Chasing River (Burying Water #3)(72)

A gasp escapes Amber’s lips, drawing my eyes to them.

“Don’t worry. Nothing like that ever happened to me. I promise.” My smile slips off. “Aengus made sure that it didn’t. He gave a few good beatings to make sure people knew not to mess with me. He has a scar that runs from here to here,” I draw a fifteen-centimeter line just below my collarbone, “where this lifer—a serial rapist, a really mean one—tried to shank him after Aengus threatened him. My brother was too strong, though, too fast. Broke the guy’s arm in three places.” And was seconds away from killing him, but luckily the guards intervened. Amber doesn’t need to know that part, though. “Aengus was my bodyguard in there. That’s one of the main reasons he never made parole.”

She sighs, understanding filling her somber face. “Is that why you’re protecting him now?”

“He’s my brother. My flesh and blood. He always had my back, growing up. He covered for me when I did stupid things, more than once.” I’m not about to explain the Katie Byrne incident to her. “I was a scrawny kid until I hit puberty. Fellas would try to bully me, but Aengus would have none of that. He taught me how to play rugby, practiced with me like our da would have if he could. Went to every one of my games, cheered me on. I was pretty good, too. I earned a scholarship from Trinity College and had just started classes when everything happened.”

“Wait . . .” She frowns, and I know she’s thinking about our conversation the past morning. “So you were going to college?”

I nod. It’s so long ago now. “Thought about trying to get back in, but with Aengus away, and Delaney’s to run, there’s just no time for school. Anyway, I’d die before I’d betray my brother. You have a brother. You understand that, right?”

“No . . . I don’t.” She sighs. “My brother has caused himself and others plenty of trouble. But I’ve never hesitated to tell my dad whenever I found out. I figured it’d help Jesse in the long run. Maybe keep him from making a bigger mess of his life.”

Telling Da what Aengus is up to wouldn’t really help Aengus. Da would never actually call the gardai on him; he trusts the likes of them less than we do. It would only raise Da’s blood pressure and give him more reason to curse Aengus. “I guess the way your father handles issues is different from mine.”

“I guess so.” Her eyes start to close, the stress of the day no doubt finally catching up to her. I don’t say anything more and, in less than a minute, she’s drifting off.

I have no idea what’s going to happen when those eyes flutter open. She’ll likely tell me that she never wants to see me again. That I need to leave immediately. That’s why I lean over, feel her shallow breaths cascade over my lips for a moment, and then steal a kiss. I settle back into my pillow and simply watch her sleep.

Clinging to the fact that she lied to Duffy for a reason.

TWENTY-FOUR

Amber

In those first few seconds of consciousness, nothing concerns me beyond the stream of sunlight shining directly only my face. I forgot to draw the curtains last night, I realize.

Then I remember why, and the annoying light is forgotten.

I find River sleeping soundly on his back, fully dressed, one arm over his eyes, the other one stretched out, as if reaching for me. His lips, the ones I couldn’t get enough of just yesterday morning, parted just slightly.

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to think.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.

So I simply lie there, afraid to move, to stir him, and I let everything he admitted last night swirl in my head. Hoping it’ll settle on its own and the answer will suddenly become clear.

He was arrested for attending a training camp intended to teach people how to kill and maim, to inspire terror. But it doesn’t sound like that was his intention. I remember my dad arresting a group of teenage boys outside Bend, after they set up a target range in the mountains. A hiker called to complain about excessive gunfire. They had no explanation for him, besides it being something “fun” to do. Dad said that it was a fairly common thing among teenage boys. It didn’t even faze them that they had no permits.

I guess I can understand how River might not think anything of climbing into a car with his brother, to head to a place where he’d learn how to shoot guns.

But it doesn’t sound like his brother was ever just in it for the target practice.

And here, I’ve always thought Jesse was a problem sibling. At least he never tried tangling me in his messes. Not that he’d ever be able to, anyway.

And yet River has.

I just lied to the police for him.

I’ve had a fling with an Irish bartender who spent eighteen months in a maximum security prison for weapons charges due to IRA affiliations, and I lied to protect him. River has somehow managed to push me off course, and I need to get back on. I need to feel like me again.

The problem is, as I lie here and stare at the guy lying beside me—not the convict, but the guy who saved my life and got injured in the process, who charmed me with his kindness and his smile, who swept me off my feet with his romantic storytelling, who proved to me exactly how quickly I could become deeply intimate with a man—I don’t see how I can do that.

It’s so hard not to judge River for what he’s done, and how he’s lied.