AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He could be anywhere.
But all that matters is he’s not here.
“We don’t do that.” His handsome face is shriveled with disgust. “We just assume everyone makes it to wherever they’re going unless we hear otherwise.”
“I see.” I adjust the knit blanket over my chilled feet and focus on the crashing waves in the distance, watching them splash against the very same dock Dorian stepped from eleven hours earlier when he boarded his boat back to town.
Maybe I’m imagining it, but the house feels emptier without him. Even though his company wasn’t mine to enjoy, his presence was quietly comforting. In a way, it made me feel complete. Like all the parts of me were here and in working order. Now that he’s gone, there might as well be a cannonball-size hole in my chest.
“How do you think he’s doing with everything?” I ask next because I can’t help myself. He’s haunting my every thought. In fact, I miss him so much it hurts. There’s an ache in my middle and a void in my soul that weren’t there until this morning.
Earlier in the week, all three siblings had decided to stay as long as necessary to help tidy up loose ends with the staff and the estate and anything else. I thought we’d have at least another week, maybe two, together.
When I walked past his room this morning and saw him zipping his suitcase, it was like the bottom dropped out from under me.
Despite knowing how it could look if Burke found me sitting on Dorian’s bed talking to him, I took my chance in case it was the last time I’d ever see him again.
“Dorian’s clearly fine if he’s already back to work.” Burke flicks through a stack of Polaroids, most of which appear to be of his sister, and judging by his heavy breathing, that fact annoys him. He tosses them aside and moves on to the next pile. “It’s just like the bastard—skirting any real responsibilities.”
“Maybe his band needs him.”
Burke snorts. “More than his family needs him?”
“Do you . . . do you need him?” I ask. “Because the two of you didn’t say more than a handful of words to each other all week.”
Nicola clearly doesn’t need him. She has Dash. Plus her hands are full with the children. She didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the news that Dorian was jumping ship early.
“It’s called moral support,” he says. “He should be here, and he isn’t. I think that speaks volumes, and I don’t know why you’re defending any of that.”
“Everyone handles grief differently. Maybe he needed a change of scenery. Maybe he wanted to immerse himself in something that didn’t . . . I don’t know . . . didn’t make him sad. You can’t assume everyone is like you.”
He squints, scratching at his temple. “And what am I like exactly?”
I want to say cold . . . unfeeling . . . self-centered.
But I think better of it.
“You’re . . . you.” I shrug. I don’t know what else to say that wouldn’t offend him. “The two of you are night and day.”
“Clearly.”
“I just think maybe he’s more sensitive than you, and maybe, as his big brother, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you reached out to him to make sure he’s okay.”
Burke slowly turns to face me, his eyes laced with a searing incredulity.
“Forgive me for not taking your advice on account of you knowing my family a mere hot minute,” he says. “Thanks, but no thanks. And I’ll pass on any other unsolicited advice you feel so inclined to give.”
I shoot up, tossing the blanket onto the sofa arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His brows narrow, and he waves a photo in the air. “We’re not finished.”
As much as Dorian hated me during the past weeks, he never once spoke to me with such utter condescension. And he sure as hell didn’t treat me like a piece of property. On top of that, not once has Burke asked if I’m okay. Maybe I didn’t know Redmond as long as anyone else, but I still knew him. I enjoyed his hospitality and his conversations and the way he welcomed me into his home. His death has affected me, too, though Burke wouldn’t know that because he hasn’t troubled himself to so much as care.
Folding my arms, I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to go rounds with him. I’m too exhausted. In fact, I might sleep in another room tonight. The last thing I need is Burke’s toxic energy seeping into my skin and plaguing my dreams.
“I’m tired,” I say.
“Going to bed already?” He checks his watch. “It’s not even nine o’clock. There are children who stay up later than this.”
“Again, I’m tired,” I repeat. “And I’m sleeping in another room tonight.”
