Chapter 10 Declan
DECLAN
I wake up in Amelia’s arms.
My neck aches from sleeping on the living room couch.
I feel wrung out, empty, but bizarrely clear-headed, the funeral having drawn a line underneath what happened to my son, allowing me to focus on what needs to be done.
I won’t let Ruairi’s death go unavenged.
The Murrays will pay for his murder, and they won’t rise from the ashes once I’m finished with them.
I’m still wearing my black suit. No tie. Reeking of brandy.
Amelia is still dressed all in black, crumbs embedded in the knees of her pants, her hair working loose from the bun it was tied up in yesterday.
While I have her all to myself and the house is still quiet, I soak up her presence in this room. In my life. She looks so peaceful in slumber, her face unblemished by life, plump lips parted like an infant oblivious to their position in the big wide world.
I pushed her away when I learned about Ruairi. Closed in on myself. Dealt with my grief in the only way I know how, by drinking myself into a stupor and allowing my brain to subconsciously resolve the practical side of the situation.
She deserved better. All the romantic declarations in the world would not have cushioned her from my withdrawal.
Yet she showed up every day with food and drink, she helped Eoghan with the funeral and wake arrangements, and then, last night, when I was unraveling, she held me in her arms and waited for me to come out the other side.
No questions. No judgement. No expectations of reward.
That must mean something.
What exactly, I have no idea. I’m in no position to hope that she loves me. We hardly know each other. I might simply be an infatuation, and if that’s all it is, then I’ll handle it with dignity when she tells me that it’s over.
But if it’s more than that… My pulse races at the thought that Amelia might someday become the part of my life that’s been missing since Niamh died.
I don’t want to wake her up, but I can’t leave her here. She worked her ass off yesterday and spent the rest of the night comforting her boss; she deserves a break, even if only for a few hours.
Carefully, silently, I scoop her into my arms and carry her upstairs to the guest room.
I don’t undress her. I’ve seen her naked, but this would be a violation of her vulnerability, and even mafia bosses have morals.
I cover her with the comforter and kiss her forehead.
She snuggles under the covers, and for a moment, I hope that she’ll open her eyes and ask me to stay.
But she’s still sound asleep.
I’ve spent so little time in my room since the news of Ruairi’s death that it feels off kilter when I open the door.
The bed is made. The curtains are closed.
Everything is in its place, but it all feels so pointless.
I close the door behind me and take a few moments to ground myself back in the real world.
It smells like Amelia. Or perhaps it’s me that smells like her. Either way, it gives me the strength to shower, dress in clean clothes, and make my way back downstairs to clear up the mess from the wake while she sleeps.
Orla is sitting in the kitchen, lights off, a mug of tea on the table in front of her. Untouched.
“Orla?” I startle when I switch on the lights and see the party detritus surrounding her. “Have you been here all night?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep.” She raises heavy-lidded eyes. “I didn’t have the energy to clear up.”
I cross the room and switch the kettle on to boil, dragging my mug across the counter and adding a teabag. “You should get some rest.”
I’ve hardly seen my mother-in-law while I’ve been processing the loss of my eldest son. I’ve been utterly selfish. She’s grieving for her grandson, and I shut myself away when she needed me most.
“Rest?” She sighs heavily. “What’s the point?”
I don’t have an answer for that. I’m not going to tell her that it’s what Ruairi would’ve wanted. I’ve no time for people who claim to know what those who’ve passed would’ve wanted as if they’re still communicating with them every day.
“Please?” I say instead. “I’ll clear up.”
“Where is Amelia?”
I keep my back to her while I fill the mug with boiling water. “She must still be sleeping.”
“In the living room?”
I freeze. Did she see us? What does she know?
I take the milk from the refrigerator, buying myself some time. “She heard me last night. Sobbing. She stayed with me because she didn’t want to leave me alone.”
While the tea cools, I grab a roll of black sacks from the cupboard underneath the sink and start clearing away the remains of the wake.
“She has a kind heart, Declan. Don’t take advantage of it.”
She knows more than she is letting on, but she has nothing to say about it. Which is so unlike Orla, that I can’t decide if it’s because she is mourning Ruairi or because she approves of our connection.
Perhaps that is wishful thinking on my part though.
“I would never,” I begin.
She stands up, holding onto the edge of the table. “I know you wouldn’t, but she’s young. She needs time to figure things out, so be patient.”
Before I can tell her how I feel, she shuffles away, shoulders so bowed that I don’t have the heart to burden her with this as well as everything else that’s going on.
It’s mid-morning when Amelia surfaces, looking groggier than I feel when she enters the kitchen.
“You cleared up?” Her eyes skim the work surfaces and the floor before drifting towards the conservatory. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
Color rises to her cheeks making her look the way she does when she’s flushed from our lovemaking. “You looked too peaceful. And besides, you worked hard yesterday. This was the least I could do.”
Her eyes meet and lock onto mine. “You could’ve stayed with me.”
“I…”
…didn’t think she’d want me after pushing her away for so long.
…want so much more than stolen wee hours when the house is sleeping.
“…wanted to give you some space.” I close the distance between us. “Thank you, Amelia. I wouldn’t have gotten through the night without you.”
She moves into my arms, seamlessly, effortlessly, as if they were made for her. “You would have, but I didn’t want you to do it alone.”
“I…” My God, she’s so perfect, my entire body aches for her whenever we’re this close. Telling her that I appreciate what she did sounds so fucking lame. So instead, I say, “Sit down. Breakfast first, then we have the rest of the day to relax.”
I grill sausages, bacon, black pudding, which Amelia refuses to taste, fried eggs, and hash browns mopped up with thick hunks of homemade bread.
I load the dishwasher while Amelia cleans the table and the work surfaces.
We look and feel like a couple, but I’m afraid to get ahead of myself.
It’s too soon. But more importantly, I don’t want her pity because of Ruairi.
After, we go down to the stables where I finally introduce her to the horses. She nuzzles their faces, and they allow her to hug them, accepting food from her hand as if she has always been a part of this family.
Amelia has never ridden before, so I saddle my chestnut stallion, Sheriff, and help her up to sit behind me.
“Ready?” I peer over my shoulder at her bright eyes and her tentative smile and try to ignore her breasts crushed against my back.
“Ready.”
We don’t get above a trot. Sheriff senses her lack of confidence and takes it easy, finding his own way around the grounds and heading towards the lake, which is my favorite place to come and think when I need tranquility.
I help Amelia to dismount, spread my jacket on the cold grassy bank, and sit beside her. The sky is clear, the unexpectedly bright blue of cold fall days, fiery golden leaves falling all around us and settling on the calm surface of the lake.
“This is my favorite time of year,” we both say at the same time.
There’s an awkwardness between us that wasn’t there before. It’s my fault. I kept her at arm’s length instead of confiding in her, and I’ve got some work to do to break through this invisible barrier. I already know that I’ll do whatever it takes.
Especially with Orla’s gentle admission earlier that she knew we spent the night together in the living room. It doesn’t matter what she believes happened between us; what’s important is that she didn’t call me a fucking idiot for falling for a woman young enough to be my daughter.
Amelia smiles and leans against me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Tell me about Ruairi.”
The lump in my throat swells, and I try to swallow it. This will get easier in time, but for now, I must hold onto it until the Murrays have paid for what they did.
“He was the bonniest, brightest lad. They say that the first-born child takes after their father, and he did. Everyone could see it. But he was smarter and braver than I ever was.”
I look at Amelia, and she is clinging to every word that I’m saying. She doesn’t speak, just waits for me to continue.
“He had such big plans. Sometimes, I thought that Ireland was too small for him. That it was wrong to keep him here.”
“I’m sure that wasn’t true.”
I smile. “I wish you’d gotten to meet him, Amelia. You’d have loved him.”
She sits back, picks up a fallen leaf from the grass, and smooths it out across her raised knee with her fingertips. “I—”
“When he walked into a room, he lit it up with his smile. He had such charm. Orla always said that he could charm the hind legs off a donkey.”
Guilt crashes through me, making it hard to breathe. He would still be alive if I’d handled the alliance myself, and this is something that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my days. Perhaps it’s time to tell Amelia the truth about what we do.
“I should never have let him go to New York. I should’ve insisted on handling our business myself.”
There’s panic in her eyes when she looks at me again. “You might’ve been killed.”
“Better me than my son. He had his whole life ahead of him.”