afford them. It had been Penny’s decision to deprive him of all that. He would not accept the blame for this.
“I haven’t spoken to her.”
“Why not?”
Jack searched for words that would make sense. Why hadn’t he reached out? When all he craved every minute of the day was to hear her voice?
“She wouldn’t want to hear from me. She said I was selfish and didn’t care about her, so I’m gonna let her be right and have the last word.”
Bran’s answering grin was more of a smirk. “Huh. Never thought…”
“Never thought what?” Jack tensed, ready for the coming argument.
“Never thought you’d be more like your birth father than me.”
Stunned, Jack absorbed Bran’s straight punch to the jaw. Reeling, he slumped back in his chair.
“How…could you say something like that to me? I’m nothing like him,” Jack gritted out through his teeth.
“I suppose the man loves you in his own way. But he let your mother leave. He didn’t fight for her, didn’t change his ways for her. Then he came here to Ireland, but he couldn’t leave the life behind and ended up disappointing her here too.”
“I already know all this. Is there a point?” Jack asked brusquely, his face fucking burning.
Fixing him with a sudden hard stare, Bran paused. “I always have a point, if you’d listen. Now, before I met your mother, I was busy working my way up the ladder. A family was the last thing on my mind. All I cared about was meeting the right people, getting the promotions at the bank, wearing the best clothes, and driving the newest car. Then I meet this tough waitress at a restaurant…a lot like this one. Her and her boy, who was even tougher and wanted nothing to do with me.” Bran chuckled at the memory with a head shake. “You changed everything for me. Becoming the man in your life made mine better than I could have imagined. I tried my best to show you how a real man treats the woman he loves and takes care of his responsibilities to his family, but after this, now I’m wondering…maybe I showed up too late to teach you anything.”
The wound that was sliced open by Bran’s soft-spoken words cut too deep. With a trembling hand, Jack wiped his mouth and threw his napkin down. He fished out bills from his pocket and threw those down, too, right in the center of the table. His head was whistling rage like a teakettle. Before he disrespected Bran by cursing him the fuck out, he stood up and pushed back his chair.
Bran only looked up at him calmly as Jack towered over him.
“I’ll get back to the gym on me own.”
It was a miracle the glass door didn’t shatter when he shoved it open and left.