Chapter Fourteen #2
“I joke,” I argue. “Sorry if I’ve been a little preoccupied with nursing you back to health and, you know, death threats and all.”
“Keep throwing that in my face, why don’t you?” Rian kicks at a stick, which goes flying.
We don’t head toward the driveway, instead turning around the back of the house, walking through the woods.
We’re far enough out that I doubt we will run into anyone.
I don’t even remember how close the nearest house was when we drove in, but I don’t figure Rian would have me out here if there was danger of running into someone else’s home.
When we’re just a little ways away, the house still in the distance, what Conan said to me before flitters back in my head, and I freeze—one foot in front of the other.
“What’s wrong?” Rian asks.
“What about the invisible fence?” He frowns, and I continue. “The one that will shock me because of this stupid thing on my leg?”
The second the words are out, Rian bursts into laughter. It’s the first time I’ve heard it, and as much as I almost get distracted by the deep, rich sound, I can’t help but be frustrated.
“Conan told you that? That was a lie. He was just trying to scare you.”
“Well, it worked!” I argue. “I hate your friend.”
“You hate me, too.”
Not in the same way I hate his friend. “What an asshole,” is all I say as we continue walking again, every few seconds, Rian letting out a soft chuckle again. “I’m glad my fear amuses you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of it. It’s just…well, it was a good lie.”
I roll my eyes, and strangely, some of my annoyance has washed away by the lightness in his tone…and the apology.
“I haven’t done something like this in a while,” I admit.
“Walk?” he asks.
“No. Well, yes. I jog for exercise, but I don’t remember the last time I went on a walk just to go on a walk. Certainly not through the woods like this. My mom loved being outside. She was a nature artist.”
“Drawing?”
“Yes. Painting too. She was incredibly talented. She used to try to teach me to paint. I was terrible. An artist I am not.”
Rian chuckles. “That’s sweet, though. She sounds like a good mom.”
“The best,” I answer.
“Moira was too,” he says so softly it’s hard to make the words out.
“She loved being a mom. She was so good with Cillian. When we first brought him home, I was afraid I would break him, but she just…knew everything. I never doubted her when it came to kids. Cillian was five when I brought Rory home and—”
“Who’s Rory?” I ask.
“Cillian’s best friend. His father was brought into our family by my brother.
I hated the motherfucker. He was shit to his son, and Rory’s mom had a lot of mental health struggles.
He didn’t have anyone, so I brought him home because I knew Moira would know what to do…
and she did…and Cillian too. He’s a caretaker like she was. ”
It’s nearly impossible for me to wrap my mind around everything he just said—not only the fact that Rian is sharing it all with me, but it’s just another layer of who this man is—bringing home a young boy whose parents couldn’t be there for him the way he deserved.
Many people wouldn’t do that, and I never expected that a killer would be someone who does.
But even more than that is how impossible it is to hear him speak about Cillian and Moira and not feel how much he loves them.
“I always thought they would end up together, honestly—Cillian and Rory. It’s incredible really, who they are to each other, the bond they have, and the way they read each other, but then Cillian met Ollie, and Rory met Shai.”
“Shai?” I ask.
“His boyfriend.”
Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Most of the family he’s told me about are all with someone of the same gender. “Very queer family.” I smile. It sounds perfect.
“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
I’m definitely seeing that. Rian isn’t who I expected him to be, and I don’t know what to do with that. It doesn’t change who he is, of course, and the things he does, but it is another layer.
“Did you raise Rory?”
“Basically. His mom took her own life when he was eight. His father was murdered a few years later.”
“Isn’t all the queerness unexpected in your world?”
“This generation is different…better. The bond between those kids, it wasn’t like that in our day.
For most people, it was every man for himself—with a few exceptions like Conan.
” I huff, unable to believe that man can care about anyone, but Rian continues, “Like I said before, my son is better than me. All of them are better than all of us. Being queer isn’t an issue for them.
It’s not an issue for me, and if who they love is an issue for anyone, then I will cut their fucking heart out before I allow them to hurt my son. ”
I stumble, his words sending ice down my spine.
On reflex, I reach for the closest thing to me, which happens to be Rian’s good arm, steadying myself to stay on my feet.
The second I touch him, warmth spreads from the tips of my fingers, through my hand, and up my arm.
It’s almost like a shock to the system, a jolt of…
fuck if I know. Something. Which makes me jerk away from him.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Fine…just…”
“Too soon for the heart-cutting-out talk?” he teases, which should absolutely not be endearing, so why do I almost find myself smiling?
“I guess I can forgive you because it’s in queer solidarity and for your son.
” And because he can’t be serious, right?
But then, there’s nothing about him that should make me disbelieve anything he says.
This man killed someone when he was eight years old.
The thought immediately makes me sad again, sad for that little boy and the man he has become, the man he had no chance of escaping from the sounds of it.
“You shouldn’t forgive me for anything. Don’t compromise who you are for me.” And then, without another word, Rian starts to walk away.