AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As I gathered my belongings too, I waited for the inquisition, knowing it was coming.
Only, it didn’t.
They didn’t say a word.
Not until my bags were packed on the bed, and each of them moved over to grab one a piece, did Conor say, “You’ve got a good kid there, Aela.”
Brennan nodded. “He does you proud.”
The tears were stupid, but they prickled my eyes anyway. I ducked my head between my shoulders and muttered, “Thanks, guys.”
Their approval shouldn’t mean anything, but it did.
It really did.
I just had to hope that Seamus’s father agreed with them, and knowing him as well as I had back then… I didn’t hold out much hope.
* * *
AELA
BEFORE
“Why doyou let him treat you like that?” I whispered in a soft hush, not wanting to upset Mom, but also needing to understand it.
I wanted to think that I’d never let Declan treat me like that, but heck, who was I to judge? I was his side piece. The woman he was cheating on his girlfriend with.
I was lower than the low.
A dog turd.
The betrayal was real, and no matter how many times I thought that, no matter how many times I felt that way and promised myself I’d break it off, he’d look at me with those eyes and I’d fall.
He was lonely.
Alone.
Lost.
This world wasn’t his world, but he had no choice. No alternative.
He was stuck in this chaos just like I was. A rook in a game of chess that he didn’t want to play.
Inside, I felt sure he was screaming. On the outside, he was cool and calm. He looked like the bruiser his family was making him, but I knew, deep in his soul, he was my sweet Declan.
A man who loved the arts. Who could wander around a museum for hours on end.
I mean, I loved museums. Loved wandering around them too, and my visits always fired me up for when I was home and able to draw or paint, but Declan’s appreciation went so much deeper than mine.
It was like he was transported to an alternate world where he wasn’t a Five Pointer. Where he was just a man.
Whenever we sneaked away to museums, the only place we were safe from prying eyes because not many people in the Five Points were likely to go there, I’d cling to his hand and walk with him. Past when my legs started to ache and I grew tired, when I wanted to sit and draw, I’d carry on with him, knowing that I, and that time in the museum, was his vacation.
His break from it all.
How could I leave him when he needed me?
When I was his respite?
