Chapter Forty-One
Eden
The streets were a sea of blue as our limo made its slow progress behind the hearse. Even though it was a funeral and the past week felt like a bad dream, I could still appreciate how handsome Killian looked in a dark suit, pressed white shirt, and royal blue tie. His hair was growing out and it curled a little at the ends where it met his collar. He was sitting right next to me, my thigh pressed against his, but it felt like he was miles away.
Connor and Ava were sitting across from us, Ava’s arm tucked in his. It was hard to look at Connor’s face, a visual reminder of what those men had done to him. I knew under his dark suit jacket and blue dress shirt, his chest was carved with letters. His nose was swollen, and greenish yellow bruises mottled his entire face. A metal plate and screws held his broken jaw together. He shouldn’t be here, but he felt it was his duty to attend. More guilt heaped on the Vincent brothers’ shoulders.
Killian refused to even look at Connor, and Connor didn’t glance in Killian’s direction. Because of their rift and the occasion, we’d ridden to the church in stony silence.
Killian blamed himself for my being there. He blamed Connor for withholding the truth.
Connor blamed himself for everything.
I blamed those men for coming after Connor.
My dad wasn’t impressed with any of it. He threatened to take me home to Pennsylvania after the funeral. I wasn’t leaving Brooklyn, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d leave Killian, so my dad would just need to deal with that.
Our limo stopped in front of Our Lady of Angels in Bay Ridge. Thousands of police officers saluted as the flag-draped coffin was removed from the hearse by the honor guard who had walked alongside it.
The limo door swung open, and Killian stepped out, offering me his hand. As we followed the casket, officers stepped forward, offering their condolences, and shaking Killian’s hand. I glanced over my shoulder at Connor. His head was bowed as if to hide his face, but he was getting the same handshakes and condolences as Killian.
The media didn’t get hold of the real story. It must have been a police cover-up. Seamus Vincent, of course, came out looking like a hero. Allegedly, it was a robbery gone wrong. Junkies looking for quick cash. Seamus would have appreciated that story.
The church was packed, scented with incense and lilies, and sunlight streamed in through the arched stained-glass windows. We slid into the first pew, and I turned around to look behind me. My dad, who had driven out here as soon as Killian called him, and Garrett who had arrived yesterday, were in dark suits…and Sawyer in his dress blues?
“Sawyer,” I whispered.
He gave me a little smile. “Hey, Chicken Little,” he whispered. Tears stung my eyes at the tenderness in his voice and the expression on his face.
I blinked back the tears. “You look so handsome.” It was true, and Ava seconded that.
“Chicks dig it. But it’s itchy as hell,” he complained.
Ava and I laughed. Typical Sawyer. Killian leaned across the pew and pulled Sawyer into a guy hug as the bagpipes played “Amazing Grace.” Was there ever a sadder sound than bagpipes?
Ava and I exchanged a look. Her eyes filled with tears, but I knew they weren’t for Seamus. She shook her head a little and exhaled, trying to pull herself together. I didn’t know what was going on with her and Connor, but this week hadn’t been the right time to ask. My gaze drifted to Connor. Back straight, shoulders squared, head bowed.
Killian squeezed my hand, and I turned my attention to him as the priest began the funeral Mass. Killian stared straight ahead. I wondered what was going through his head, how he felt about his father’s death. Conflicted, I guess. Despite Killian’s abusive childhood, at the hands of his father, Killian had called Seamus for help and he came because his sons needed him. As I studied the painting of the Virgin Mary surrounded by cherubs behind the altar, I entertained the notion that their mom would come to the funeral. It would be like something out of a movie. She’d cry and ask their forgiveness. She’d beg to be a part of their lives and she’d find a way to make up for all the hurt and pain she’d caused.
But that didn’t happen.
The funeral seemed to go on forever, and now, Seamus was in the ground and we’d all gathered at his house. Connor and Ava left directly after the burial which left Killian playing host to our friends and what appeared to be the entire NYPD. I was standing in the wood-paneled kitchen on the same green linoleum floor Killian had scrubbed with Pine-Sol the day his mom left. The kitchen table and counters buckled under the weight of hams and casseroles. It reminded me of my mom’s funeral. Why did people always bring ham?
Friends surrounded me—Zeke, Hailey, Louis, his girlfriend Carmen who I’d met a couple times, Brody, Chris. Garrett had left a little while ago to take Sawyer to the airport. Thankfully, my dad was bonding with some of New York’s finest which made my life easier. My dad had attached himself to me like Velcro. Every time I made a sound during the night, even in my sleep, he was on the other side of my bedroom door, asking if I needed anything.
“Stop being a helicopter parent,” I’d complained. This wasn’t like my dad but, then, I guess this situation wasn’t entirely normal.
Louis hugged me. “We’re out of here, beautiful.”
“I’ll be back at work soon.”
He gave me a skeptical look.
“I will.”
Louis held up his hands. “Take it up with Killian and your dad.”
Killian and my dad? I’d certainly be taking it up with them. Chris, Brody, and Zeke took turns hugging me goodbye because they had jobs to get to. As did Hailey who pulled me into an extra-long hug.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Hailey released me, her gaze lingering on my forehead.
“Do I need to touch up my makeup?” I’d covered the bruises on my cheekbone and forehead with foundation and thought I did a pretty good job of it. On the day I left the hospital, my forehead was swollen to the size of a baseball, but the swelling had gone down and now it was an ugly greenish yellow. Like Connor’s entire face.
“You look fine,” Hailey said, giving me a little smile. Then she was laughing.
“Well, that’s not very convincing.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking there’s never a dull moment with you.”
I sighed. “I’m a trouble magnet.”
After my friends left, I looked around for Killian, searching the living room and the backyard, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I climbed the stairs to the second floor, feeling like I was trespassing, and passed two closed doors before I came to one slightly ajar. I peeked my head inside and saw Killian sitting on the mossy green carpet, his back leaning against a double bed, cradling his head in his hands. In that moment, I saw Killian, the boy. My heart hurt for him. And it hurt for me too. I was losing him. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. I knew it yesterday when he hadn’t returned my calls. I knew it last week when he’d said goodbye to me at the hospital and I’d climbed into my dad’s SUV.
A bottle of Jameson and a tumbler of whiskey sat next to him, like they were the only companions he needed.
A whimper escaped my lips. Killian lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine. They were empty. Vacant. He wasn’t even in this room. I stood in the doorway, my gaze sweeping over the bedroom that must have been his when he was growing up. Neat and tidy. No photos on the dresser, no posters on the walls, nothing that gave me a clue as to who he’d been or what he’d liked when he was a kid. A cross hung above his bed and I wondered if he’d put it there or if Seamus had. I erased the distance between us and lowered myself onto the floor next to him, crossing my ankles and smoothing my hands over the skirt of my black dress. It was sleeveless and probably too short for a funeral, especially with my four-inch heels, but Ava had gone out and bought it for me because my dad had kept me locked in an ivory tower.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered. I’d said it so many times at the hospital, and he’d always replied the same way. “I’m not going anywhere.”
This time, he said nothing. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips, and drank.
* * *
Later that night, my dad, Killian, and I gathered in my living room. A few days ago, Killian, brought over a leather chair from the bar so my dad had somewhere to sit and read his newspaper while he guarded me all week. I loved my dad, but I was ready for him to get back to his regularly-scheduled life and let me do the same.
My dad was sitting on the chair, and Killian and I were on the sofa across from him. I had a bad feeling I did not want to hear what my dad was about to say. He had that look on his face he used to get whenever I was in trouble and we needed to have “a talk.” And to make matters worse, Killian was on the opposite end of the couch, with a cushion separating us. There might as well have been an ocean between us.
“I’m not going back to Pennsylvania,” I said, before he could speak. “It’s not happening. I’m staying here with Killian and we’re going to…I don’t know…get back to our lives and…”
“Eden. I’m your father and that gives me the right—”
“I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I’m absolutely fine.”
Killian leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, his hands steepled, index fingers pressed against his lips. I glanced at Killian’s face, but it was shuttered.
No. No, no, no. Don’t do this, Killian. Not after everything we’ve been through together.
“Killian. Tell him—”
“Let your dad speak.”
I crossed my arms and slumped against the back cushion, probably looking more like a petulant child than a mature adult.
“I spoke with Killian and he agrees with me,” my dad said. “You need some time to process everything that happened. What you’ve been through was traumatic.”
“It was traumatic for Killian and Connor. I barely got hurt. I feel fine.”
“Having nightmares every night is not fine,” my dad said. “Waking up in a cold sweat is not fine.”
Even though I wanted to deny it, I couldn’t because my dad slept with one eye open. My bad dreams were always the same though. Not the exact same dream. But I always woke up right before Killian died. In a car flying off a cliff. In a fiery explosion. In a war zone, his body riddled with bullets.
“Killian agreed you’d both benefit from counseling,” my dad said.
I stared at Killian, my mouth gaping. “You agreed to counseling.”
“I insisted on it,” my dad said. “Like I said, we talked.” My dad’s gaze swung to Killian and softened. I couldn’t believe this. They’d been going behind my back, chatting like old chums, making plans for me without my consent, and even speaking to Louis on my behalf.
“Fine. We’ll go to counseling.” I had no objection to it and if Killian agreed to speak to a shrink, it might really help him. “So, we’re good, right?”
“No,” my dad said. “We are not good. You’re leaving Brook—”
“No. Absolutely not. My life is here. My friends are here. My job…my art…Killian…everything is here. I’m sorry, Dad, but you can’t make that decision for me. It’s my life, and it’s my decision. The only way for me to get better is to take control of my own life. I’m not helpless or broken, and I’m tired of you guys making me feel like I am.” My dad kept opening his mouth to interrupt, but I kept talking, not letting him. “Did you tell Sawyer he wasn’t allowed to enlist in the Marines? That he wasn’t allowed to re-enlist? No, you didn’t.” I was just getting started, really warming up to my argument. I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“You’re a state trooper, so you know bad stuff happens everywhere. Even in Pennsylvania. I’ve heard your stories about shootings and domestic violence and horrific car crashes. Mom got cancer. You couldn’t prevent that from happening, no matter what you did. And, Killian, if you feel guilty, talk to a shrink about it. Talk to me about it. But don’t you dare throw us away because of what happened. It was not your fault. Dad, don’t make him feel guiltier than he already does. Killian does not need more guilt in his life.” I turned my attention to Killian. “Don’t do this. I love you. You made me promise I wouldn’t let you ruin us. Don’t ruin us. Please—”
“Eden,” Killian said, cutting me off. I opened my mouth to protest. “I was thinking we’d take that trip to Montauk.”
A trip to Montauk? What? “As in…you and me?”
“A vacation,” my dad fumed. “That’s not what we talked about.”
“I love your daughter, and I want what’s best for her. I would never knowingly put her in danger. I would gladly risk my life to save hers. Eden showed me what love is. She’s strong and she’s brave and she stands up for the people she believes in. And, for some crazy reason, she believes in me. She chose me. And I choose her. Always. I’m not leaving her, and I’m not letting her go. I’m a wild card. I know that. I come with a shitload of baggage. I’ve done a lot of things in my life I regret. But loving her isn’t one of them. I can’t promise life will be smooth sailing, but I can promise I’ll do whatever it takes to help her put this behind her. I’ll do the work, and I’ll do it with her at my side. Because life without her is unthinkable. I’m sorry if you think I’m being selfish, but that’s what I need to do. For her. For me. For us. When you love someone, you don’t run away, and you don’t leave them when things get hard or messy or fucked-up. When you love someone, you fight for them. And I will always fight for Eden.”
I stared at Killian the whole time he spoke, making vows and promises. I’d never heard him say so many words at once, and all his words were perfect. They were everything I wanted to hear and more.
“You love me,” I breathed.
“Fiercely. You’re mine and I’m yours, so it looks like you’re stuck with me.”
“I love being stuck with you.” I moved closer and leaned in, about to kiss him.
My dad cleared his throat. Oops, I forgot about him. I dragged my gaze away from Killian and to my dad. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’m going to be okay.” And I knew it was true. The only way I wouldn’t be okay was if Killian had let my dad call the shots. Not that I ever had any intention of taking orders from my dad, but if Killian hadn’t been in my corner, he wouldn’t be the right man for me. He wouldn’t be the man I’d come to depend on and believe in. And that would have broken my heart, for real.
My dad shook his head and exhaled. “You don’t know what you put me through, kiddo.”
Considering all the hovering he’d done in the past week, I had some idea, but I kept that to myself. I could see he was struggling, waging his own internal battle, but I also knew he’d concede defeat. And he did. My dad didn’t raise us to be quitters. He didn’t raise us to run away from our problems either. He taught us to stand up for the people and the things we believed in, and that’s what I was doing. I was taking back control of my own life, and I was doing it with Killian at my side.