by Jamie Pope
“It’s your sister.”
“My sister?” He hadn’t seen her since she was a girl. He had lost track of his siblings, not because he couldn’t find them if he wanted, but because they had led such a different life from his. They had escaped the worst of their father and Cullen didn’t want to be reminded that they got the chance he never did.
“Yes. She says her name is Maeve and that your Aunt Sheila gave her this contact information.”
He nodded. He had given his aunt the number when the uncle who took him in in London had died. He told her to only contact him in an emergency, but he had never thought she would use it. He didn’t have a family anymore. Whatever it was could be taken care of without him. “What does she want?”
“I think you should hear it from her.”
“What does she want, Darby?” he asked forcefully.
“It’s your father . . . He’s had a stroke.”
“So? The NHS will take care of him. Tell her to call me back when he dies. I’ll chip in for the funeral.”
Chapter 10
Cullen winced as he peeled his shirt from his back.
It was sticking to him, to his open skin.
He was surprised that he could still feel pain. He had so many scars on his back that he didn’t think he was able to feel anymore. He was numb. He had been numb as his father slashed his back the first few times with his old belt. But then that feeling had bubbled up inside of him. The one he had been feeling more and more as he lived in this dark little house.
He didn’t remember what happened exactly. It was all a blur to him. But now his fist throbbed. His knuckles were raw and bloody.
His father’s face flashed before his eyes, the blood spurting from his mouth, the look of shock in his eyes, and then the recognition, the bit of soberness that came before the second blow.
He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t allow himself to be hit. He couldn’t stay here with his father, because he was going to turn into him.
He realized it was starting to happen yesterday. He had found one of the bottles of whiskey his father had hidden around the house. He picked it up and looked at it for a long time before he took the top off and took a long swig.
He wasn’t sure why he did it.
He felt the burn for minutes after he had swallowed his first drop and part of him wanted to do it again, to drink more, to feel whatever it was his father felt that made him so tied to this brown liquid.
But then he heard his father stumble through the door and he looked up to see a dirty, stinking shell of a man. Cullen had always thought he was good for nothing, but he was far worse without his mother.
He never realized that she was the glue holding that broken thing together.
Cullen didn’t want to be him. He couldn’t allow himself to turn into him, living on benefits in a council paid for by the government.
Today when he hit his father, he wanted to do it over and over again until the feeling stopped bubbling inside of him or his father stopped moving. He didn’t remember which one of those things happened. He was turning into the man he hated: a violent son of a bitch who couldn’t control himself.
He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He grabbed his schoolbag out of his closet and started shoving the few things he had into it, along with the money he had scrimped and saved from doing odd jobs around town. It was enough to get him a train ticket to London and a few meals. It was enough to get him away from this bloody, miserable life.
He walked out of his room to see his father on the floor, leaning against the wall where Cullen had shoved him. He could smell the booze emanating from his skin from across the room, but that’s not what shook him, or the fact that his father’s face was bleeding. He was crying. Sobbing. A blubbering, drunk fool.
Cullen shook his head and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Fuck you.”
“You can’t leave here!” There was panic in his eyes.
“You’ll not hit me again.”
“No, I won’t.”
“What?” He wasn’t sure he heard him correctly.
“I won’t hit you again, boy.”
“You won’t get the chance, because I’m leaving. You won’t have me to push around anymore.”
He scrambled to his feet, but he was too drunk to stand up straight. He wobbled as he walked toward him. “I don’t want you to leave me.” He grabbed Cullen by his shoulders. “Please. Stay here.”
He had hated his father for so long, but as he looked into his bloodshot eyes, he thought of him as pathetic, more than anything. “I’ll not be a part of your hell, old man.”
He pushed him away and walked out the door. He heard his father wail, but he didn’t look back. There was no point.
* * *
Cullen woke up when he heard his cell phone ringing from his nightstand. He sat up, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to shake off his dream.
“That was me calling you,” he heard Wynter say. She was standing in the doorway of his bedroom, cell phone in hand, concerned look on her face. “Can I come in?”
He felt like hell. She had been scared to come into the room, because the last time he had dreamed like this he had grabbed her, hurt her, thinking she was somebody there to hurt him.
“Are you sure you want to?”
“What a stupid question to ask.”
She walked in the room, climbed into his bed, and snuggled beneath the covers like she belonged there. He hated to admit that when he went to bed tonight he had felt like something was missing.
It was her.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay.” She rested her head on his chest. “I ended up where I wanted to be in the first place.”
He had that troubled feeling sneak up inside of him again. He knew he shouldn’t allow this to continue, but he wasn’t sending her away tonight. “How was your day with Jazz?”
“I like her. I think she’s sweet.”
“No one has ever described Jazz that way.”
“They don’t know her.”
“You’ve known her for two weeks. I’ve known her for years. How could you make that assessment?”
“You know I study how languages evolve over time, right? People are the same way. They evolve. I’m sure she’s not the same person she was when you all met. I’m sure that none of you are the same people you were when you met.”
“I don’t think I’ve changed very much.”
She made a soft noise. “What happened today after we left?”
“The boys and I did some more work on the damaged cottage. We missed you at lunch. Especially King. He wants more of that chicken salad.”
“I’ll make more in the morning. But you know what I meant. What happened with you after I left?”
“Why do you think something happened to me?”
“Because you were quiet tonight.”
He grinned at her. “And how is that different from any other night?”
“I don’t know how you do it. You answer every question correctly. You kept track of everything going on and everything said, but you weren’t with us tonight.”
He set his hand on her cheek. He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t say everything was fine when it wasn’t. “You know me better than I would like.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My sister called.”
“Your sister? I thought you hadn’t seen her since she was a child.”
“I haven’t.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t know for sure. I didn’t speak to her. Darby did. She was calling to tell me that my father had a stroke.”
She looked up at him. “I don’t know what question to ask first.”
“He should be dead already,” he admitted. “He was a miserable drunk. He was alone. He should have been dead.”
“It sounds like you want him to be dead.”
“I thought I didn
’t care if he lived or died, but I’m thinking I do want him to be dead. Every time I look in the mirror and see the scars on my back I want him to be dead and more than that, I want to be the one who killed him.”
She inhaled sharply. “Your father did that to you?”
He nodded, realizing that he had never told anybody this before. King knew, but he guessed and they had never spoken about it. This was the first time Cullen was sharing this part of himself. “You thought it was some old war wounds. They are, but the war took place in my own damn house.”
“How could he beat you like that?”
“It was every damn day. I couldn’t breathe the wrong way without feeling his fists. He hit me until I could hit back, until he knew I was stronger than he was, until he knew I wouldn’t take it anymore. The day I left, I had beat him bloody and he begged me to stay. With tears in his eyes, he begged me to stay.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing. I was disgusted. It was all I could do not to spit on him.”
“You hate him.”
“I don’t want to give him that much space in my head. In some ways he did me a favor. I would have never joined the military if it weren’t for him. Being in a combat zone was easier for me than living with my father. Special Forces training was easier than being in bloody Northern Ireland with the man who was supposed to love me.”
“If you could survive him, you could survive anything,” she said, more to herself than to him. “You’re not going to see him.”
“Why should I? Why should he see how I turned out? He wanted to break me, like he broke himself.”
“What about your sister? Why didn’t you talk to her?”
“I don’t know. It was too much to take in at the moment. It’s been years since I had seen or heard from them. And when I do hear from her, it’s to tell me our father has had a stroke. What the hell does she want me to do about it? The bastard never did anything for us.”
“She doesn’t know how bad it was for you, does she?”
“No. She doesn’t need to know. They got out. They shouldn’t give another thought to me.”
“How could they not think about you? You are their brother. There must be some love there, even if you haven’t seen each other in fifteen years.”
“How could there be love there? They don’t even know me.”
“But you knew them. You didn’t love them when they were little? You didn’t miss them when they were gone?”
“I did miss them.”
It was a double blow. First his mother died and then the little ones were taken away. It was for the best, but it still felt like they were ripped from him. And with them went the only remaining bit of life that remained in the house.
“Call your sister. Even if you don’t want to see your father, call your sister. You should know her and your brother. I’m sure they want to know what kind of man you turned out to be.”
“They’re going to want to know why I hate him so much. Do I have the right to tell them? Do I have the right to kill the good memories of the man they loved?”
“The fact that you care about affecting their feelings for him makes you incredible. They have to realize that there was a reason your aunt took them away. They have to have some memory of how he was before they left.”
“They were so young. Mum shielded them from the worst of it.”
She had made excuses for him.
Da is sick, she would say when his head was in the toilet after a night of drink. Da is working, she would tell them when he wouldn’t come home some nights.
“Maybe they think your father is a saint and maybe you don’t want to tell them the truth, but at least you should speak to them, just to see how they turned out. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you still want the best for them?”
“Shut up, lass,” he said softly as he kissed her forehead.
“I wish I had a brother and sister. Someone to share a history with.”
“Enough already, Wyn. I’ll call Maeve tomorrow. You’ve convinced me.”
“Good.” She yawned. “Can I sleep in here tonight?”
It made sense to tell her no. He shouldn’t get used to her being in his bed. One night without her and he missed her. Two nights with her and he would start to crave her. But it seemed cruel to send her away. There was also the small fact that he didn’t want to. “I’m not kicking you out, love.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re not afraid to sleep in the same bed with me?” he asked seriously. She was smart not to touch him when he was in the middle of his dream. They both wouldn’t forget what happened the last time she did.
She frowned at him. “Why would I be?”
“I have those dreams sometimes. The last time I hurt you.”
“That was my fault. I snuck up on you. You know I’m here with you. You’ll feel me all night. You’ll go to sleep knowing that I’m beside you and I’m going to sleep knowing that you would never do anything to hurt me.”
He felt like he had been kicked in the gut. He had never felt like this before and a selfish part of him wanted this forever. Someone who he was comfortable with. He could never relax. His career, his life, had never allowed it, but here he was with her now, not wanting to move. Enjoying this feeling more than he should. He could try to keep her on this island, in this safe, warm bubble forever, but he knew eventually she would have to go back to her life and he would have to leave her there.
He could only have her here like this for a little while. He should enjoy it. He should forget about his duty and his loyalty to her father, but he worked for the man, took his money to finance his retirement. “Good night, sweet girl.” He kissed her forehead. He wanted to kiss her lips, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wanted to make love to her. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. She would welcome him if he tried, but tonight wasn’t the right night. He still felt raw about the news of his father. Making love to her would be like balm to his wounds, but he didn’t want to use pleasure as an excuse to forget.
When he made love to her, he wanted them both to be in the right mind-set, not trying to forget, not trying to soothe. There could be no regrets afterward, no misplaced thoughts during.
“Good night, Cullen.”
* * *
The next morning Wyn had left Cullen sleeping in his bed. His bad dreams haunted her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to wake him, but the sounds he was making last night . . . It was anguish. It was the only word she could use to describe it. She couldn’t take the sound and stayed in her room as long as she could before she went to him. She didn’t know if she could comfort him, but she had to make his nightmare stop. She thought he was going to tell her he had been a prisoner of war, tortured by some foreign entity. But his own flesh and blood had done that to him. It made the scars on his back even more horrific. To beat him so ruthlessly and repeatedly for years was unthinkable. He was a child. He had been powerless.
And now the man had had a stroke and Cullen seemed torn about how to feel about it.
She couldn’t blame him.
Her relationship with her father was complicated, but it was nothing compared to how Cullen felt about his father.
She walked to the community house to find Jazz sitting on the edge of the pool. Her feet dangling in the water. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. I already made coffee. You don’t have to do it this morning.”
“You’re up early today.”
“I’m always up early. I just don’t come up here. I used to take walks with King in the morning, but . . .” she trailed off.
There was a sadness in Jazz that had lingered this past week. Jazz, who was so strong, so confident, seemed like a fraction of her old self. Wyn had only known her for a short while, but she knew that something had happened to her. Something with King. She used to wish that someday some man would look at her the way King looked at Jazz.
“Why don’t you walk anymore?” She sat beside
Jazz, slipping her shoes off so she could put her feet in the warm water.
She looked down at her hands. They had spent the entire day together yesterday, getting manicures and massages. It was a good day for Wyn. The best she’d had in a long time. She didn’t have female friends. There were no girls in school she had been close to. She was too much of an outsider, even though she had grown up in privilege just like them. Her adult life had revolved around work. No time for friends. No time for herself. It was nice to be out with another woman. To chat about silly things. About men. About hair. She had always considered herself a serious person, but sometimes it was fun not to be serious. She wondered if that was a part of having a friend. Having the fun times like yesterday and then the times like today, where sometimes just listening was needed. “He’s been busy in the mornings.”
“We’ve all noticed that something isn’t right between you two. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
She looked at Wyn, her guard going up momentarily, but then coming down just as quickly. This was as new for Jazz as it was for Wyn. This type of friendship. “He wants more than I can give him.”
“What does he want?”
“Everything,” she whispered.
“You love him,” Wyn told her.
“I don’t believe in love.”
“I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t love him.”
“He needs a nice girl like you. One who likes to cook and hold hands and raise children.”
“I would like to think of myself as more than a girl who just likes to cook and hold hands. I’m a woman with a doctorate. And if you think that’s all King wants, you’re a fool.”
“I have killed people for calling me nicer names than that.”
“I’m not scared of you.” She shrugged. “We’re friends now. You won’t kill me. I’m pretty sure King doesn’t want a nice, quiet woman who just likes to bake. He wants a former secret operative, or spy or CIA agent, or whatever insane job you had before you came here.”
“I started off as a Marine. Most of my family told me not to join up. They wanted me to go to beauty school. They wanted me to do something girls did. But my grandfather was so damn proud of me. He told me to get the hell out of the Bronx and I did. I was a damn good Marine and then I got recruited into the special service and it was almost six years before I stepped foot back on American soil. A lot happened to me in those six years. In that time, I came to the realization that I could never be somebody’s wife. I could never be somebody’s mother. I’m too fucked up.”