Until Harry(15)

My nanny burst into laughter while Layton shook his head with a grin on his face. Kale glanced at me, and in that moment I wished I knew what he was thinking, because he was staring at me with an intensity that caused my knees to lock together. I broke free from his stare when my father clucked his tongue. He and Lochlan were less than pleased with my humour.

“You aren’t funny, Lane,” Lochlan grumbled.

I gestured to our laughing grandmother. “She would beg to differ.”

My nanny snorted then as she laughed, and it made me smile. Lochlan turned away from me and shook his head, and I couldn’t help but shake my own at him. He was a huge pain in my arse, but only because he loved me so much. He felt that I was his responsibility because I was the baby of the family, and it was why he had been more overbearing than Layton. Sometimes even our father wasn’t as harsh as he was.

Lochlan was the sole reason I never had a boyfriend growing up. He never admitted to it, but I knew he roughed around Blake Cunning, who asked me out on a date when I was sixteen. The next day Blake had a black eye and told me he didn’t think it was a good idea if we dated, and then he walked away from me without looking back.

“Lochlan?”

He looked over his shoulder when I called his name. “What?” he asked.

I held his gaze and said, “I love you.”

Lochlan stared at me for a moment before he turned away from me and went back to passing dirty dishes to Layton. Layton stared at our brother, waiting for him to reply to me, and I was surprised when Kale leaned over and said, “Say something back to her. Now.” I was even more surprised that Lochlan listened to Kale.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice low.

I looked to my nanny, who was smiling at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I gestured to her knitting, when she picked it out of a bag next to the table, and pulled a face. “I can’t believe you’re still knitting.”

She smirked devilishly. “Do ye want ta help me make some—”

“No!” I cut her off, my voice slightly raised. “No bloody way. I have nightmares about knitting to this day. I told you I’d die before I ever picked up needles and wool again.”

Snickers filled the kitchen.

I looked around the room and found the only smiling face missing was my mother’s, and my uncle’s, of course. I sighed and relaxed into the chair. I had to make things good with my family. I had to make things how they used to be before I left and life went to the gutter. They didn’t deserve to be blocked out because things didn’t end the way I wanted them to with Kale.

They deserved better than the way I had been treating them the last six years, and it rightly fell on my shoulders to make everything better. I just hoped the relationships I walked out on could be mended.

All of them.





CHAPTER FOUR

Ten years old (sixteen years ago)

Kale,” I whispered, and then held my breath to keep all noise to a minimum.

I couldn’t sleep.

All week, since I’d got home from a shopping holiday with my mother and nanny in New York, I’d found it difficult to go to sleep. I quickly got used to bright lights and noises in a city that never sleeps, and found that the silence in York screamed louder than any noise could. Tonight it wasn’t my jet lag or the deafening stillness that was keeping me awake though. It was something very distinctive. It was the reason I was trying to be deathly quiet as I called Kale.

I was so scared the monsters would hear me and come get me before he woke up. I kept staring at my open wardrobe while I blindly reached down and shoved at Kale’s shoulder as hard as I could. He was sleeping on his blow-up mattress on my floor, as he always did when he stayed over, and it was pretty much his own piece of furniture inside my room.

It was probably the last time he would be allowed to sleep in my room. My father said now that he was thirteen, he would have to sleep in my brothers’ room when he stayed over, which delighted him and my brothers.

I blew out a frustrated breath when he grunted in his sleep, as if he refused to wake up.

“Kale!” I pleaded, my emotion shining through my voice.

He groaned and moved around on his mattress, trying to get away from me.

“What is it, Lane?” he grumbled. “I’m sleeping.”

The wardrobe door creaked, so I let out a little whimper, and like a shot Kale was up from his mattress and climbing onto my bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, now wide awake.

I threw my arms around him. “The wardrobe – it’s open. They’re gonna get me.”

Kale released a laboured breath but kept his tight hold on me. He placed his hand on my back and rubbed up and down. The action calmed me down a little, but not enough to let go of him.

“The latch on the door is broken,” he murmured, his voice low to soothe me. “That’s why it opens when it’s been closed – you know this. We talked about it, remember?”

I refused to believe that.

If that was true, then why did the door just magically decide to open in the dead of night? Why not during the day when it was bright out and not scary? I’d tell you why: it was because there was no stupid broken latch on the door. It was the hideous monsters that lived inside my wardrobe that opened the door at night. They were planning to take me away.