Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  He took a step toward her and she, a step toward him.

  “And you know what else it means, Paulo? It means my wife wouldn’t have snuck into the trial when I told her not to.”

  Goddammit.

  Goddammit.

  “Goddammit! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Jill!”

  Suddenly the weight in his arms was gone. Lily had snatched the child away and held her close. Oh Jesus. Oh Christ. Both mother and daughter were crying.

  “I think I’ll put Bella down for bed.”

  “See,” Jill said lowly. “Even Lily thinks—”

  “Don’t talk for me, Jill,” Lily snapped. “And don’t talk for Harrison. If he feels this way, he’ll tell Paulo. In his own time. And you.” She nodded at Paulo. “Jill’s not wrong about you. You can be a colossal ass in times of stress and trial, you know that? Jill is too. You both get angry for people instead of just letting them…feel. So, instead of trying to argue each other down, why don’t you figure out where it went wrong together, and what you’re going to do about it. Because I know one thing: Harrison misses the hell out of you.” She quickly kissed the top of Bella’s head and whispered, “Momma said a bad word. Sorry, flower.”

  <<< >>>

  Paulo and Jill hadn’t spoken to each other in almost twenty minutes. She sat on the couch, one leg over the other, arms still crossed, bouncing her foot in the air, and glaring. He’d taken a seat in the chair Lily had vacated, elbows on his knees, matching her fierce gaze. She couldn’t make him flinch; he wouldn’t lose to her.

  He took the silent minutes to consider what had passed between them. So this was what he’d “done” to upset her. Paulo knew talking with Jill again wouldn’t be painless, but he’d never considered she actually believed some of the things she’d shouted at him. And it still made his blood run cold that Harrison ever thought he’d been unfaithful. Even with the separation, even when Paulo had opportunity on a business trip for something quick and meaningless, he’d always kept his mind on Ari and being with Ari again.

  He was faithful through and through.

  But the trial… Jill had him there.

  Two weeks before the trial, Harrison had sat Pru and Paulo down and told them both he didn’t want them in the courtroom. Pru didn’t say anything, she might have been high, but Paulo protested loudly.

  “Absolutely not!”

  Harrison had seemed startled by his reply, as if he’d just expected Paulo to quietly comply with his wishes. “I will be there. I want to see that bitch crushed.”

  Pru shifted, but remained silent.

  He got it now, what Harrison needed. Paulo should have said, I want to support you. Instead, he’d let his burning fury at Ashmore be his gift to Ari. Don’t you see how angry I am on your behalf? Don’t you see how much I hate her? Hating her is me loving you.

  The day of the trial, Paulo lied and told Harrison he would wait for him at home. Then he’d shamelessly followed, and snuck into the very back of the packed courtroom where he could hear, but unfortunately couldn’t see. At one point he had to duck low to avoid being caught by Jill, as she walked past. That only made him angrier. Why did Jill get to be there but not him?

  Paulo listened to Ari’s testimony with hurt ringing in his ears. He listened like a man with years’ worth of rage. He listened, mired in the betrayal of the act, and his feelings of weakness and worthlessness that had only grown over time. He couldn’t soothe Harrison’s tears, hadn’t known how.

  But there were no tears the day Harrison took the stand. His voice was clear and strong. He told them how Ashmore had dosed his tea when he’d come for their weekly game of cards, forced him into her bedroom, and raped him while he was drugged.

  If he’d had thirty seconds near her, Ashmore would be dead. Murderous feelings followed Paulo everywhere, but never more so than that day in court. He wanted to choke her until her eyes bulged out of her head and her tongue lolled and she sank weakly to the ground. He wanted to stamp her skull in. And at the same time, his mother’s voice whispered in his ear, all the cruel things he didn’t want to think:

  He must have wanted it, he cheated on you… No he didn’t.

  He got what he deserved for being so stupid… No he didn’t!

  You never actually loved him, Paulo.

  Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

  A primal roar had welled up inside him, clawing and banging to get out. He’d clenched his fists as Harrison described waking up afterward and realizing what had been done to him, as he talked about his self-loathing, about his fear for his relationship with Paulo, about the panic attacks. He told the court he never wanted her to be able to hurt anyone again.

  The Harrison Miller who came home to Paulo that evening stood ramrod stiff for about a minute and then collapsed in his arms and sobbed. Paulo’s anger wanted to give way to an overwhelming sadness. He wanted to cry along with Harrison, heal together. Instead, he thought about his father, who had never cried in his life, and channeled that sadness into a harder rage.

  “I’ll kill her,” Paulo whispered. “I’ll kill her for you.”

  “No, please don’t think about her anymore,” Harrison begged. “Just be here with me. Be here with me.”

  “I want to squeeze her neck until it breaks.”

  “Please…” Ari sobbed, clutching Paulo’s shirt and shaking. “Please stop. Just hold me.”

  But he was so furious he couldn’t stop, and Ari became more and more depressed.

  “I love him so much.” Paulo hadn't meant to blink first, but as the words tumbled past stubbornly proud lips, he didn’t care what Jill thought. He looked up at her, saw her flinch for a second, and then slump, just a little.

  “I know you do, Paulo. I do too.”

  “I shouldn't have snuck into the trial.” He must not have ducked down far enough, or she’d seen him when he was trying to sneak out. He wondered if Harrison knew.

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  He took a deep, controlling breath.

  “And I understand what you see. I’ve been so angry about Ashmore that I…”

  “Wanted to hack her up with a garden hoe and bury her body in the backyard instead of being a good twin sister?” Her voice was hard then. “I wanted Ashmore dead, too.”

  “I still do sometimes,” Paulo said. “I wish I knew how to turn that off. But more so, I’m sorry that it put distance between Ari and I.”

  “Pru said you didn’t show up for the party.”

  Paulo took his chances and explained what he knew about the unusual Bentley party.

  “If he thinks I stood him up, then Pru didn’t tell him about my invite or the idiotic tier-system. And I don’t know why. I’d give just about anything to make it all right, though.”

  “Would you get on a plane and fly out to Ireland?” Jill asked, arching an eyebrow. It reminded him of himself, and he bit back a smile. He didn’t see what going to Ireland had to do with it, but that did constitute “anything.” He nodded.

  “What about forgiving Ashmore?”

  “I don’t want to lie to you, Jill.”

  “Thought so.”

  “Are you saying you can do it? Forgive that cunt for what she did to our Ari?”

  The hard look on Jill’s face softened, and she smiled wanly. “No, I’m not saying that at all. But I am saying you should be better than me.”

  “You’re his sister.”

  “And you’re supposed to be the man who holds him up when his sister can’t be there.” They stared at each other again, this time without the malice. “I wasn’t supposed to be there either, you know?” Jill said. “That day in court. He asked me not to come and I did anyway. Sorry I gave you shit about it.”

  He nodded. “At least you showed your face.” He rubbed his chin. “Bella is adorable. I wish I’d been able to meet her under other circumstances.”

  “Maybe you can,” Jill said cautiously.

  “Ireland and forgiveness?”

 
Jill shrugged. “How much do you want him back, Paulo?”

  With every fiber of his being.

  “So where in Ireland?”

  “Talk to Pru.”

  Paulo sighed the sigh of a man who had been running for days. “I’ve called her so many times that I’ve filled up her voicemail. She hasn’t called or texted. Ari’s changed his number. He’s moved. He’s…” His voice trailed off.

  “That wasn’t about you,” Jill promised, and it was just about the damned kindest thing anyone had said to him all month. “Harrison was living over here for a while. They did a show about the Ashmore trial, stirred a lot of people up. Harrison got doxxed. Some assholes posted his address and cell number on the internet. Wanted to shame him for testifying against a woman. Same ol’ horseshit. He’s on our phone plan now. Has a new place. Things have simmered down.”

  “May I have his number?”

  “Sure,” Jill agreed. “If he gives it to you.”

  “I’m running around in circles here, Jill. I don’t know where he lives, I don’t know his number, I can’t get ahold of Pru.”

  “I’ll get Pru to call you,” she said after a moment to think it over. “But you’re going to have to convince her to tell you where in Ireland they’re headed.”

  Chapter Nine:

  Green Christmas

  “Oh my god, Paddy!” From the front passenger seat of their tiny rental car, Aidan Williams cried out and then burst into nervous laughter. To give him his due, his husband, Patrick, was handling driving on the right-hand side of the car like a pro.

  “Sorry about that in the back.” Patrick grinned in the rearview mirror and made eye contact with Harrison. Harrison forced a smile, certain the “speed bumps” were not meant to be taken literally.

  Patrick and Aidan were Harrison’s brothers-in-law in a very removed way. Technically there was no actual blood relation, but they were still a tight-knit group. Besides, introducing Patrick and Aidan as his brothers-in-law was a lot easier than explaining: This is Aidan Degas, his sister Nadia was married to Lily, but Nadia died in childbirth. Lily is now married to my sister, Jill.

  Patrick cleared a roundabout and glanced in the mirror again. “So, Pru, did you say you’d driven in England?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Pru confirmed in a sleepy voice. She’d arrived at the airport badly hungover and spent the early morning flight with an air-sickness bag clutched in her hand. Harrison noted that color had returned to her cheeks, and the vodka stench was no longer strong enough to make him retch.

  So much for “showing him” how sober she could be. “I’m off the pills and the powder, but you can’t take away everything,” she moaned by way of greeting when they met at the departure lounge.

  “Has your mom still got the Aston Martin?” Harrison asked.

  “Nope. Traded it in for a Porsche Boxster.”

  “A Porsche?” Aidan swiveled in his seat and stared at Pru in undisguised wonder.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When Harrison said you were…um…wealthy, Pru, I always thought he was fooling around.”

  “H? Fool around?” Pru glanced sideways at him and smirked. Harrison gave her a sour look. “Aw, c’mon.” She grabbed his chin and moved it up and down as she said, “I’m a fun guy. Everyone knows that.”

  Harrison batted her hand away and tried to keep his stern face. “Dear Prudence.” She grinned and took his hand, squeezing it and keeping hold as they continued on their hairy way from Dublin to Omagh.

  He had been a fun guy, once upon a time. He’d been fun, and he’d had a lot of fun, too. There was a whole crowd of them that used to go out to the craziest places together—raves, silent discos, circus nights, and neon foam parties. God, even thinking about foam parties now hurt. Everything from that night was such a blur except for Paulo. Almost everything in Harrison’s life felt that way: one big blur, save for Paulo.

  He’d been thinking about what Pru said at the café about moving on, healing, letting go. Each time he let himself even consider it, he felt so lost he had to push the thought away so he could breathe again.

  Shake out of it, Harrison! he berated himself silently. You’re in Ireland for Christmas. Enjoy yourself!

  He loved Paulo, and Paulo had loved him once. But Harrison had pushed him away, and that was done. It had been a mistake; he knew that now. But Paulo must have finally found what he needed in life. He couldn’t imagine any other reason he wouldn’t show, unless…

  “Pru?” Harrison said tightly. “What if something happened to him? What if he was hurt on the way to the party? What if—?”

  “I heard from him. He’s fine.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Pru winced, as they once again jolted sharply against their seat belts.

  “Sorry, sorry…” Patrick said.

  “How far now?” Aidan asked.

  “Another thirty minutes or so.”

  “That far?”

  “Oh, come on, my love. I’m not that bad.”

  “Yeah. You are.”

  “I did tell you I’ve never driven in Ireland, didn’t I?”

  “No, can’t say I remember that.”

  “Ah, well. It’s hard to judge your distance, you know? I feel like I’m right out in the middle of the road, here.”

  “That’s because you are,” Pru pointed out.

  Patrick chuckled and pulled the car over to the left. “Do you not fancy taking a turn, Pru?”

  “Only if there’s no DUI in Ireland.”

  “Did nobody tell ye, Pru? The Irish run on Guinness and whiskey.”

  She’d talked to him… Talked to Paulo.

  “He’s OK?” Harrison repeated quietly.

  “He’s fine.” Her assurance didn’t feel like an assurance at all, because if Pru hadn’t told him they’d spoken, then she must have been protecting him from what was said.

  “We do drink a lot,” Patrick continued, oblivious to Harrison’s newly reopened wounds. “Especially this time of year,” Patrick added.

  “Sounds like my kind of Christmas,” Pru said.

  “Aye. Your family don’t go in for celebratin’, then?”

  “Look at it this way. The last time my parents were home for Christmas I was still in kindergarten.”

  “Ah, right, so…”

  Harrison laid his head down on Pru’s shoulder and tried not to cry in the face of all the merriment going on around him. You’re in Ireland for Christmas. Maybe you’ll meet a handsome Irish guy who will make you forget all about Paulo.

  “Bejaysus,” Aidan added.

  Patrick gave his husband a puzzled look, which made him snort with laughter. “What?” Patrick asked.

  “You know how I love your accent?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a good thing I do.”

  “What’s that mean, exactly?”

  “The closer to home you get, the stronger it becomes.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep.” Aidan turned to Pru. “This is what he sounded like when we got married.” He looked to Harrison for backup, and then his eyebrows knit. Harrison gave him an everything’s all right, Aidan smile and pulled himself from the comfort of his best friend’s shoulder. He was going to have to work harder not to show how he was feeling inside.

  “Paddy really did sound like this,” Harrison agreed. “Though as long as you could tell what he was saying, Aidan, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “I got most of it.”

  “Hey! Don’t be mockin’. Yous are the minority now.”

  “Aye, we are toi,” Aidan said. He reached over and squeezed Patrick’s thigh.

  “So, anyway, does young Mike know yer comin’, Harrison?”

  “He hasn’t been on Facebook. I left a message. Last I looked, he hadn’t seen it.”

  “I’m sure he’ll have seen it by now. He’s always online, Seamus says.”

  “That’s true.” Or it had been. God, Harrison hoped Michael was OK.

 
“You all right?” Pru asked.

  “Just tired.”

  “You get used to it when you’re traveling. Eventually. Did I tell you about Algiers?”

  Harrison shook his head, granting Pru permission to tell one of her laboriously long tales, which involved a lot of “got delayed in Airport X for eleven hours” and “didn’t know the Kasbah was downtown.” Pru was open-minded and world-wise, but sometimes she couldn’t quite put aside her very privileged upbringing to see the true beauty of a place. Even, now, passing through the magnificent countryside, she was buried in her phone and talking about other places she’d been. He wasn’t worried: the second they found a taxi for her to take, she’d become the tourist he felt like.

  “This is Omagh,” Patrick said, gesturing with a sweep of the arm as they drove through the town. “Barry’s farm is a couple of miles on.”

  “Barry’s?” Harrison asked. “I thought your brother owned it now.”

  “Aye, he does. But we’ve been calling it Barry’s since we were lads so I don’t know what else to call it. And it’s the name Seamus gave it, too.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of the farm, I hope you’ve brought plenty of games. There’s next to nothing to do.”

  Patrick’s tone was apologetic, obviously worried his American companions would be disappointed.

  “What do you guys do over Christmas?” Harrison asked.

  “Well, the big thing is putting up the tree, but they’ll have done that already—probably on the first of December, if I know our Seamus. And then there’s your Christmas pajamas.”

  “What?” Harrison and Pru said at the same time.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never had Christmas pajamas.”

  “Like, decorated in holly?” Pru asked.

  “They can be. Bit prickly to sleep in, mind.” Paddy peered at them in the rearview mirror; his eyes sparkled with mischief, polished emeralds full of warmth and fun.

  “They’re just new pajamas for Christmas,” Aidan explained. “The ones Paddy bought me for our first Christmas had holly print all over.”

  Harrison saw the sweetest smile pass between Aidan and Patrick and recalled the first time he met them, when it came to light that what Ashmore had done to him wasn’t a one-off. He and Aidan had talked about it a few times since. They didn’t dwell often on what had happened, but the times they’d spoken had been rather cathartic. Aidan knew how Harrison felt, and he knew how Aidan felt. Where they differed was the support they’d received since. Aidan had gone through most of his healing with Patrick.