Page 100 of Wreck Me

She sucks in a breath. ‘I can’t prove Jack knew she was in there when he torched the place, but somehow, deep down, I know it’s true. I couldn’t let him get away with it. He killed my mother and I’ll never forgive him for that, which is why I was determined to testify against him in court.’

‘What?’ Jack O’Connor is the biggest lunatic out of the whole family. Given his reputation, I’m surprised Scarlett’s still alive to tell the tale.

The man killed his own wife. Scarlett’s mother.

My chest cracks open for the woman in front of me. The one I love so ferociously, but I realise now, know so little about.

It all makes sense now.

Scarlett’s fear of fire.

Why she’s been locked away most of her adult life.

Why she hasn’t let a man close enough to touch her. What I once thought was a blessing, was truly the worst curse, for her anyway.

‘The court gave me anonymity, so my name was never reported in any of the papers,’ she explains.

Of course. I would have remembered otherwise. After all, Scarlett’s face isn’t one I’d easily forget. It’s no wonder she insisted on not appearing in any photographs of the two of us together. She was terrified the O’Connors would come after her. And now, thanks to me, they know exactly where to find her.

‘I was a minor.’ Giant, pear-shaped tears spill over her pretty face. ‘So my name was protected.’

‘What happened? Did they put you into care?’ Oh, Jesus. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.

‘Thankfully, one of my teachers took me in and hid me from the rest of the family.’ She nods. ‘When I turned eighteen, a couple of weeks after the trial, I got a job in a pub in Temple Bar and they let me stay in a room above it.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t just leave the country. What if they’d come looking for you? I know what the O’Connors are like.’ My guts twist at the thought of a world where Scarlett doesn’t exist. I reach out and swipe a thumb across her cheek and instinctively bring it to my lips.

My head is spinning.

So many questions. Questions I’m not sure I want the answers to.

‘My mother wanted me to get an education. A good one, so I’d have the choices in life that she never did. I was– no Iamdetermined to make her proud.’ She lifts her gaze. ‘I’d already applied for my scholarship to Trinity and received the acceptance offer shortly after my eighteenth birthday. None of them knew about it.’ She shrugs. ‘I figured I could hide in plain sight, in the one place they’d assume I’d surely leave.’

It doesn’t bear thinking about.

I want to kill every single one of those O’Connors for what they’ve done to her, but that doesn’t quell the shock that I’ve been sleeping with the enemy.

She’s one of them.

Orwasat least.

If not by blood, then by marriage.

She lied to me.

Or at the very least omitted the truth.

‘Why didn't you tell me before?’ I pin her with a stare, keeping my voice as level as I can while adrenaline courses through my body.

‘After the trial, I was given a new identity. Nathan, the detective in charge of the investigation, is the only person who knows who I am and where I am.’

‘Nathan?’ The man I’ve spent way too many nights wondering about.

She nods, gripping the cross around her neck again, running her finger over its sharp edges.

I wish she’d told me the truth. I hate that she lied to me. I get it, but I hate it. Hate the thought that I don’t really know her at all. ‘I asked you once before if Scarlett was your real name.’

‘I never lied about that. Scarlett is the name my mother gave me. Fitzgerald is my mother’s maiden name. She changed it to Maguire when she married my father and kept his name when he died. It felt right that I should take her name when she died. I’ve only been to her grave a handful of times. I’m terrified they’ll spot me there, and of someone making the connection between us. But by taking her name, I felt like a part of her is always with me. And I suppose I have this.’ She holds out the chain around her neck. ‘She lent it to me. A few days before she died. While I have it around my neck, I feel like I have a piece of her with me. It brings me a small sense of comfort.’

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