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“I would. I have.”
“You
’ve killed people for them. For him.”
Deklan stares straight ahead, ignoring my question. Maybe he thinks it’s rhetorical. Maybe he realizes there is another question that comes afterward. It was the same question Sean asked him in the back room.
Would Deklan let Sean have me if Sean insisted on it? What if he told Deklan to kill me? If it came down to his loyalty to the Foley family and his loyalty to me, which one would he choose?
Do I want to know the answer?
I’m silent the rest of the way home. It seems like this day has gone on forever, and all I want to do is go to sleep and forget about all of it. When we get back to the apartment, Deklan asks what we should make for dinner, but I just shrug. I’m not hungry.
“Kera, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” I walk over to the couch and turn on the television. I don’t even bother to change the channel, I just stare at whatever show pops up until Deklan grabs the remote and turns the TV off.
“I hate that you know,” he says.
“What?”
“You saying everything is fine when it’s obviously not.” He sits next to me and reaches for my hand. “Is this about what you overheard?”
I think about all the obnoxious and borderline threatening things Sean has said to me. I’ve managed to ignore them for long enough, so why is what he said to Deklan so much worse? Is it because Deklan heard it but isn’t going to do anything about it? Or is it because Sean is that much closer to making good on his threats?
There are too many reasons, and they are weighing me down. I can’t think straight. When Deklan starts rubbing at my wrist, I realize the last thing I want right now is his comfort.
I pull my hand away from him and stand up. My whole body is tight, and my eyes are starting to burn. I turn away from Deklan and walk swiftly to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
“Seriously, Kera? Are you really locking yourself in the bathroom instead of talking to me?”
I don’t answer. I have no idea what to say, and I want to just forget it all—pretend it never happened. Something inside my head made me forget the kidnapping for years. Why can’t I do that at will?
I drop onto the closed toilet, and my phone falls out of my pocket and onto the floor. It’s still on, but Kathy is gone, and I have no one to call. I depress the power switch, and tears fall as the phone turns off.
“Are you going to make me break this door down?”
I wonder if he would really do it and decide he probably would. I don’t want to deal with a broken door reminding me of this day, so I wipe the tears off my face and open it. I don’t look at Deklan as I move past him and into the bedroom.
He follows me.
“Are you going to talk to me?” he asks.
“No.” I reach into a dresser drawer and pull out pajamas. I start to head back to the bathroom when Deklan grabs my arm.
“Is that how you cope with shit?” he asks. “Just ignore it?
I look down at Deklan’s fingers wrapped around my arm. For a moment, I feel other hands grabbing at me. I see the inside of a windowless van before things go dark inside my head, and my focus is back on my husband’s grip.
“Well, I’m married to a murderer,” I say simply, “so what else am I supposed to do?”
Deklan goes still for a moment, but I just keep staring at his hand on my arm.
“Don’t you dare judge what I do.” Deklan’s voice is quiet and almost monotone, but I can hear the anger behind it.
For once, I don’t care.
I shake my arm out of his grasp and turn toward him, throw the pajamas on the floor, and face him with my hands on my hips. I have to tilt my head to glare into his eyes.
