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“Shay? Where are ye, my wee sweetie?”
His blue eyes widen, and he quickly runs from the room.
“Shay!” I cry, tears spilling down my cheeks.
“I’ll look for the little key. I promise ya.” He closes the door and locks it, trapping me in the darkness once more.
However, now, when I close my eyes, the darkness isn’t the only thing that will haunt my dreams. Shay’s familiar eyes will too.
Who the fuck is he? And why does he look like Punky?
Ibarely slept last night as I tried to recall every time Aoife and I had sex. I counted eight, maybe nine times. Some memories are fuzzier than others because when I was sent to the sickbay, it was because I was either concussed or bleeding on the cusp of passing out.
I never wanted any painkillers, but sometimes, I needed them to help shut out the pain. They’ve always messed with my head which is why I hate taking them. I now wonder if maybe one of those times when I was fucked up, I did something stupid—like getting Aoife pregnant.
“I’m not judgin’, but how did ye get away with it?” Cian asks, sipping his coffee.
I, on the other hand, am on my third whiskey.
“Riverbend House wasn’t yer average prison, Cian. There were no rules. But there’s no way that could be my chile.”
Cian doesn’t look so convinced. “If ya rode her, and rode her numerous times, then it’s very possible. It doesn’t matter how careful ya thought ye were. Accidents happen.”
He’s right.
“I just don’t understand why Sean was givin’ her money?”
“Couldhebe the dad?” Cian asks, half-serious, but we soon both realize that isn’t so far-fetched. “Getawaytafuck.”
“Anythin’ is possible,” I state, throwing back my drink. “Until I speak with Aoife, then we’re merely guessin’.”
This would be the time I’d call on Rory to work his computer magic. But I’m on my own on this one.
“No one who knows me, no one associated with me can approach her. I need a total stranger to pass a message on to her. I don’t want to send a letter or leave a note. It’s too risky.”
“Ach, yer right. But who?”
“Someone who knew her from work will look less suspicious, but I don’t—” I never finish that sentence because I think I’ve figured out who.
Reaching for my phone off the bench, I do a quick search online for Officer Scott Grenham. He doesn’t owe me a thing, but I need to try. He was the only officer who actually gave a fuck.
“Hello?” he answers on the third ring.
“Hi, um, I don’t know if ye remember me, but it’s Puck, Puck Kelly.”
“Puck Kelly,” he says in surprise. “What’s the craic?”
“I’m sorry to phone ya out of the blue, but I was wonderin’ if I could ask for a favor?”
“That depends on what it is,” he replies lightly.
“Remember Nurse Aoife?”
“Aye, I remember.”
“Well, she and you were the only people who gave a fuck about me when I was locked up. Youse were the only ones who treated me like a human being. I wanted to reach out to her, but I didn’t want it to be…weird. Do ya think ya could pass a message on from me?”
“Of course, Puck. I can do that.” He almost sounds relieved.
