Chapter 42
Kara - Present
Owen’s in the kitchen with Maria making tea and getting the first aid kit. Because tea fixes everything, obviously.
Tea can’t fix shit.
Maria hasn’t asked how I hurt my arm, or why we are both filthy and covered in blood, or what we are doing here.
I’m not sure whether Owen has told her not to, or she’s savvier than I give her credit for, sensing that I wouldn’t be here unless I really had to be.
I walk round her small living room, homely and warm, with trinkets and photos of our childhood. We are both still very much a part of her life, even if she isn’t part of mine.
Pausing at a photo and pick it up, it’s of Maria and Owen, a recent one of them standing on the same beach we used to go to as kids.
There’s that feeling again. That bitter taste in the back of my throat. That flutter in my stomach.
Fucking jealousy.
Shaking my head, putting the photo back as Maria comes into the living room with a tray of tea and biscuits on a plate.
“Figured you may appreciate some sugar,” she says, nodding towards my arm. “You’re looking a little pale, Lucy. Or would you prefer Kara?”
“Depends. Am I having this conversation with Maria or Susan?”
“Lucy,” Owen says from the doorway.
I look up and a shadow passes over his face, before he moves his head softly.
She’s not the villain.
His expression reminds me. How is it that with a single look, he can make me feel like shit and feel so unbelievably small?
“Let’s get you patched up,” he says, holding up the first aid kit.
Maria’s hand wraps around my arm quickly as I go to pass her. “For what it’s worth, it’s nice to see you,” she says, her eyes filling with unshed tears.
I don’t reply though. I can’t, because I’m not sure what’s going to come out. So, I just nod and follow Owen to the bathroom. There he stitches me up in silence.
It stretches between us so loudly making the bathroom loud and stifling, making it hard to breathe. He asks if I’m okay, he asks if he’s hurting me, but I stay silent. Watching him work, watching his frown lines, and how his strong hands hold the dainty needle, and he sews me back together again.
“There. You’re now symmetrical.” He says after applying the last bit of tape to my now fully bandaged arm.
I take in my now matching wound. “Thanks.”
“You need to talk to her; I think it will help,”
“You want me to talk a lot at the moment.”
“Please, Lucy.” His eyes pleading as I briefly meet his. He crouches down and packs the supplies back up, throwing the dirty, blood-soaked material into a bag. Tension thick between us. Like just before the storm, thick and heavy.
“I will.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” He stands and smirks at me, holding out his hand.
I grip it and he pulls me up, blocking my path.
“Promise me.” He holds up his little finger.
“You want me to pinkie promise you?”
“It is the sacred vow—”
“That anyone can swear, too.”
“If broken—”
“You will suffer serious consequences,” he finishes our saying.
He grins at me, and it’s like we’re teenagers again, hiding in the toilet, sneaking some time together, a secret kiss. I smile back and lean forward, taking his mouth in mine, his lips firm and warm. I wrap my arms around his waist, but he stands unmoving.
Frowning, I pull back. He kisses my forehead before stepping back, shaking his head.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says, touching my lips gently before cupping my cheek in his hand. “Misdirection 101.” He steps back and holds up his little finger again.
“You’re a child,” I tut.
“Pinkie promise me, Lucy.”
“Fine. God you’re annoying.” I wrap my little finger around his.
“Say the words.”
“I pinkie promise.”
“That—”
“I pinkie promise that I will talk to Maria.”
He nods, happy with my words, and drops his hand before pulling me back to him and kissing me. His tongue dances with mine, and he groans into me.
“I feel like a naughty teenager again,” he mumbles against my lips.
I grin. “I had the exact same thought.”
His fingers run through my hair, down my back, and he grabs my arse, pulling me to him where his growing length pushes against me.
He tilts my head and deepens the kiss, and every thought, emotion and feeling falls out my head as I breathe him in, tasting every inch of him.
“Fuck.” He rests his forehead on mine, both our breaths ragged. My hand rests on his chest, his heart beating wildly beneath my palm. Just like mine.
“I wish we could stay in here. But I made a pinkie promise.”
He chuckles before kissing me once more and readjusts himself. “I think I’m going to need a minute.”
“Was that part of your plan? Get a hard on so I’d have to face her alone.”
“I can think of more obvious ways that don’t involve me getting blue balls. Like going to bed.”
“You wouldn’t, though. You want to make sure I don’t upset her.”
“I think this conversation is one that will upset you both.” He pulls me to him again and wraps his arms around me as I rest my head on his chest. “For a dangerous person, Lucy, you’ve never looked smaller and more afraid. You need this, even if you don’t know that yet.”
“I do know it,” I admit, and he pulls back. “Don’t look so surprised.” I tweak his nipple, and he laughs.
“I’ll join you in a minute; did you leave your knife in the car?”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “Of course not, and Christ, I’m not going to stab her.” He laughs and I punch him lightly in the stomach. “This is by far your worst pep talk. I’m going now.”
She stands up as I enter the room.
“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping forward before hesitating and sitting back down with a sigh. Her hands knot in her lap, playing with the material of her trousers.
“Good as new,” I answer, looking at my freshly bandaged wound. “He’s become quite good at stitches.”
“He said I’m best not to know.”
“Very true.” A pause, a beat, awkwardness as I stare at her. So much history between us, but unable to say anything. How do I even start this conversation?
“How about that biscuit?” Brilliant—well done, Kara.
She smiles at me and sits down on one of the two-seater sofas. I sit opposite her, the small coffee table sitting between us.
“Here,” she says, holding up a plate.
I take one of my all-time favourites—custard creams.
“Do you want tea?”
“No thanks. These were always my favourite,” I admit, taking a bite and picking at the fallen crumbs as it partially breaks as I eat.
“I remember. I always have them,” she says, smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her hands constantly fiddling with something.
“Just in case I visit.”
She laughs and shakes her head, looking at me sadly. “I never expected you to visit, Lucy. Why would you? But Owen.”
“When did he get back into contact?”
“Have you two talked? He said you’ve only just got reacquainted; I’m not sure how much he’s told you. It’s not my place—”
“I’ve not told her everything,” Owen answers from the doorway, and Maria looks up. “Yet.”
“Do you not think this is something we should talk through together? Or do you want to tell her things first?” Maria asks.
“What things?” I ask as Owen comes and sits next to me on the sofa.
“I think I should probably tell you something first.”
“I saw the file, Owen. I saw the murder charge.”
“So, he did find that out then,” he says, rubbing at his chin. “I gave him stuff that I thought would help Andrews. I was expecting him to find some things, but not that. Apex is really good. But so were the people who buried my past.”
I shake my head, frowning as I put the last of the biscuit in my mouth and look to Maria, who is watching us both through tear-filled eyes.
I try to remain calm, show that I’m unaffected, put my mask in place, but my senses are buzzing. I’m on alert. I’m prepping to fight or flight, because whatever is about to come out of their mouths will change everything.
And it’s terrifying me.
“I reached out to Maria when I got out of jail the first time.”
I frown, shaking my head. “The first time?”
“He never left us, Lucy,” Maria says, clearing her throat.
“What?” I ask, my eyes boring into his. My heart thunders behind my ribs. Saliva fills my mouth, which I swallow down, forcing it past the growing ball in my throat.
“The night after the party. The police showed up and James said that if I didn’t leave, he’d report me for sex with a minor—”
“I was sixteen.” I interrupt.
“— on top of me having beat the shit out of Harry and his friends.”
“He hadn’t told me he was arrested. James hadn’t,” Maria adds as I glance between them. “He took all his stuff and told me he ran away, too. It wasn’t until Owen was released, since he wasn’t given the option of bail, that I found out. And by then—”
“I’d already run.”
I stand, the walls of the living room closing in on me as everything they have just told me sinks in.
He hadn’t run.
He hadn’t left.
He had been arrested.
He hadn’t been given bail.
I want to be sick.
I swallow back the lump in my throat.
“I never would have left like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, looking at him sitting on the sofa. His arms rest on his legs as he looks up at me while my head spins. “We’ve had so many conversations; you’ve had so many opportunities.”
“What opportunities, Lucy? When could I have told you? We’ve been running ever since the gala dinner; this isn’t a conversation that could have been rushed, not after you told me—”
He stops mid-sentence and looks across at Maria frowning. Her confused expression, the way she looks between us, her eyes glassy, pain rips through my chest.
“That’s why you said she’s not the villain. She has no idea,” I whisper, putting two and two together and the fact he’s stopped the words on the tip of his tongue. She has no idea what James did to me. Owen stands, resting his hands on my shoulder, bending to meet my eyes.
“What sort of woman did you think she was, Lucy?”
“I—”
“Owen, what don’t I know?” Her voice is small, weak, and full of turmoil.
“Please don’t make me say it,” I say, tears filling my eyes, “please don’t make me tell her.”
He sees my pleading eyes, senses the distress in how I grip his shirt. I can’t believe we’ve gone from pinkie promises to having my whole fucking history being re-written in the space of five minutes and a custard fucking cream biscuit.
He nods and pulls me to his chest.
“You’re both really scaring me now,” Maria says, standing on the other side of the coffee table.
I can’t watch it, though. I can’t watch her reaction. The guilt, the remorse, the pain she will experience as Owen breaks her.
Because Maria will blame herself.
Maria, kind and soft. Her heart will shatter for me. Because she’s so kind, and caring, and was a victim, like me. Like Owen.
“After I left, James turned his attention to Lucy. He—”
“No,” she gasps. “No, no, no.” Maria’s voice shakes.
Owen steps away from me, and I wobble at the loss, but can see why he has moved so quickly.
All the colour from Maria’s face has drained. She falls forward into the coffee table and the China tea pot clanks at her sway.
“Easy, Mum.” He grips her elbow and eases her back to the sofa.
Maria looks at me, her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t, I had no idea—”
And I see it all play out on her face in real time. I replay the moments over and over again in my head, how he would sneak into my room after one of their fights. After she was likely knocked unconscious or already asleep.
“After Owen left…” I start. Nervous energy darts around my body, and I need to move. I start to pour each of us a cup of tea. Because tea fixes anything, right…
“After Owen left, James had no one to block him from me.” I shake my head and laugh to myself as my hands shake, the tea missing the cup, spilling. I give up and place the pot back down.
“I’ve spent years blaming you both,” I say quietly, looking at the brown liquid that has pooled on the biscuit plate. “Years thinking you were both to blame for what he did.” I look up at them both. “I’m so truly sorry for that.”
“You have nothing to apologise for, Lucy—” she starts.
“I do. I ran and left you there, Maria. And I hated you, Owen.” He sits next to Maria, holding her hand tightly in his. “I hated that you left me, when I should have known it was all a lie.” I swipe at an angry tear. “I know you think Andrews took advantage of me—”
“He did take advantage of you,” Owen mutters.
“But there is one thing that man did do right, by us all,” I say, ignoring his comment.
“James got what he deserved, and the best thing is, I was the one to do it. I killed him. That man who took absolutely everything from me. From us. I killed him and watched the hatred dull from his eyes. The life. He didn’t deserve to breathe. Not after what he had done.”
“What?” Owen and Maria say at the same time, both their heads snapping up.
“Don’t tell me you feel bad for him?” I say, confused by their reaction.
“You killed him?” Owen asks.
Maria gasps, looking at him, shaking her head.
“Yeah.” I lean back and grab a biscuit. “Poetic justice, really, when you think about how much he took from each of us. Karma would always get him, except it wasn’t Karma. It was Kara.”
“Lucy,” Owen whispers before standing, staring right through me.
I force down the soggy biscuit, but it sits heavy in my stomach as unease coils tight in my gut.
“Owen,” Maria says, reaching for his hand.
But he steps away, looking back at me, frowning and shaking his head again.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, a prickle of dread crawling up my spine, heat rushing beneath my skin like a warning.
“I-I need a minute,” Owen says, before clearing his throat and leaving the small, comforting living room, which is anything but comforting in this moment.
“What just happened?” I ask Maria who watches after him.
“What did you read in the file?” Maria asks, turning back to me. “Owen said he had told some bits, but what did that man find?”
“That he was put in prison for murder and later exonerated—wait.” I frown and stare at Maria, then at the empty doorway that Owen walked through. My mind works through the angles.
The front door closes, and I stand as the realisation settles.
“No. No. No. No.” I blink. Stunned as I try to make sense of it all.
Maria joins me standing, trying to reach across to me. “This is all because of me?” Stars dance in my eyes. “He went to prison because of what I did to James?”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
They thought it was Owen.