Almost Innocent (15 page)

When Dustin yanked the light off his bedside table and pulled the cord from the lamp itself, I knew the end was coming. He was going to wrap it around my neck and choke me, or he would use it to secure my hands then beat me to death with whatever object he could find. He’d done both before.

Let him. I was done. I wanted it over. If my baby hadn’t made it, I didn’t want to either. I begged God to let it end quickly.

Then as I sat on the floor, watching Dustin’s lips twist into a sadistic smile, the baby moved. More than a move. A kick. A real kick. As if he was saying, “Hey, Mom! I’m still here. Do something! Protect me!”

I didn’t think, just moved, mustering every ounce of energy I had. Dustin turned slightly, focused on his task, and I pushed myself to my unsteady feet and bolted toward the door. Dustin lunged for me, but by some miracle, he missed. He screamed after me, no doubt wondering where I thought I was going, because there was no way out.

He was right. There was only one way out, and that was in a body bag.

I didn’t even hesitate. I pulled Dec’s gun from under the towels in the bathroom and stumbled back into the hall. Dustin was in his doorway, slapping the cord against his open palm in threat.

When he saw the gun, he laughed. “What are you going to do with that?”

Somewhere in the distance, I heard a car’s engine revving up the driveway.

Dustin heard it too and smiled. “Ahh. Mark’s here.” His eyes lit with excitement. “Now we can really have some fun.”

My hand shook as his chortle oozed down my body as if he were actually touching me. I couldn’t handle both of them. Not again. They’d tear me apart from the inside and kill the baby.

The car stopped, brakes squealing, and I knew what I had to do to end it all. Mark would be coming up those stairs in seconds—it was now or never.

My hesitation was all Dustin needed to reach behind him and yank his own gun from his jeans. I realized what he was doing seconds before he had a chance to pull it around and shoot me.

The gun in my hands shook as I did what Dec had told me to do. I pointed and pulled the trigger. The first shot hit him in the stomach, and Dustin dropped his gun, his hand clutching his gut. The second and third went into his chest.

“Gabby!” It was Declan’s voice, not Mark’s, screaming as he ran up the stairs. “Gabby!”

And it was Declan’s arms that scooped me up, catching me as I collapsed. With tears streaming down his face, Dec lowered us both to the floor.

“Gabs?” He kneeled next to me, clutching my hand with one of his while the other moved over my body, checking to see how badly I was hurt. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I jerked out of the memory, realizing that I was in my bed. Declan was next to me, holding my hand. The tears on his face were real, and considering how stiff mine was, I knew I’d been crying too. My entire body was stiff, and I had to remind myself, over and over, that it had just been a flashback.

It wasn’t real. I was fine. We were in my home, where I was safe. Just like every other time my mind had screwed with me and I’d relived that day, it took a few minutes to figure out what was real.

Then a new realization dawned. Unlike the other times, when I could rationalize that Dusty was dead and Mark was gone, this time the truth had reared its ugly head. Mark wasn’t gone. Mark was in Watertown and had all the money and power that Dustin had once had. I didn’t know why he hadn’t yet, but it was only a matter of time before he found me.

I shook uncontrollably, the fear taking over my body. Dec snapped his eyes to mine, and when he realized I was awake, he let out a strangled sound of distress. He crawled onto the bed with me, yanked me against him, and held me tight.

“I’m so fucking sorry, babe,” he soothed, over and over until, in pure exhaustion, I faded into oblivion.

I
t had never crossed
my mind.

Once, not so very long ago, I knew that I couldn’t mention Mark’s name. Not around my parents, not around Fi, and never, ever around Gabby. They hated him, blamed him for things that weren’t his fault.

He was my best friend, my blood, and I refused to turn my back on him even though everyone else was quick to cast the first stone.

That didn’t mean that I talked about him though. I would never downplay what had happened to Gabby or condemn her for projecting her fear of my brother onto Mark. It made sense—I’d told her he would protect her while I was gone and he hadn’t been there to do it. The human mind was funny—when the person who hurt us died, we either forgave them for their sins, sainting them and pretending that they weren’t as bad as they were, or we placed their guilt onto someone else, because it’s really hard to hate the deceased.

My parents didn’t get a free ride though. I’d never let them forget just how angry I was about their treatment of their nephew. They claimed that he was responsible for what had happened to Dusty.

My mom, in the dark about what had really happened that night, felt that Mark’s drug problem had led Dustin down a path from which he couldn’t return. In her mind, Dusty would have never been dealing if it hadn’t been for Mark.

My father, on the other hand, had been completely aware of what kind of monster his eldest son was. Yet he held Mark responsible for not being there to protect Gabby and his grandchild. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact Dustin was dead, yet he was extremely angry that Gabby had suffered the way she had.

I thought they were each as guilty as Mark. Hell, I was just as guilty.

Fi had hated Mark for years before Dustin’s death, though she’d never told me why. Whenever I brought him up, she turned cold and told me that he deserved whatever he got. When I pushed for details, she informed me that sometimes I didn’t need to know everything, or that I had bigger things to worry about with Gabby. I couldn’t argue with either point, but that didn’t make me any less determined to get to the bottom of her feelings toward him.

My parents thought that Mark had disappeared the day after Dusty died, before the police could even question him. In reality, he and his mother had hidden so my father couldn’t retaliate. Not that I would have let him. There wasn’t much Dad and I had disagreed on, but that was a point I wouldn’t back down from. I had bloodlust over what had happened to Gabs, even more than my old man, but there was no one left to punish.

So since Dustin’s death, I’d been careful not to mention Mark’s name, not to acknowledge that I knew where he was, and I’d learned to ignore the hate spewed toward him when someone did bring him up. It was easier that way. Niall’s call tonight, and the fact that I’d been so comfortable here with Gabby, had pushed all the old practices out the window, and I’d fucking blown it.

I’d planned to tell Gabs about Mark. I wouldn’t keep shit like that a secret. She deserved more of an explanation than my mindless fuck-up though.

“Mark?” Gabby’s voice had turned to ice, and she turned around, pushing me away. “Why is Mark taking over?”

I’d had this argument with my uncle Sean last week, and I was so fucking sick of explaining myself. “Fi doesn’t want it, and it’s just as much his as it is mine. I may have been making the calls while I was away, but Mark’s the man who made it happen.” The color drained from her face, and she tensed up so quickly that I should have put two and two together. Instead I reached out, steadying her, holding onto her shoulders. “Gabby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She refused to meet my eyes, shaking her head as if trying to tell me to forget it. Not fucking happening.

“Gabby.” I sounded harsher than I meant to, but something had upset her and I didn’t want her to shut me out.

Her color didn’t come back, and she shoved me away before turning to the refrigerator and grabbing a beer. The Gabby I remembered didn’t drink beer. I watched helplessly, completely unsure of what to do, as she twisted off the top and drained the bottle completely.

I started to panic, rehashing what I’d said. Was she this upset because I was running CI? I wasn’t my father and I sure as shit wasn’t my brother, but I was a Callaghan. The business was my legacy. The one that would be passed to her son one day. She needed to accept that, one way or another. “Gabby.”

“I didn’t realize you still spoke. I… I…” She looked at me, but her eyes didn’t see me as she fought for words. “I didn’t know he was even still around here.”

I didn’t have to ask who “he” was. Unease curled in my stomach, and I felt myself getting defensive. “He never moved out of Watertown. After…”

Jesus Christ. After he’d been too fucking busy snorting shit to care that her boyfriend was beating her to death. After my nephew had almost died because Mark couldn’t be bothered to wait a few hours to get his fix.

I shook my head, disgusted with myself. I was such a fucking moron that I hadn’t realized what I’d done. Instead, she’d had to bring him back up, ask about the man I was sure still haunted her dreams.

“Fuck.” I reached for her, but she jerked away, holding up a hand to keep me at bay. “Gabby.” I took another step, but she backed away some more.

“Fi.” Her voice trembled, matching her hands, and I knew she was fucking terrified. “Fi doesn’t know. Does she?”

“No.” I shook my head, desperate to do anything to calm her down. “Fuck no.” No one in the family did. Moira just knew that I’d taken over the business. She never asked for details on how I’d done it.

Pain crossed her face, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “I need you to leave, Dec.”

“What?” I shook my head again. Not a fucking chance I was leaving her like this. “No.”

She slid down the front of the fridge, scattering the magnets and papers that had decorated it moments ago. “You need to leave.”

Like hell I was leaving. She shook uncontrollably, and I lunged across the small space, wanting only to get her off the cold floor and help her in any way I could. Instead, she screamed and flinched away as if I was going to hurt her, and the reaction made me stall. That gave her enough time to turn onto her back and crab crawl away from me.

I could see it happening, see her slipping away. I knew if I didn’t do something to bring her back to the present, she was going to get sucked into her memories and I might not get her back. I dropped to my knees, calling to her, grabbing her, trying to keep her with me.

She fought me as if I was trying to murder her. She elbowed me in the lip, making me let go of her for one split second, which gave her the chance to back away again and use her legs, kicking out to keep me away.

I’d seen her panic attacks before. After Dustin died, she had them often, and there was no set trigger. It could be anything as simple as someone shutting a door too loudly or a car door slamming outside. They were brutal, leaving her an emotional mess and me a homicidal maniac wanting to beat anyone who caused her such distress.

Over time, they had eased up. The fear started to disappear from her eyes, a smile crept back onto her lips, and my Gabby began to reappear. By the time I’d been arrested, I knew she would be okay.

Those attacks had never been like this though. This was the worst one I’d ever seen. If Dustin hadn’t been dead, I would have tracked him down and gotten great pleasure out of slowly ripping his life from him.

She fell to her side, clutching her abdomen with one hand and shielding her head with the other as she twisted and trembled on the floor. I sat next to her, helpless, unsure of what I could do to ease the pain.

She cried out and gagged and wretched so violently that I was sure she was going to hurt herself. Then she started to cry, muttering as she rocked back and forth. I couldn’t handle it anymore.

I stood, swept her off the floor, and held her to my chest tightly so that she couldn’t push me away. I carried her up the stairs as quickly as I could, practically kicked her bedroom door open, and set her safely in the middle of the bed. She sobbed, grasping at my hands, begging me to make him stop hurting her, begging me to save her, telling me that this time he was going to kill her.

I knew where she was because I was seeing it in my mind too. I hadn’t done it. I hadn’t gotten there in time. God, I’d tried. But I hadn’t made it.

As she relived whatever hell my brother had put her through, I clung to her, trying to keep her grounded. “I’m right here, Gabs. He’s never going to hurt you again. No one is.”

When she finally stopped moaning and the quakes started to subside, I thought the worst of it was over. But before I could move, she cried again. Not the heart-wrenching sobs she had been, but brokenhearted, hopeless tears.

“I killed Dustin,” she whispered to the room. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He just wouldn’t stop. He’s Declan’s brother.” She inhaled a shaky breath, tears streaming down her face. “He loved him. Despite everything, he loved him.”

I hadn’t cried when he died. He was a piece of shit who had needed to disappear. I’d been angry, infuriated that I hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, because I’d promised myself years ago, the first time I realized he hurt Gabs, that I would be the one to take out my brother. I’d hated him that much.

But I’d loved him too. Somewhere deep inside him was the kid who had given me his favorite teddy bear when our parents decided we were too old to keep sharing a bedroom and I was terrified of being alone. He was the one who taught me to ride a bike and throw a baseball. He’d been a proud big brother, beaming when I placed first in the science fair. And once, in a moment of clarity while he was shit-faced, he’d told me that he wished he’d never started dating Gabby because she was better off with me.

Fuck me. I
had
loved him. I could tell myself that I hated every part of him, as I had for years, but in that moment, I let myself face the truth. He was my brother, and I had loved him. The tears hit before I could stop them.

Gabby cried out again, her own tears coming faster. “I’m so sorry, Dec.”

I gripped her hand hard, needing her to hear me, wherever she was in that moment. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Gabs. So fucking sorry.” I repeated it over and over.

She had nothing to be sorry for, but I wouldn’t take that away from her. She opened her eyes just for a moment, and I could see that the worst of the memories had passed.

She shook again from cold or fear or adrenaline—whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. I crawled up behind her, yanking her into my arms and holding as tight as I could. I’d let go once, left her so that I could save her from herself. But I would never be able to do it again. I needed her forgiveness as much as she needed mine.

After a while, her breathing evened out and I knew she was sleeping peacefully. I pulled the blanket off the bottom of the bed and covered her before sliding to the floor. Yanking out my phone, I hit the number I called more than any other.

“You better not be calling to cancel tomorrow, because I’ve had a shit day, and if you are, I don’t want to hear it.” She was half kidding, but the warning was clear in her voice.

“Fiona.”

I heard the moment my tone sank in—she inhaled sharply. “Declan, what’s wrong?”

I swallowed roughly, not sure where to start. “I fucked up.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “What did you do?” She wasn’t pissed and seemed more worried than anything.

“I mentioned Mark.”

Fi was completely silent. Not even the sound of her breathing came through the line. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she let out a breath she’d obviously been holding. “Oh, Dec. Why? What in the hell would possess you to do something that fucking dumb?”

“It was an accident.”

“An accident?” She made a sound of disgust. “Why in the fuck would that jackass ever come up in a conversation?”

“We were talking about work. Mark works for me.”

“What?” She sounded appalled. “Never mind,” she snapped. “Where’s Gabby?”

I glanced over my shoulder, half relieved to find her still sleeping soundly. “In bed. Jesus, Fi, she…” I didn’t know how to explain it. “I don’t know if it was a panic attack or a flashback. It was fucking horrifying. I couldn’t help her.”

“Hold on.” I heard her talking, but it was muffled, as if she was covering the microphone on her cell. Then a door shut. “She has meds on the top shelf in her bathroom closet, behind the giant bottle of TUMS.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “Meds for what?” No way in hell she’d become a pillhead. Gabby detested drugs—she didn’t even want to take Tylenol when she had a migraine.

“To help her sleep. The memories are worse at night. Most of the time she can fight them off, ignore them. But at night, once Grady’s in bed, it’s harder for her.”

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you? You haven’t let me mention her in ten years. I assumed you didn’t want to know.”

Guilt surged through me. Gabby’s earlier letters, filled with everything she could write, had worried me. I knew then that she wasn’t getting much sleep. I’d wondered if it was the trauma working its way out, but I had no way of knowing for sure. Over the years, the reports I’d gotten made it seem as though she’d gotten better. Straight-A student, an exemplary employee, and from everything that Niall said, a mom that any little boy would beg for.

I’d been an idiot.

I’d seen only what I wanted to. Gabby had always been the one to hide her pain, suffer in silence and face the world with a smile so no one could see what was really going on. Sometimes you had to look below the surface to find that the happiest people were really the saddest. Gabby had taught me that the hard way.

“Does it happen often?” The thought of Gabby going through this on a regular basis made me want to punch something, but the idea of having Grady see his mom like this tore out my fucking heart.

My sister sighed. “Not that I know of. She hasn’t been sleeping well for the last few weeks. She’s been stressed, which is probably part of what brought this on. Not to mention you showing up. Gabby’s smart, Dec. She knows what her triggers are, and she knows how to avoid them. She’s also extremely self-aware. If she feels herself slip, she reaches out to me. I talk her through it the best I can.”