Chapter 36 Deirdre
Deirdre
“The danger has past, and the lingering illness is over at last.” Edgar Allan Poe
We stop at the edge of the cemetery gate, sunlight spilling across the path as though it’s daring us back into the world. My chest feels lighter for a moment, but the weight doesn’t vanish; it changes shape. Grief melts away, leaving a sharp knife in its place.
As Avalon’s streets come back into view, alive with tourists and the sunset, I glance at Kieran. His jaw is set, his eyes shadowed with something that has nothing to do with grief.
I know that look.
It means the goodbye is over. And the hunt is beginning.
Kieran halts, turning toward me. His eyes are dark, steady, and I know what’s coming before he says it.
“Deirdre. We don’t move unless you’re certain. This is your call.”
The world narrows around me.
My father’s house. The place that was once my safety net. The place Trevor dared to make his hiding ground.
I square my shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Kieran studies me, searching for hesitation. When he finds none, his jaw ticks, and he nods once.
“Let’s go.”
Kieran turns to me once more, lowering his voice until it’s for me alone. “You understand what this means?”
I nod, though the air feels thin in my lungs. “It means he doesn’t get to haunt me anymore.”
Something flickers in Kieran’s eyes—pride, anger, hunger for retribution—and then he laces his fingers with mine, squeezing tight.
“Then let’s take back what he tried to steal.”
My father’s street isn’t far. I know the turns by heart, my feet remember even if my body shakes with every corner we pass. The sound of the gulls fades as the houses press closer, streets quieter, the hum of Avalon’s bustle replaced by the softer sounds of home.
Kieran walks just ahead, shoulders squared, every ounce of him alert. His silence says more than words could. He’s already in the mindset of the hunt, the world narrowing to the man we’ve come here for.
Trevor.
Each step feels heavier the closer we get.
When the street sign comes into view, my throat tightens. I slow down without meaning to.
Kieran notices instantly. He stops, turning toward me, his eyes narrow beneath the California sun. “Deirdre.”
I drag in a breath and nod. “I’m okay.” It’s not entirely true, but it’s enough.
His hand brushes mine again, subtle but steady, and we keep walking.
The houses here are older, weathered by the harsh beating of the sea wind. Gardens overgrown, shutters chipped, paint fading beneath years of sun. My father’s house sits near the end of the street, perched slightly above the others, its roofline jagged against the sky.
Even from here, I feel it.
The wrongness.
The last time I saw this house, it was filled with warmth, my father’s laugh echoing down the hall, the faint smell of coffee always lingering in the kitchen. But now, just the sight of it makes my skin prickle.
Because Trevor is inside.
We stop at the foot of the hill that leads up to the porch. The air feels different here, like even the gulls won’t cross this stretch of sky.
The shutters hang crooked, paint peeling in long, pale strips, but the bones of it are the same.
My father’s house.
My childhood pressed into every board, every step. And now it belongs to the man who stole everything from me.
My legs falter. I can’t make them move forward.
Kieran turns instantly, closing the space between us.
“Deirdre.” His voice is low, firm. “Look at me.”
I lift my eyes, and the storm inside me settles at the sight of him.
“You don’t go in there carrying fear,” he says, his hand coming up to frame my jaw, grounding me in the way only he can. “You go in carrying every reason you have to stand tall. For yourself. For what he did. For your father.”
My throat tightens. “What if I can’t do it?”
“You can.” His thumb sweeps against my cheek, his voice rougher now. “Because you’re not doing it alone. I’ll be there. Every step, every breath, until this ends.”
The words hit deep, steadier than the ground beneath my feet.
I nod, breath shaky, but stronger. “Okay.”
The porch groans beneath our weight as we climb the steps. Each creak sends a shiver through me, tugging on memories I wish I could leave buried, summers barefoot on these boards, my father’s voice calling me in for dinner, the way the light used to spill golden through the front windows.
Now the glass is clouded, curtains drawn.
Kieran raises his hand and knocks. Three sharp raps that echo too loudly in the stillness. My stomach twists.
For a moment, nothing.
Just the hollow rush of the ocean somewhere behind us. Then—footsteps. Slow and drawing closer.
The door swings open.
Trevor fills the frame. His face looks older, harder, but the smirk curling his mouth is the same one I remember from every nightmare. His eyes sweep over Kieran first.
“Well,” Trevor drawls, leaning against the frame like this is some casual visit. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Professor?”
Of course he knows who Kieran is…he stalked me for God knows how long.
Kieran’s voice is calm but edged with steel. “Step aside.”
Trevor’s grin widens, cruel. “And here I thought you were here for a friendly chat.” His eyes narrow, trying to peek around Kieran. “Who’s your—”
Before he can finish, I step into view.
His smirk falters. For just a breath, shock cuts through the mask. He wasn’t expecting me.
“Hello, Trevor,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
The silence stretches, heavy and sharp, before he lets out a low chuckle.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” His gaze rakes over me, cold and assessing. “The little runaway returns.”
Kieran’s hand brushes mine at his side. His stance doesn’t shift, his body still angled protectively between us, but he doesn’t stop me when I step forward.
“We’re coming in,” I say.
Trevor arches a brow, mock amusement flickering across his face. But he steps back, opening the door wider. “By all means. Make yourself at home.”
The air inside hits me like a slap—musty, heavy, stripped of the warmth it once carried.
The house smells of dust and stale air, layered over with something sour I can’t name.
The walls are the same, but it feels smaller now, as though Trevor has stripped away everything warm and left only shadows.
Every corner of this house feels wrong now, corrupted by him.
But I walk across the threshold anyway, Kieran at my side.
This isn’t his house.
The door shuts behind us with a heavy click, sealing the silence.
He moves lazily into the living room, dropping into my father’s old armchair like it was always his. He sprawls, one leg crossed, his smirk back in place.
“Well, look at this. The princess returns, and she’s brought her knight in shining armor.” His eyes flick between Kieran and me, mocking us. “Though I have to admit…I expected more of a welcome party.”
Kieran doesn’t take the bait. He stands beside me, still, his presence radiating calm danger.
I step forward, pulse hammering. “This isn’t your house.”
Trevor chuckles low, spreading his arms wide like he owns every corner of it. “Isn’t it? Doors unlocked, bills paid. Roof over my head. Looks like mine to me.”
His gaze cuts back to me, sly. “Funny, though. I always wondered when you’d come crawling back. Guess I should’ve known you couldn’t stay away.”
My stomach twists, but I force my voice steady. “I didn’t come back for you. I came to end this.”
His smirk sharpens, cruel. “End this? Sweetheart, I don’t think you understand. You don’t end me. I end you.”
Kieran steps forward then, his voice lethal. “Not anymore.”
For the first time, Trevor’s mask flickers. His eyes narrow at Kieran like he’s reassessing the threat. He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, and laughs softly.
“So that’s what this is. You think you can play protector? You think you can erase years with one little standoff in this house?”
I meet his gaze head-on, heat coiling low in my chest. “I don’t need him to erase anything. I survived you once, but I guarantee you won’t survive me.”
His jaw ticks, the smile slipping into something uglier. “Careful, Deirdre. You always had a sharp tongue. But sharp things cut both ways.”
The air between us thickens, charged with old wounds and new fire. Kieran doesn’t move, but I can feel the storm in him—waiting and ready to strike.
And for once, I don’t want him to hold back.
Trevor leans back in the chair, his smirk returning. His gaze drags over me slowly, deliberately, as if I’m still the girl he used to corner and break down.
“You know,” he drawls, “I almost didn’t recognize you at first. New clothes.
New posture. You almost look like you belong here now.
” His eyes narrow, the smile twisting. “But I know better. You’ll always be the same pathetic little thing who ran crying, thinking a plane ticket would make you brave. ”
My nails bite into my palms, but I keep my chin high.
Kieran shifts beside me, his jaw tight, his voice like steel wrapped in fire. “Watch your mouth.”
Trevor ignores him, his attention fixed entirely on me.
“What do you see when you look in the mirror, Deirdre? A survivor? Some tragic beauty who clawed her way out of the dark? Please.” He laughs, low and bitter.
“You’re just a broken girl who hides behind strong people.
First, me. Now him.” He tilts his chin at Kieran.
“You’ve never stood on your own two feet. You don’t know how.”
The words dig deep, sharp as glass. Old wounds ache, threatening to reopen. But this time, I refuse to flinch.
I step forward, my voice steady despite the shaking in my chest.
“You’re wrong. I stood on my own the day I walked away from you,” I continue, heat rising in my voice. “Every day since then has been mine, not yours. You don’t get to decide who I am anymore.”
Trevor’s eyes flash, his mask slipping into something darker, angrier. “Don’t pretend you’re not still carrying me with you. I’m in every scar, every nightmare. You’ll never wash me out.”