Page 3 of Beat of Love
He squelched that thought, another taking its place.
Don’t borrow trouble.
Those were words he had uttered as encouragement to Essie not even a half-hour ago.
Fuck.
Now all he needed to do was apply them tohislife.
With a concerted effort, he concentrated on his surroundings. The entrance — gate, wall, and electrified fencing — were new. Part of the improvements after stick-up-his-righteous-ass Aidan had married Cecelia.
They passed through the gate and continued along the graded dirt road. It all looked the same, yet not. The land thrived. Freshly bound bales of hay littered the pasture to his left, and the one to the right — the one he’d seen Aidan in — was lush with grass and dotted with cattle. He should know the type of grass, yet the name eluded him. Ranching had never appealed to him. That was Aidan’s thing.
From as long back as he could remember, he’d wanted to be a soldier, always dragging Sully into playing war games with him.
A bit of his gloom lifted thinking of his twin brother.
Sullivan was engaged to a princess. An honest-to-Godprincess. And one day his twin would stand by Marielle’s side while she ruled as queen.
Rafferty smirked. Imagine that.
He was happy for the man.
His twin had given up so much for him.
Years ago, when he’d dragged his brother into a real war game, it ended Sullivan’s relationship with his college girlfriend.
And just like that,shepopped into his mind.
He’d managed to banish her from his memory, but over the last few months, with his life filled with nothing but regret and pain, his thoughts often turned to the woman with sparkling green eyes, russet hair, and razor-sharp tongue.
The SUV slowed, and Rafferty dragged his thoughts back into the here and now and glanced out the side window at the home, affectionately known as the Main House, he had grown up in. The rambling structure that started as an L-shaped, one-story, five-roomed stone building almost a hundred-and-fifty-years ago, had morphed into a two-storied hodgepodge of stone and cedar siding, its current color a pale yellow with blue shutters and trim. It was bright and cheerful, far too welcoming for the likes of him.
They pulled to a stop and his breath hitched, his gaze stilling on the man maneuvering his wheelchair down the ramp leading from the screen-enclosed front veranda.
Heart thumping in his chest, he opened his door and swung a leg out. It was like moving through quagmire, his actions slow and reluctant. His mind knew what he wanted,neededto do, but his body …
Unwilling. Weak. And riddled with guilt.
Rafferty shifted, stretching his leg down. One vomit-splattered sneaker touched the ground, then the other. He stood, trembling, gripping the top of the passenger door.
Pa reached the end of the ramp.
It gutted him, just gutted him, to see his once robust father bound to the chair.
Your fault. Your fault.
“P-pa,” he stuttered, loosening his death grip on the door. He caught movement out of his peripheral vision and swung his head.
The sudden move was a mistake.
The brightness of the day dimmed, darkness closing in, and the edges of the house faded. Black spots danced before his eyes. Sweat broke out across his entire body. He staggard back, sagging against the side of the Suburban.
“Raffie!”
Ma’s frantic call was the last he heard before the darkness took him under.
*
