“I’m going to give your old man some time,” Cam says. “To make this right. Couple of days. Then we need to have another conversation.”
“About what?”
“About what you want me to do.”
I laugh, can’t help it. “Since when has that mattered?”
“Jesus fuck, it’s always fucking mattered.” Cam’s Irish brogue deepens, like Jack and Mal’s Killinchy lilt when they get riled up. “But we have to figure out how much good your kind heart is doing you, brother. How many times are you going to do this with your old man before it gets you killed? Cos let me tell you, if he’s fucking up enough to be robbing off us, he’s gonna have stumps with arseholes far bigger than me.”
I know that too, history too consistent and tragic to ignore. It’s why the old cottage my grandparents lived in had three gas leaks one summer. Why my dad’s boat got scuttled so many times he quit going to sea at all. And why Cam O’Brian’s friendship is the only reason I’ve lived long enough to make such a mess of things with Jack. “How much does Dav need to make it right with you?”
Cam gives me a hard look. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not taking a penny from your hand. And you’re not playing messenger either. We’ll find Dav and tell him how things are. But think about what I said, yeah? About what youreally want. I’m never going to lay a hand on your old man, but there are other ways to solve problems like this.”
A shudder passes through me. Cam’s not a bad man, but he is dangerous. Always has been. I don’t want to think too hard about what he means. Ican’tthink too hard about it. Or I might cave and agree to something that makes me someone else.
Maybe you should hurt him.
Horror wrenches my soul. Did I say that? What’shappeningto me?
There isn’t much left to say. Cam tips me a nod and for a second, I think he might embrace me again. But something behind me stays him, and his lips twitch as if he’s fighting a smile.
He says his goodbyes and strides back to his bike. Roars away, taking his cohort of street soldiers with him, and only then do I see what might’ve stopped him hugging me again.
Jack.
Shirtless, beautiful, andrestraineduntil Mal lets him go and he steams forward a few steps. Then stops and skewers me with a gaze that has nothing to do with what happened last night and everything to do with the same nonsense that’s followed me around my whole life.
He shakes his head.
Then he turns and goes back inside, leaving me to deal with Mal’s flat stare, which isn’t much better than Jack’s quiet dismay, and real fear I’m losing the version of myself my people actually like joins the disgust I already feel.
Maybe you should hurt him.
The callous words echo coldly in my head.
I turn away from them and Mal, and trudge back to theSirona. Start her up and set sail.
I’m at sea with nothing but ocean around me before I know what I’m doing. Alone in the choppy swells.
Disoriented, I kill the engine and the boat rocks, settling into the grey drink, bracing for what I’m about to do. Clever girl. I don’t care what anyone says, boats are like horses. They feel you. They are you. They protect you when they can, and I’m sick to my stomach as I tear into theSirona. Hatches up. Rope stores kicked over. Lockers clattered open. Breathing too fast and shallow and making an ungodly mess I’ll have to clear up before Oscar sets foot on her later.
I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Just something—anything—to plug the hole in my heart I punched open with Cam.
Maybe you should hurt him.
Spanners clang, metal on metal. Hooks and screws raining down on me. Parts come loose, but it’s not enough.They’renot enough, and maybe I’m not either.
For my mum.
For Sev.
For Jack.
I pause for breath, running a hand through my windblown hair. My fingers snag in the tangled mess and it feels symbolic, as if it’s me snarled up in the knots and the only way through it is to shave it off. To raze my life to the ground?—