“Long,” I replied to Layton without looking away from my uncle.
My father stayed behind me, holding me tightly. I was aware that the close contact was probably going to change after my uncle was buried in the cemetery tomorrow, but I didn’t linger on it. I didn’t see eye to eye with my parents, my nanny or my brothers, but right now I wasn’t thinking of our differences; I was thinking of my Uncle Harry.
“Where is your suitcase?”
I tensed a little at the sound of my mother’s voice, then murmured, “At the Holiday Inn.”
I heard a snarl. “You’re staying in the hotel, and not here?”
I exhaled a tired breath. “Don’t do this now, Lochlan. Please.”
He didn’t listen.
“You’re not staying in a poxy hotel—”
“Lochlan.” Layton’s stern voice cut our brother off. “We’ll discuss it later.”
Silence.
I closed my eyes when I heard the pounding footsteps of Lochlan as he stormed out of the room and down the hallway into the sitting room, slamming the door behind him. I wasn’t surprised that he walked away. Lochlan might be the temperamental brother, but Layton’s word was law. He was the only person who got through to Lochlan when he stepped over the line. I tried not to let my brother, or his outburst, bother me, so I focused completely on my uncle.
“I was waiting for your email,” I crooned to him and waited for his reply, even though I knew it would never come.
My father squeezed me. “It was sudden, sweetheart.”
I felt ill.
“How did it happen?” I asked the dreaded question that was on my mind from the minute I’d read Lochlan’s letter two days ago.
“A heart attack,” my father exhaled. “He felt no pain. It happened in his sleep.”
A heart attack, I silently repeated. That’s what took my uncle.
I gnawed on my lower lip as I glanced at his attire. I couldn’t help but grin as I took in the thick fleece jumper that I’d knitted him when I was sixteen. He’d loved it, and no matter how many times I’d told him to bin it, he’d refused. He’d said it was the best present he had ever received, which caused me to feel bad for him because it was downright disgusting-looking. I couldn’t knit to save my life.
My nanny forced the unholy task of knitting upon me during the summer I turned sixteen. I was more than awful at it, but my nanny didn’t care. She made me do it every weekend with her and her friends, who combined had three hundred plus years on me. If my nanny heard me say that, she would whack me. I inwardly giggled to myself at the silent jab and shook my head good-naturedly.
“Him and that bloody jumper,” I muttered.
Soft chuckles filled the parlour then, and it helped take some of the hurt and tension away for a few fleeting moments.
When I was ready, I took a steady breath, then turned to look at the faces I hadn’t seen in the flesh for six years. The first person I saw was my mother. She looked older than her fifty-four years, but no doubt my uncle’s passing had added to the lines on her still beautiful face. My nanny, who was next to my mother, still looked the same as she had the day I left. My second brother was different. He was muscular . . . very muscular. He’d been overweight the last time I’d seen him, but that wasn’t the case anymore.
“Jesus, Lay, did someone buy you a gym membership?” I asked, stunned.
My father burst into laughter behind me while my mother and nanny covered their mouths and tried to muffle their giggles. My brother smirked at me, but his aqua-blue eyes shone brightly.
“I couldn’t be the fat twin forever, now could I?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.
I playfully grinned. “I guess not. You look great.”
Layton winked. “You too, sis.”
My lip quirked for a moment, then I turned and looked at my father. His handsome face was the same, just hairier and fuller. His entire body was fuller.
I blinked. “While Layton hit the gym, you hit the pub and chippy. Huh?”
My father gently clipped me around the ear. “Cheeky brat. I’ll have you know a few layers of fat never hurt anyone. It keeps me warm on these cold winter nights.”
“I’m teasing,” I chortled, and hugged him.
I liked that he was fuller; there was more of him to snuggle.
My brother, mother and nanny were in a fit of laughter at my teasing, and it took them a few moments to calm themselves. My nanny walked towards me when she was at ease and pulled me into her warm embrace.
“Hello, me darlin’,” she crooned.
I closed my eyes and gave her a tight squeeze as I got lost in her soothing voice. My nanny was from Crumlin in Dublin, Ireland. Her accent was thick as ever – even though she had lived in England the past fifty years, she never lost her Irish brogue and I loved that about her.
I smiled affectionately. “Hey, Nanny.”
When my nanny let go of me, Layton was right there, gathering me up in his thick, muscled arms. I yelped a little when he lifted me clean off the floor and held me in mid-air like I weighed nothing.
“Can’t breathe,” I playfully wheezed.
My brother set me down and snorted, “Little terror.”
I teasingly grinned, then lost it and replaced it with a bright smile for my mother when she approached me. I was expecting her to smile at me and possibly be a little teary, but I definitely didn’t expect her to burst into tears as she hugged me, which is exactly what she did.
“Welcome home, baby,” she wept. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I folded my arms around her small body and squeezed. “I’ve missed you too, Mum.”
That was the God’s honest truth. I did miss her. We didn’t agree on my living away from home, but she was still my mother, and I loved her dearly. She held onto me for a long time as she cried. She kept pulling back from our hug, looking at my face, then throwing her arms back around me and squeezing me as tightly as she possibly could. It was like she couldn’t believe I stood in front of her. That made me both happy and sad. Happy because she was happy to see me, and sad because it was my fault that she rarely got a chance to see me in the first place.
You have your reasons, I reminded myself.
I stroked her back. “It’s okay, Mum.”
Nothing was okay, but it felt right to say it.
When we eventually separated, I looked from my family to my uncle and frowned. “I guess the only person left for me to greet is Lochlan.”
A throat cleared from behind me. “Not quite.”
Oh, no, I silently pleaded. Please, God, no.
I felt my eyes widen as his voice encircled me like a warm blanket. No matter how many years went by, I would know his voice even if it were a whisper. I slowly turned, but I froze when I saw him standing in the doorway of the parlour, leaning against the panel with his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans.
His eyes, my mind whispered. What’s wrong with his eyes?
There were many things that I loved about the man before me, but his eyes were by far my favourite. They were the first things I looked at whenever I saw him. There was always a mischievous glint in his whisky-coloured eyes that only I could see because I looked hard enough. It was a glint that told me his soul was alive and thriving, but what I saw now caused me to shiver.
There was no glint, gleam or light of any sort in his eyes. They were dead and reflected the clouded grey skies that often hung over York. They were as captivating as they were haunting.
Even though I moved thousands of miles away to escape him, every day for the past six years I woke up seeing those hazel eyes and fell asleep hearing that soothing voice. I couldn’t shake him whether I was half a world away or in the next room.
I lived and breathed Kale Hunt, and it was killing me.
“Kale,” I managed to whisper as I stared at the first man to ever break my heart.
He gazed at me, then with no trace of emotion he robotically blinked and nodded in greeting. “Welcome home
, Laney Baby.”
CHAPTER TWO
Six years old (twenty years ago)
Lane? Where are you?”
I placed my hands over my ears and squeezed my eyes shut and tried to contain my sobs, but couldn’t. They racked through my body because my head hurt so bad. Rubbing it didn’t make the pain go away and only worsened the throb.
I opened my eyes when an arm slid under my knees, then another slipped around my back. I yelped when I was suddenly lifted up into the air, and instinctively latched my arms around the neck of the person who lifted me up. I looked at the person’s face, and when bright hazel eyes shone back at me, I cried.
“Kale!”
Kale Hunt was my best friend in the whole wide world. If anyone could make me feel better when I was hurting so bad, it was Kale. He was always the one to take my tears away and put a smile on my face.
I buried my face into the crook of his neck and sobbed like my world was ending. Kale walked over to a desk in my classroom. He sat me on his lap, and hugged my body to his. He rocked me from side to side until I was calm enough to sit up without snotting and blubbering everywhere.
I looked to Kale when he handed me some tissue from his pocket. After wiping my nose and face clear of tears and snot, I blew my nose and sniffled before crumpling the used tissue.
“What happened to you?” Kale asked me, his concern laced through his words.