One Warm Winter

by Jamie Pope

  “You can have anything you want, Jazz. You are a lot of things, but you are not broken.”

  “Says the woman who probably grew up with the perfect childhood. Oh, I forgot. You have daddy issues. What happened? He didn’t hug you enough? You turned out okay. You’re a damn PhD.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t get nasty so you’ll push me away. I’m the product of an affair. I’ve only seen my birth mother once, when she tried to kidnap me. My only memory of her is sobbing as three men pinned her to the ground and then carried her away. I may not have been a spy, but I’ve got my shit. We’ve all got our shit.”

  Jazz surprised her by resting her head on her shoulder. “I’ve been kidnapped too. For three weeks.”

  “Don’t try to one-up me! We’re talking about you and King.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I think I might have to leave this place by summer. I’m going to ask Jack to buy out my share.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t run away.”

  “I’m not. I’ve just gotten good at knowing when to move on.”

  “Good morning, ladies.” Wyn heard Cullen’s voice from behind them. She turned to see him, looking at them with a curious expression on his face.

  “Hey, Cullen.” Jazz got to her feet. “Your girlfriend is one of those touchy-feely types. I thought we banned them from here.”

  “I must have missed the meeting where we came up with that rule.”

  Jazz walked into the house and poured herself some coffee.

  “It’s hard living with a group of spies,” Wyn said, getting up and walking to Cullen. “You all have so many secrets.”

  “We’re not spies. At least, not all of us.” He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close to him. “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Fine.”

  He searched her face. “I didn’t wake you again?”

  “No.”

  “Then why does it look like you didn’t get much sleep?”

  “Do I look bad?”

  “No, you look beautiful. I can see it in your eyes. You’re tired.”

  “I was thinking about you,” she whispered.

  “You two are gross,” Jazz commented.

  “Gross?” Cullen raised a brow at her. “Like I haven’t had to sit through years of you and King giving each other hot looks across the table. You think none of us could tell? We were just polite enough not to mention it.”

  “Shut up, Cullen.”

  He shook his head and returned his attention back to Wyn. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I never meant for my burdens to be yours.”

  “They are not burdens to me. You should be happy. That’s all I want.”

  “I’m going to call Maeve now. Then I want to do something for you. Where can I take you today?”

  “To lunch. I want to take Jazz with us.”

  He nodded. “Of course.” He kissed the side of her face and let her go, walking away to make his phone call in private.

  “Do you guys usually celebrate Cullen’s birthday?” she asked Jazz.

  “No. He’s never been here on his birthday.”

  “I would like to throw him a party with balloons and party hats and a big cake.”

  Jazz frowned at her. “I don’t think Cullen is a party hat kind of guy.”

  “I know. That’s why I want to have a party for him and I want you to help me plan it.”

  “Is it going to be a surprise party?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you think we can keep a secret from a former intelligence officer?”

  “We can try.”

  * * *

  Darby had saved Maeve’s information for Cullen, the older man knowing him better than perhaps he would like. “I knew you would come looking for this,” he said as Cullen walked into his cottage.

  “Wyn made me feel guilty.”

  “No.” He motioned to the armchair in his living room. “You already felt guilty, but Wyn made you come to terms with it.”

  “I didn’t tell her about my father, but she knew something was up. She can read me.”

  “That’s what happens when you find someone to love you.”

  “To love me?” He shook his head, knocked off-balance by the statement. They were just pretending. Though sometimes being with her felt like the most real thing he had ever experienced. But still, it wasn’t real. He had just spent nearly every day for almost a year with her. She trusted him. He protected her. It wasn’t a typical relationship.

  “Yes. Love you. You act like that is a foreign concept.”

  “I don’t know. She’s lovely like that with everyone. You should see her with Jazz.”

  “But I’m not talking how she is with everyone else. I’m talking about how she is with you. About how well she knows you and how you allowed her to know you. You can’t say that anyone else does. Not even us.”

  He nodded. He knew he had feelings for her, that he’d had them for a while now, but he knew nothing could come of them. They would be going their separate ways and all he would have of her were his memories. Of the way she felt curled into him. Of the way she smiled at him. Of her lips pressed softly against his. It would have to be enough. He turned his mind away from her and the thoughts of being without her.

  “Thank you for taking her number. It saves me the trouble of tracking her down.”

  “The fact you would have to track her down tells me a lot. You don’t know where she is, because you purposely don’t want to know where she is.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “In a Belfast care home. He’s been there since he shattered his legs in a car accident.”

  “And how do you know that? How do you know about the accident? You haven’t talked to him since you left home.”

  “That’s not true. I spoke to him when I finished basic training.”

  “Almost twenty years ago?” He raised a brow. “How do you know where he is?”

  “I looked this morning. He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t changed. I knew I could always find him if I wanted to, but I didn’t want to because I have nothing to say to the bugger.”

  “How long did it take you to find him?”

  “Minutes.”

  “Why don’t you know where your siblings are?”

  “Wyn asked me the same thing. I’m still thinking about that.”

  “Don’t think about it anymore. Call.” Darby left his chair. “Stay here to do it. I’m heading to the house for coffee.”

  “Thank you, Darby.”

  “No need to thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

  He walked out, leaving Cullen sitting there with his sister’s number clutched in his hand. He was nervous. He realized that’s what he was feeling. He had been numb for so long, but in the past few weeks he was feeling things more than he had since his mum had died. It was troubling.

  He remembered the day his aunt had come to take his brother and sister away. His father had locked himself in the bedroom, saying he didn’t want to see the “bloody cow” who had come to take his kids.

  At first Cullen thought his father didn’t care, but he must’ve. He had to. It was a loss. Plain and simple. It was almost as bad as losing Mum.

  His brother was trying not to cry as he carried his little bag on his back, but Cullen could see he was torn up. He couldn’t look at the boy. It was too damn difficult, but Maeve . . . She had been even worse. She was too young to understand the finality of it. For days after the tragedy, she kept asking when Mum was coming back, and when their aunt had come to take them, she reached for Cullen, confusion in her eyes and asked why he wasn’t coming with them.

  Someone has to take care of Da, he told her. But he had wished in that moment that the man had been dead. That someone had killed him instead of Mum. He wished he could have gone away too. Leave their shitty house. Leave their poverty behind. But he knew that that life wasn’t meant for him. That someone had to stay behind.

&
nbsp; He forced himself to look down at the number that was now crumpled in his hand. It wasn’t a foreign number, but one from the States. Miami. He knew it well, because before he came to work for Wyn, he had lived there, protecting his arms-dealer boss.

  He dialed his cell phone quickly, his fingers moving faster than normal. It took three rings before she picked up.

  “Hello? Cullen, is that you?”

  Her voice was soft, lightly accented, sweet. It suddenly made him miss his homeland. He had never been back. He had never wanted to go back, but sometimes he missed people who sounded like him, who knew what it was like to have grown up there. “Yes, Maeve. How are you?”

  “Why didn’t you want to talk to me yesterday, you arse?”

  He grinned, remembering that sweet little Maeve had spirit. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. I was thrown off.”

  “I’m well grown now. I’m going to be twenty-five soon.”

  “In May. I haven’t forgotten. Mum said you were her spring gift.”

  “You haven’t forgotten, have you? How have you’ve been, Cullen? That question seems very inadequate for speaking to your long-lost big brother. But still, I’m wondering how you’ve been.”

  “I’m fine. I’m good, actually.”

  “You joined the military. We heard you went straight to the top.”

  “I’ve done all right for myself. How are you, little one? What are you doing with yourself?”

  “I’m in school, studying to be a therapist.”

  “A therapist? That’s the most un-Irish thing I’ve ever heard. We don’t go on about our problems.”

  “I know that, brother. Which is why I came to the States. Americans love to talk about their problems. They go on and on. I love it. It makes me feel better about my life.”

  He smiled again. Twenty years had passed, but it was as if it hadn’t. She used to ramble on as a little girl and he always listened, finding her too cute not to. “How was your life after you left? Were you treated well?”

  “Auntie was good to us. She wasn’t lovely like Mum, but we had it all right. I know you didn’t,” she said softly.

  “No.”

  She paused for a moment. “He told me he beat you.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Cleansing his soul after the accident, I guess. You know about the accident, don’t you?”

  “Aye. He was drunk. Smashed into a wall. He should have died.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t. I feel like he is one of those people who just hangs on so he can be miserable. I used to wonder why he never wrote or called. Why he never visited us once. We were his children. I thought he loved us. And then I thought it might have been too painful for him because of Mum, but then I went to see him and I talked to him for a little while and I realized that he’s a selfish bugger. It’s not just addiction. He’s clean now, but he is the most thoughtless person.”

  “You were better off not knowing him,” Cullen said. “He wouldn’t have added anything to your life.”

  “He wanted to see you. He talked about you. He’s hurt that you left him.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” Cullen said, thinking about the day he walked out. “I don’t want to see him.”

  “I’m not suggesting you do. I’m just telling you what he said in case you ever wanted to know if he still thinks about you.”

  “I’m sure he does. Blaming me for everything that went wrong in his life after I left.” He shook his head. “How bad was the stroke?”

  “Bad. His body isn’t strong enough to recover. Too many years of booze. Too much damage.”

  “I figured as much. Are you going back to see him?”

  “Would you think less of me if I didn’t?”

  “Would you think less of me if I didn’t?” he countered.

  “He told me what he did to you. He tortured you. That’s what it was, Cull. It was torture and then he blamed you for leaving him. I wouldn’t blame you if you spit on his grave.”

  “I know that, but why do I feel so damn guilty for not wanting to see him?” He wanted to take his mind off the old man, even though he knew that he was the reason for his sister’s call. “How is Liam? What does he think about it?” he asked, speaking of their brother.

  “Liam’s all right. He lives in London with his girlfriend. Works in an office. He has a nice little life.”

  “Did he go with you to see him that time?”

  “He did. He tried to maintain a relationship with him, but Liam learned too late that even though he’s in a care home and has been clean for years, the addiction is still there. Liam took him out to lunch for his birthday and he got stinking pissed. And the next day he called him, demanding for Liam to bring him booze. It broke his heart. Liam didn’t want to see how broken he was.”

  “Is he going to see him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s the closest. I’m not sure if I can get away long enough to go to Northern Ireland or even if I could afford to go. He doesn’t feel like a father to me. I’ve seen the man once in twenty years. Am I supposed to feel love?”

  “You haven’t seen me in twenty years. Do I feel like a brother to you?” he asked, finding himself afraid of her answer.

  “I don’t remember ever loving him, but I do remember loving you, Cull. You let us sleep in your bed for two days after Mum died. You used to carry me on your shoulders around the garden. So, I guess I’m saying if you had a stroke, I would come see you.”

  He laughed. “I’ve missed you, Maeve.”

  “Why didn’t you keep in touch?”

  “I don’t know. At first it hurt too much. I figured you were happy where you were and if you talked to me, you’d know I was miserable with him. I didn’t want you to know that. And then later on, I worked some very dangerous missions. I wasn’t allowed to say where I was and frankly, half the time I went into them expecting to die. I couldn’t have done my job to the best of my ability if I was worried about who would miss me if I died. It was better that I was alone.”

  “And now, Cull?”

  “I’m not alone now.” Immediately he thought of Wynter. Not of his friends who he built a community here with, but the woman who was surely only temporary in his life.

  “You can have us, you know. I don’t want to be a stranger to you anymore.”

  “Then you won’t be.”

  He spoke to her for a little while longer, and when he hung up, there was a lightness in his chest and it felt a little bit like hopefulness. He had never felt that way before.

  Chapter II

  Wynter lingered in the living room that night, not wanting to go to bed yet, even though she was tired. It had been a long day, full of her trying to keep her mind off the mystery of her birth. She and Cullen had taken Jazz to lunch. They had gone window-shopping in town and they popped into a little convenience store to get some cold drinks before continuing their walk through town, when Wynter saw a newspaper with her father’s face splashed on the cover.

  PRESIDENTIAL HOPEFUL DENIES KIDNAPPING CLAIMS

  She had to stop herself from snatching the paper off the rack. Jazz was there. Nothing much got past her, even though she was preoccupied with her own issues. She would know something was up. Wyn had to make herself walk in the other direction. She had to pretend she was studying the arrangement of crunchy snacks that she didn’t give a damn about, all so she could calm herself.

  But Cullen was too observant. It was like he could feel the shift in her mood. He had come over to her, a paper neatly tucked beneath his arm.

  “Find anything you want?” He placed his hand on her back. She couldn’t recall how many times she had felt his touch there. Before, it was purely professional. Walking her through a crowd, or placing it there when he leaned in to speak into her ear. Sometimes his touch was the only touch she had during those days. She had never realized how comforting it was.

  “I think you know what I want.”

  “I’m not sure you’re g
oing to find what you’re looking for here.”

  “We can go to the bigger market if you want,” Jazz said, coming up behind them.

  “No, it’s fine.” She turned to face her. “I’m not sure I’m even going to find it on this island. I think I’ll only find what I want at home.”

  “You’re not at home. The best thing about being here is the opportunity to experience something new,” Jazz said.

  She had looked over to Jazz and nodded in agreement, but still there was a sinking feeling in her stomach, a huge sense of embarrassment that her father had gotten involved in such a huge scandal.

  Still, she tried to take her mind off of it for the rest of the day. She genuinely tried to enjoy herself. Cullen made sure that he kept them busy and it was nice. Not having one, but two people there to take her mind off things. They all did that for each other. Took their minds off of things that were haunting them.

  But now it was night and all she had facing her was her bed and a sleepless night. The newspaper sat on the kitchen table. Untouched. She wanted to look at it, but she was afraid to see what was inside of it. More truths about her father that she didn’t want to know, didn’t want to believe.

  “What are you doing out here?” Cullen asked her as he walked out of his bedroom. He was shirtless and beautiful. His normally pale skin even darker after spending the entire day in the sun.

  “I’m avoiding going to bed.”

  “Why?” He frowned at her. “You’re tired. I know you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “My mind spins.”

  “Did you read the article?”

  “No. I almost don’t want to look.”

  “There’s no mention of you in it, if you’re curious.” He sat down on the couch beside her. “No pictures. I think we’re safe from anyone discovering who you are.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m more worried about what my father did to that woman. I thought I knew him, but now I’m not sure what he’s capable of.”