Page 68 of Hearts Colliding
She stood aside to let him in. The war council glared, their stillness and silence unnerving. He jumped and swung around as, behind him, the lock clicked closed and the bolts were thrown. Eva narrowed her eyes.
“Don't worry, we're not holding you prisoner, although why we shouldn't I really don't know. We've closed early tonight, that’s all, and this is a strictly private party—”
“Say it for what it is, Eva. It’s a wake for the death of our village as we know it. Cheers, Alex." Declan raised his glass in mock salute before turning his back. Charles and Oliver offered curt nods. Doreen glowered and wrinkled her nose as though she could smell something bad. Joss' smile was small and nervous. Alex twitched when a hand rested on his arm.
"I'll see if he's awake. But if he doesn't want to talk to you, I'll have to ask you to leave. Declan, my love, pour the man a drink.”
"No, that’s—" But Eva was already making her way out of the bar.
"I don't want—”
"Eva said to get you a drink, so you’ll bloody well have a drink.” Declan went behind the bar and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Declan." Charles' voice held a warning.
With a glance at Charles, and without a word, Declan poured a brandy and pushed it across before he came back round and took up his place next to Charles.
“He’ll see you, even though you don’t deserve it.” Eva stood in the doorway behind the bar. “But, I swear to god and let all my friends here be my witness, if you say anything to hurt my grandson more than he’s been hurt already, you’ll have me to deal with.” Her fierce words were met with nods and grunts of approval from the war council, their stony eyes all trained on him.
“I won’t, Eva. I promise.” A promise he’d keep and never break.
“In the kitchen. Second on the left.” She stood aside and let him through.
Frantic questions broke out behind him…What…? Why…?He’d answer them all, but they’d have to wait. For now he was here for Ryan, and Ryan alone.
Alex stood outside the closed kitchen door. His heart thumped fast and hard, his nerves jangling. He had to do this, had to show Ryan how wrong he’d been about everything. He licked his dust-dry lips and, taking in a deep breath, opened the door.
Ryan was slumped over the table, his head resting in his folded arms. Slowly, as if the weight was too much to bare, he lifted his head.
Alex’s heart twisted. Ryan looked terrible, the dark scruff pushing through his skin a sharp contrast to his drawn and pallid face. His eye, if possible, looked even worse than it had earlier, a swollen and garish patchwork of red and purple. Guilt and sorrow crashed through Alex. Everything that had happened, it was his fault.
“Why are you here, Alex? Nan said you wanted to talk to me, but why? You got the result you came to the Harbour for, so now it’s over. All of it, you said so yourself.”
“But I haven’t got the result I wanted, or not the one that really matters.” He pulled out the chair next to Ryan and sat down.
“What are you…?” Ryan shook his head and winced. “Look, I’ve had too many pints of Badger’s. I can hardly see straight, let alone think, and I haven’t got the energy or the will to look beyond the next two minutes. You’ve won, okay, and just like you said, it’s over. I’ve got a bastard of a headache and all I want to do is sleep for a week.”
Ryan pressed his palms onto the tabletop and began to lever himself to standing. Panic clawed at Alex. If he didn’t say what he had to, he might never find the courage again and then it really would all be over. He caught Ryan by the wrist.
“No, Ryan, don’t go. Please.”
Ryan paused for a moment before he flopped back down.
“You’re wrong. I haven't won.”
Ryan stared at him through dazed, sleep smudged, pain filled eyes.
“You’re not making sense. Of course you’ve won. You’ve got the planning permission. You’ve got everything you wanted.”
“On paper, yes. But the development was never about another triumph for my company. I came back to lay the ghosts of the past. But there are no ghosts, other than the ones I’ve let haunt me for so many years. I thought tearing the heart out of the house, stripping it back to its bones, ripping away everything that happened there — the good as well as the bad — would set me free. But I was wrong because it was never the house I needed to remodel, it was me.”
Alex looked down at his hand, still wrapped around Ryan’s wrist. Ryan hadn’t shaken him off, hadn’t whipped his arm away, hadn’t told him to go. A small puny flame ignited and fluttered in his heart. If he didn’t say what he needed to, now, to this man who’d changed everything, he’d never get the second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.
“My life's an unqualified success — or that’s how it seems to the outside world. I’ve made a fortune, more money than I know what to do with. It’s no exaggeration to say I could buy the New House ten times over and it would cost me no more than loose change. I don’t say this to brag, it’s just the plain truth. I’m rich, but I’m poor. Here.” He pressed his other hand to his heart.
“When my mum died, all the lights went out, not only for me but for my father, too. My grief was inconsolable. It was all-consuming, sweeping everything else aside. Just as it was for him. She was the centre of his universe — he said, once, that she’d saved him from his demons. He’d always been jealous, believing that every ounce of love my mum had for me meant she had an ounce less for him. Why that was, god alone knows.”
Alex stopped, and swallowed down the bitterness rising up in his throat. He drew in a shaky breath.
