Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
“What do you mean ‘all of it?’” His eyes narrow and Kat’s gaze moves to her clasped hands on the table.
“Can we eat?” Kat pipes up between us, her nervousness not at all disguised by her sweet, feminine tone. I’ve always thought she was beautiful, but more than that, careful and intelligent. She has intention behind every move.
Cill peers down at her. “I’m not hungry.” The way his eyes search hers is telling. He still loves her deeply, even if there’s pain there.
I’m thankful for that. I would never forgive myself if he stopped loving her. How could he, though? The two of them need each other.
My throat is tight as I swallow and watch her tell him, “I think we should get some food first.” Kat puts her hand over his. “I think we would all feel better if we had a bite to eat. A lot happened tonight.”
While they share a hushed discussion and then call the waiter who silently brings silverware and menus, I think about how it got this bad. I remember every day that led to this hell.
The only thing worse than losing Cill and watching everything turn to shit, was figuring out that his uncle had been behind it all. For a while, I couldn’t even admit it to myself. If I thought it was true, I’d have no choice but to tell Cill.
That would tear him up. When I finally decided it was real, a few months after his father passed, though I didn’t have any proof, I found reasons not to tell him. If I told him while he was locked up, he’d go crazy. Cill could never sit around and let shit happen to him. He had to take action. At least he had to find out why something had happened, and maybe solve the problem. Going to him with vague rumors while he was in jail would cause havoc and put him in jeopardy.
I couldn’t tell anyone. I did what we were told to do all our lives, keep our heads down and do what we were told.
All the while, I watched and caught on to the shit Eamon was doing and now I know too much.
When the waiter finally comes around, with a paper pad in his hand, I can barely find my words. It’s like I’ve been slowly unraveling the last year, when all of this started after Cill’s father died, and now there’s nothing left of me.
As another waitress quietly comes into the room to refill Kat’s goblet of ice water with the silver decanter—neither Cill or I have touched ours—our waiter asks what I’d like to order.
I peer across the table to ask what Kat and Cill ordered, a glass of red and two fingers of whiskey. Yeah, I’m probably going to need alcohol too.
Clearing my throat, I ask for the same as Cill. When the waiter’s gone Kat speaks up again, her fingers slipping down the stem of her goblet.
“I think we each have one drink to calm our nerves, we eat to settle our stomachs and then we can talk,” she states softly but in a matter-of-fact way, only lifting her gaze to reach each of ours once she’s finished.
“We’ve spent hours in the car in silence, what’s another hour here?” she points out as if it’s an innocent question.
The tension still bristles from Cill’s shoulders but he peers at me, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah,” I reply, “I think that’s best.”
Turmoil stirs in the pit of my stomach as Kat orders us appetizers of bruschetta and burrata that sound far too eloquent for men like us, but the way she reads it and admits she loves the glaze has me nodding my head in agreement.
We all order meals. I go with the same meal I get every time we’re here simply out of habit. Capellini with crabmeat. Cill and Kat do the same; filet and shrimp for Cill, and lasagna for Kat.
It’s quiet while we wait, each of us thinking maybe. Taking small sips of my drink, I watch the two of them touch. Occasionally she holds his hand and he squeezes hers. It feels like an ending, like I’m forced to watch it, to sit in it so it’s burned into my memory what real love is and how I almost destroyed it.
The whiskey is gone sooner than I’d like. I pick at the bread, not tasting it until the meals are served.
Kat was right. It’s helping Cill, at least. He’s not as tense. Kat watches him even more than I do.
I didn’t know how things would go when we showed up on her front porch this past weekend. I was scared to death. If she kicked him out, I didn’t think Cill was going to recover. She barely speaks to me anymore. She stopped talking to him too.