Chapter Thirty-Four
Rory
Tommy had been telling me for years that Connor’s death wasn’t my fault. I never believed him. Yet somehow, after knowing me for less than a week, Amelia had me thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was true. Another weight seemed to lift from my shoulders. I held her hand to my lips, unable to say more than “thank you” for fear I’d just lose it completely.
“Did you go to live with Tommy?” she asked after a moment.
“Not right away. A few months later, after Mrs. Mac stood up for me at school, I went to live with the MacDougalls. It wasn’t really anything official, it just kind of happened. The captain showed up at my doorstep one day and told me to pack a bag.”
I smiled, recalling that first bright moment in an endless cycle of darkness. “I remember every detail of that day: the rain pouring down outside, the deafening silence inside the house. I remember his confident knock on the door, the way he strode inside like he owned the place, his long coat flapping around him. He was like an avenging angel, rescuing me from hell. He wrote his phone number and address on a piece of paper and left it on the kitchen table, and he told my parents they could come get me when they were ready to be parents again. They never did.”
Amelia gasped. “Oh my God, Rory, how can you be so matter-of-fact about this?”
I shrugged. “I’ve had almost seven years to come to terms with it. I stayed with the MacDougalls for almost six months, and then I went to live with Tommy when I was sixteen or so. He was eighteen, and by then I was working as an apprentice guide on weekends, earning money doing that and working in a bookstore after school. The place was a dump, and we didn’t eat the healthiest food, but Tommy looked out for me.”
“He still does,” said Amelia.
“Aye. I love him like a brother. It feels…disloyal to Connor to say that, but it’s true.”
She shook her head. “Connor wouldn’t think it was disloyal, Rory. He’d be so glad that his best friend was looking out for his little brother.”
“Maybe. Anyway, when I was eighteen, I saw my parents once, in the market. They looked at me, and their eyes widened as if they’d seen a ghost. I guess I look like Connor. It’s strange to think that I’m older now than he’ll ever be.”
“Did they say anything?”
“No, they just stared at me. My mum—for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. I took a step toward her, but then my father led her away. She glanced back once, and then that was it.” And that still fucking hurt.
“I’m so very sorry,” Amelia whispered. “Sorry that you lost your brother, but even sorrier that your parents threw you away. Their sweet, smart boy.” She wrapped her arms around me, her breath hitching, and I felt the dampness of her tears.
I reached up to wipe them away. “No one’s ever cried for me before,” I said, swallowing the lump in my own throat.
“Well, someone should have! I can’t—”
I kissed her, long and deep, cutting off her angry rant. “Thank you,” I said when we came up for air. And then I pulled her on top of me, and we didn’t speak again for a while.
…
I awakened to a pinkish gold sunrise—a welcome sight after two days of rain—and a soft, warm body in my arms.
Last night had been…indescribable. If Amelia wasn’t lying in my arms right now, if my body didn’t feel so sated and relaxed, I would think I’d dreamed it all. To have gone from the terror of my nightmare and the shame of telling Amelia about Connor to her warm embrace, first comforting, and then…
Hot. Sexy. The opposite of comforting.
The way she’d responded to me, the way her body had felt in my hands, over me, under me, around me. The way she’d touched me, with her hands and her lips. The way she’d made me feel, again and again—not just with her body, but with her compassion, with her understanding, with her tears.
The pain of Connor’s death was still there—would always be there—but it had felt good to talk about him, to laugh at some of those memories.
I looked down at Amelia, sprawled across me, her hand tucked up against my chest. The dark shadows that had been under her eyes—from exhaustion, fear, worry, pain—had faded.
She murmured in her sleep and cuddled closer, her breath tickling my chest. A lock of hair slid across her face, and I reached up to tuck it back, winding the soft strands between my fingers.
Even though I’d known her for just a few days, I cared for her in a way that was more than just lusting after a pretty face and a sexy body. I liked her. I liked talking to her about books. I liked arguing with her about…everything. She was the first person since Tommy that I was able to tell my story to, and she didn’t judge me, didn’t do anything but understand me and want to take away my pain.
In all the time I was with Emma, I’d never felt compelled to tell her about Connor. She’d been a good companion—for a while—and I’d liked spending time with her, liked the idea of her. But she’d never known the real me. And in these few short days, Amelia did know the real me—knew more about me than Emma had ever learned after half a year of being together.
The few lasses I’d been with before and after Emma had been casual, girls I knew around town, or a friend of some girl Tommy was seeing. I’d made sure they were looking for the same thing as me: a brief hookup with no strings attached. No deep conversation, no sharing of hopes and dreams. Fun for a night or two, a kiss goodbye at the end, and that was it.
But this was different. Amelia was different. I’d tried to stay away, but it turned out that I had no willpower when it came to her. If she wanted to be together for the duration of the trek, then we would be—as together as two people could be, for as long as I could stretch it out. And then I’d say goodbye. It would kill me.
But it would be worth it.