Page 21 of Doyle

Wait. What did that mean for me, for us?

Would Doyle ever love and cherish me as much as he did William, or had part of his soul died when William was taken from him?

These were selfish thoughts, but I couldn't help myself.

Doyle's expression softened, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes.

"It was a long time ago. William thought he could negotiate with Liliana’s coven. He walked into an ambush and didn't make it out,” he said.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling guilty for bringing up such a painful memory.

"It's okay," Doyle replied, looking at me. “I appreciate you asking. But let's make a deal. You can ask me one difficult question, and in turn, I get to ask you one. Do we have a deal?"

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Deal."

"Alright," Doyle said, leaning back in his chair. "Now, my turn. What do you fear the most, Michael?"

I swallowed hard, the question hitting closer to home than I expected.

"I fear...going back to my old life and feeling like I don't belong there anymore. I fear losing this...whatever this is, with you,” I admitted.

Doyle reached across the table, taking my hand in his.

"You don’t have to lose it. We’ll keep in touch. If you need help, I’ll always be there for you,” he said.

The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth of his touch, made my heart race. Hope resurfaced.

Me leaving with my dad didn’t mean the end for Doyle and me.

“That means a lot,” I told him.

After breakfast, Doyle showed me around town and helped me purchase what I might need, including some basic essentials and a cellphone.

I told him I didn’t need him to buy me one, but Doyle insisted it was a way for us to keep in contact, so I agreed.

I enjoyed the sightseeing, but when Doyle noticed me getting tired, we went to his favourite diner for lunch.

Being around so many people still unnerved me, but with Doyle’s reassuring presence next to me, it was manageable.

I couldn't focus on eating, my eyes repeatedly drifting to the clock on the wall.

Any moment now, my dad would arrive. I tried to push the food around my plate, but my appetite was nonexistent.

Doyle noticed and leaned closer. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

I sighed, glancing down at my uneaten meal. The words came pouring out of my mouth.

“I’m worried about what my dad will think about me after all these years. Will he be disappointed by the son that's been returned to him? When I left, I had just finished college. The world was my oyster, and now...I'm a broken shell of the person I used to be,” I said.

Doyle reached out and placed a comforting hand on mine.

"Your dad won't judge you based on what you've been through. He'll be relieved and grateful to have you back. You survived, Michael. That’s what matters,” Doyle reminded me.

His words brought a small smile to my face.

It surprised me how easy it was to talk to Doyle, to confide in him about my fears and insecurities.

"I guess you're right," I said softly, squeezing his hand in gratitude.

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