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“I don’t know what ya want me to say. Ya tell me yer still in love with my mate and expect me to be okay with it?” he states, his disgust clear. “I wish y’d told me this before our engagement party. I look like a buck eejit.”
“I wanted to be honest,” I explain, realizing that doesn’t make a difference.
“Ach, I wish ya were honest before ya agreed to marryin’ me.”
He has every right to be mad at me. I’m mad at me. He’s a good man who loves me and provides stability, but it’s not enough. And I won’t string him along, hoping my feelings will change. That’s not fair to either of us.
“I’ll just pack my things.”
He doesn’t stop me.
I don’t have that much stuff here, so everything fits into my overnight bag I left at the flat. Thinking back, I wonder if I knew it would always come to this. I always made excuses as to why I never left more stuff here. Rory wanted me to stay with him when I came to Belfast, but I always felt more comfortable in a hotel.
I should have known why that was.
Once I have everything, I slip on a pair of black Chucks and take one last look at the flat because I do have happy memories here. It’s just not enough.
Rory is sitting on the couch, head bowed, hands interlaced between his splayed legs. “Don’t do this, Cami. Ya don’t have to marry me. Just don’t leave me. We’re good together.”
Toying with the strap of the overnight bag over my shoulder, I shake my head. “No, Rory,you’regood. I’m the fucked-up one. You deserve so much better than me.”
There’s no point prolonging the inevitable, so I slip the ring from my finger and place it on the coffee table. Rory’s shoulders shudder as he inhales sharply. I just broke his heart.
With tears in my eyes, I leave behind the best thing that has ever happened to me.
But once I step onto the sidewalk, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my chest. I know that I should never have agreed to marry Rory. I wanted so desperately to believe that I would be happy by being his wife, but it never felt natural.
My smile, my laugh, it was always forced. And even though I will probably live the rest of my life alone, I’m okay with that as I won’t settle for second best.
With a sigh, I flag down a passing taxi because there is something I have to do.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Punky revealed—Sean is alive. And he killed Cara Kelly. But what I don’t understand is, why?
What reason did Sean have to kill her?
Punky’s hatred for Sean is far deeper than that toward Brody, so this makes me think that whatever Sean did, Punky sees it as a bigger betrayal than that of Brody, who he is willing to work with. Both are as corrupt and vile as the other, but for Punky to be hunting Sean instead of Brody, it’s safe to assume Sean has done something else to Punky.
But what?
Once we arrive at the destination, I pay the driver and take a quick look around before exiting the taxi. It’s quiet, but I know the Doyle spies are never too far away. As I make my way down the street, I take in the stores which used to thrive, but now, they’re nothing but a ghost town.
And that’s thanks to my father.
I enter Ron’s Butchers, and when I see Ron Brady behind the counter, I smile and wave. “Hi, Ron. How are you?”
There are no customers in line, which answers my question. “Cami, bout ye? Is everythin’ all right? Yer brother called by this mornin’,” he says nervously, wiping his hands on his apron. “I already paid him.”
I shake my head, horrified. “Oh no, that’s not the reason I’m here.”
It disgusts me that my brother and father are okay with exploiting people for their own gain. They offer protection from the “bad guys,” but theyarethe bad guys. People like Ron pay—in fear for their lives if they don’t do what the Doyles say.
Which is why I’ve come here.
“Can I speak with you? In private,” I add in fear of being overheard by the two workers.
Ron narrows his eyes in suspicion but nods. “Aye.”
He removes his apron and grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter. We walk outside where Ron heads toward the back of the store. I follow.
