Chapter Five
The Castle Kitchen
Same Time
Sunday Night
It was clear that there wasn’t only something wonky going on there, but there was something tied to him in an unexplainable way. Since coming here, Michael had the feeling that he was meant to be here.
Like pieces of a puzzle were falling into place all around him.
And he didn’t know why.
He couldn’t understand why two dead men were running parallel to his life, or why he’d come here to find the man he’d loved so much that he’d been willing to die for him.
If anything, coming here should be unfamiliar, and something he felt uncomfortable with, but here he was, sitting in a castle, his ex was upstairs, the one who got away, and a bunch of ghosts were not terrorizing him.
YET.
It was still early.
Yeah, this shit was wild.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke to whatever was watching him because something most definitely was. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, as if something was breathing there.
Waiting there.
Lurking there.
Yeah, he was definitely losing his mind.
“If you want me to read these, give me a sign. Show me something so I know that I’m here for a reason, and that you’re pushing me toward it. I’m not a believer in coincidences, but I believe in signs.”
He held his breath, and that’s when the coffee pot went off, and then back on again.
So, he rationalized it.
“Maybe that’s just a wiring issue,” he said. “I need something more than that. Am I supposed to be here with Graham now? Is this all meant to be? Like divine intervention?” he asked, knowing how silly it was since he called himself an Archangel.
But still.
That’s when the kitchen cabinet slowly began opening, much to Michael’s horror.
Then again, he asked for this, so…
He was an idiot.
Clearly.
As he sat in the chair, watching the cabinet full of coffee mugs, one slowly began turning as if something was spinning it on the shelf.
ONLY.
ONE.
“What the…?” he muttered.
And that’s when he saw it. The mug had a saying on it, and it was very familiar.
Oh, holy Hell’s bells.
He recognized it.
‘No one does it like a soldier.’
And he knew that mug.
It was Graham’s.
In fact, he’d had it made for him years ago when they were a couple. On it, there was the Black Watch emblem, and the Marine crest. Then, those words that always made him smile and laugh when they’d have coffee and he’d hold it words facing out.
Now, it sat there, staring him in the face. Well, he wanted a sign, and that was a flashing neon one.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Can you please close the cabinet? That’s freaky.”
It slammed shut on command, and he ended up jumping, nearly shitting himself.
Oh, Jesus Christ, he was in a haunted castle with dead people who could communicate with him.
That couldn’t be good.
Right?
This was one to tell the other Marines when he got back to the States.
IF he got back.
He might just die of a heart attack first.
“Do you want me to read the letters?” he asked, pointing at the box. “If you do, can you shut the lights off?”
Well, hell.
They went off.
Now, he was sitting in the freaking dark, two dead ghosts near him, because he could feel the cold, and that had been the dumbest thing.
ONLY, it got worse.
The lights came back on, and the phone on the counter began ringing.
Because Finn had told him about the painting, he was more than happy to talk to someone—other than the dead.
When he picked it up, he got a shock.
“Hello?”
There was no one there but static, and then, he realized that the dead were trying to get him to read the letters.
“Okay,” he said, hanging it up once he put two and two together and realized no one would call this late at night. “You made your point. You win.”
Picking up the first letter, he went with the one that was closest to the date they broke up. It was the year AFTER he’d walked out and never returned.
‘My Dearest M'eudail,
It’s been a year. One full year has passed since you walked out of that shit apartment door, and never returned. For one full year, I kept the apartment, staying here and living with the ghosts that were our past and for one reason alone. I had hope you’d come back.
I had hope that we’d fix what I’d broken, and that wherever you were, you’d hear me crying myself to sleep at night in our bed.
I don’t know why I’m even writing this letter. I know you’ll never see it. Maybe one day, our paths will cross again, and you’ll see me and fall back in love with me.
Deep down, I know that’s never going to happen, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to believe anything else. I know that truth. The day you left, I died. I’m nothing but a hollow shell, and I can’t even look at another person without hating myself.
My tour of duty ended, and I was offered another tour with more money, more prestige, and more everything, and I took it. I only took it so you could find me. I figured since you were a Marine, you could have a way to connect to me via my service record.
But it’s been a full year, and nothing. You didn’t call. You didn’t text, and honestly, I feel like I’m lost. I don’t know how to do this.
You were the strong one.
You were the one who kept me going.
When you were shot protecting me, and you were bleeding out over me, you promised to love me forever. Now, I don’t know if that was even truth, or something said in your perceived last moments.
We did battle together, and now, I’m left alone. To me, it feels like you died that day. I know that you’re not dead, and likely out finding someone better than me, but in my heart, I’m still mourning you. I’m mourning US. What could have been is always on my mind.
I’m sorry I told you if you left it was over. It took me about a week to figure out that was horrible to say to someone I love. I was scared. Losing you meant losing me, and now, a year later, I know that you’re truly gone.
I lost you, D’Artangnan, and I’m slipping away too.
We were forged in battle, and now, I’m fighting alone.
I don’t have my partner, my soulmate, or my best friend.
I don’t know what I did to make you want to go back to the US, but I’m sorry that I gave you an ultimatum when I should have asked you to marry me.
I wanted to be your husband.
I even bought the rings.
That night, we were going to sneak over to the next town and have dinner. I was going to propose on the cliffs. I was going to ask you to marry me—to stay when your tour was up. I was going to ask you to be my forever.
And now, forever is gone.
I’m gone.
I lied. I do know why I’m writing these letters. It’s so I can never forget that I had my soulmate, and instead of being a coward and afraid to beg on my hands and knees, I let you go.
I’m sorry, D’Artangnan, my M'eudail. I’m so goddamn sorry that I failed us. I wish I could take those moments back. I wish with all I am.
Yours forever.
G.’
Oh, hell.
Michael read the letter, and it hurt his heart. It hurt him in ways he couldn’t even articulate. Had he known any of this, he would have told him the truth.
He would have shared the classified nature of the job he’d taken for them. Michael would have broken the rules for love.
Jesus.
The pain…
Michael couldn’t imagine how much Graham was suffering in that year after.
Oh, he’d been too, but he’d moved on, being angry with him when now, he saw that he’d been just as guilty of making the wrong choice.
He could have told him the truth.
He could have put country behind love for one moment in time, and trusted that Graham wouldn’t have said anything.
Why didn’t he?
What had been wrong with him?
When the box in front of him moved again, closer to him, he got the picture.
Either Duncan or Ciarán wanted him to read more. Maybe they both wanted that.
He wasn’t sure.
Pulling out the next letter in the sequence of the envelopes, he opened it.
And he began reading it.
‘My Dearest D’Artangnan,
There are moments when I think about how we fought side-by-side, and no one knew our truth. You were my partner in and out of war. No one saw that we had taken a vow with that single tattoo.
Now I wonder if you covered it up.
It’s been two years. It’s been more than half of the time we were together, and I know one thing.
I never got over you.
Even at the two-year mark, I still think about you. On this day, I stay in bed, and I mourn what mistake I made. Some people take their birthday off, but I take off the day I let you walk away.
This last year, I’ve been looking for you. I have tried to find D’Artangnan Graves everywhere. Only, you disappeared.
It’s like you don’t exist anymore.
And I get it.
I hurt you by giving you an ultimatum, and you wanted me to never find you again. You’re much better at hide-and-seek than I am.
So, I guess that you’re over me.
I guess that, I deserve that.
I’m going to assume you’ve moved on, and are happily married somewhere. Did you take his name? Is that why I can’t find you?
I hired a private investigator to find you. Out of desperation, I paid someone in the US to locate you, and they came back with nothing.
You’re gone.
The finality of it has set in.
Up to that moment, where he told me that you don’t seem to exist anymore, I had hope that one day, you’d walk through the door, and I’d see you again.
So, I gave up the apartment.
I didn’t renew the lease.
It’s clear that you’re not coming back. For two years, I’ve had hope. Now, I see that you’re lost to me. I let the best thing in my life leave, and I didn’t chase you down.
How do I live with myself knowing that?
Then again, my M'eudail, you likely wouldn’t have taken me back. I saw the hurt in your eyes when I told you I wouldn’t leave Scotland.
You think I chose it over you.
And in a way, I did. That wasn’t my intent. I was a coward, and I’m sorry.
I don’t think I’ll move on though. I bought us rings, and I had planned on marrying you. I think I’ll just pretend you died in war.
Somehow, it’s easier.