Chasing River
Page 70

Something important enough . . .
Me?
He chuckles softly. “Go on, now.”
I don’t wait another second. I tear down the hall and into River’s waiting arms.
“We can still stay at your house tonight, if you’d rather be close to your parents.” I flick the hallway light on. It feels like I haven’t stepped inside here in weeks, even though I left for Cork just yesterday.
River drops the duffel bag of clothes he packed on the floor—he refused to let me carry it in—and struggles to kick his shoes off, his limp worse than it was earlier today. “Who knows what time they’ll be back from the hospital. Besides, Ma would take issue with where you sleep.”
“I don’t mind sleeping on my own.”
“I do.” His chuckle is so weak. “I need my nurse in bed with me.”
I smile, giving his back a rub. I haven’t stopped touching him in some way since we left the garda station. “I’ll be upstairs in just a minute.”
He eases up the steps with great care. I still don’t know what happened with Duffy. I asked but he shrugged it off, saying, “Later.” I don’t know what that means and, while I know he needs his rest, I need assurances that this is all going to work out for River. The only thing I do know is that he doesn’t seem angry with me at all.
Opening his bottle of prescription painkillers, I fill a glass of water, throw together a few ham and cheese sandwiches—neither of us have eaten all day—and make my way upstairs to my bedroom.
River’s already undressed and stretched out in bed. Gauze covers the phoenix over his chest. I didn’t know he had an injury there as well. “Thank Christ. I’m starved,” he mumbles, reaching for a sandwich.
“Does it still hurt?” I pull back the sheet to find more gauze bandaging wrapped around his left thigh.
He grunts in response, his mouth full.
I slide my hand over the curves of his healthy leg in a soothing manner. Such strong, thick muscles.
Rowen’s leg was just as sturdy.
“What’s going to happen now? With Aengus?” I watch him chew slowly, and I’m not sure if it’s a deliberate tactic to stall.
“He confessed,” he finally admits through a mouthful, his eyes downcast.
My jaw drops. “What? How? I mean . . .” I hadn’t expected that answer. “What made him do it?”
Swallowing, he tosses the last bit of crust onto the plate and washes it down with water, chasing it with the pills I set out for him. “He didn’t have much choice. Either he confessed to Duffy or I’d testify against him in court as an eyewitness.”
“You said that you’d never do that.”
“I know.” He toys with the compass charm that dangles from my bracelet. “I never thought I would. But after what he’s put my ma and da, and Rowen, through . . .” His fingers lace through mine. “Protecting him was going to further harm my family. Harm you. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened and I could have done something to stop it. As it is, none of this would have happened if I’d spoken up sooner.” His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow, and a sheen suddenly coats his eyes. “I’m already not sure how I’m going to forgive myself for that.”
“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.” I curl into his side, careful to avoid his injuries. “So Aengus would rather confess than have you put him in prison?”
“The IRA doesn’t take too kindly to people testifying against them. Despite all the bad decisions that Aengus has made, he has always protected me when it’s counted. I was counting on him to do it again.”
There is a shred of good in that guy after all, I guess. “So, he’s going to prison.”
River nods.
“And you’re safe?”
“I’m safe.” He lifts my chin up until I can see his eyes. “And you’re safe. No one’s going to stop you from staying in Ireland for as long as you want to stay.” Unspoken words linger between us.
How long does River want me to stay?
How long do I want to stay? Never in a million years would I ever have thought I’d actually be even considering questions like this. I’ve known River for a week. A week!
The single most memorable week of my entire life.
“Well, immigration might have a problem with me staying for too long,” I joke, because I don’t know what else to say.
So would my parents.
But what do I want?
THIRTY-THREE
River
“It’s all rubbish now.” Ma lets go of the charred piece of paper, once a signed picture of Michael Collins, now worthless. It floats and lands on a tabletop by her feet. The table’s body is elsewhere.
The inside of Delaney’s is one giant heap of rubble. Pint glasses and liquor bottles shattered, splintered sticks where stools used to be, the fine dark wood blackened and punctured by nails and bits of metal. Two hundred years of our family history, which survived a famine, wars, and an entire revolution, destroyed within seconds.
And in the middle of it all stand my parents.
This may have been “tit-for-tat,” but there’s no mistaking that the bomb Beznick’s men set in here was meant to kill.
“Have you called the insurance company yet?” I set down the box of receipts and other valuable paperwork that I just collected from the office. Close the door to the back and you’d never imagine that anything was wrong up front. Even Rowen’s runners still hang from the laces on the wall.
I guess he won’t be needing one of those anymore.
He also won’t be running ever again.
Da leans against his cane, his stature bent. “They’ll be in as soon as the gardai finish with it.” He looks like he’s aged ten years since yesterday. Ma says they didn’t get to bed until well after midnight last night and were back at the hospital this morning, in time to see Rowen finally wake up.
“The back of the pub is fine, at least.”
“I reckon, in a building this old, they’re going to condemn it anyway and make us rebuild. It’ll never be the same.” He sighs. “Come on, we don’t have long before they chase us out of here. We’re lucky they let us in at all.”
“It’s our bloody pub!” Ma protests, never a fan of the police. Today, fueled by emotion, she’s tenfold worse.
“It’s for our own safety, Marion,” Da mutters, nudging the remains of the grandfather clock with the end of his cane.
“Should we try to bring that with us?” Amber offers. “We may be able to get it fixed.”
Da smiles at her, his tone softening instantly. “It’s full of glass, lovey. I wouldn’t want ya cutting those healing hands of yours.”
She nods, that tiny frown line between her eyes appearing. “I really loved your pub. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
I reach over to pull her into me, her back to my chest, folding my arms around her.
Ma eyes us, pursing her lips tightly. I know what she’s thinking—that I’m just going to get my heart broken. “We’ve survived worse. We’ll survive this just fine.”
Voices sound beyond the gaping hole where the door used to be. I don’t know if it met its demise from the blast or the emergency crew who cut in here to rescue us.