Page 59 of Phoenix
“Niamh, I will be there every step of the way,” he says as he runs his fingertips over my naked arms.
“I’m not afraid of them, per se, I’m afraid of how they make me feel,” I try to explain, squeezing him that little bit tighter, “and of everything that comes flooding back to me whenever I see them.”
“I get it,” he says thoughtfully, “sometimes this place feels oppressive; it holds memories of moving here after my mom died, the sound of my father trying to hide his howling pain, of finding him the night after he had passed on, of Javier and Tony coming in all bloody after finding their parents murdered. Trust me, Niamh, what you’re saying makes total sense to me.”
“Why do you stay here?” I ask with genuine curiosity.
“I guess…because of those memories,” he laughs sadly to himself. “If I left, it would feel like I was leaving those people behind, even if they are stuck inside of a bad memory.”
We lie in silence for a while, appreciating how the other feels, having been in the exact same place ourselves. I take in his warmth, his strength, and his ability to calm me, even in the most violent of storms.
Chapter 22
Phoenix
I know Niamh is dreading this meeting, I am too, but for her sake, this warning has to be given in person. I feel for her parents, I really do, but I also understand the bitterness Niamh feels toward them. I’m the same, and my parents did even less to deserve it. They never wanted their little girl to be taken and I can almost guarantee they thought about her every day, every night, and frequently prayed for her safe return. I can imagine that every time they smiled, or went along their day like normal, they felt a stab of guilt right through their hearts. Because, let’s face it, Niamh should not have been walking home during that storm. One of them should have got their butt in the car and picked her up. But they didn’t and they’ll have to live with that for the rest of their lives.
Speaking of storms, the weather outside shows just how far away from home we are. It’s a grey day with buckets of rain falling from the sky. The place is lush with greenery and there’s not a hint of sand anywhere. Not only that, but my old truck sounds different; it always does when it’s away from home.
“Nearly there, Niamh, how you holding up?” I ask with my hand resting gently on top of her knee, trying to calm it from jumping up and down with anxiety.
“I wanna go home,” she says with a nervous smile, “but I’ll be fine.”
“Home,” I whisper to myself, still loving the fact that she thinks of the bar as home.
“As long as you’re here, I am home,” she says decidedly before turning to watch the rain again.
“Niamh, as soon as we’re done with your parents, we’re gonna head on over to the hotel I booked and have a proper date,” I declare, to which she looks at me with a shocked expression.
“I never got to go on a date,” she says quietly, and it breaks my heart to hear her say it.
“I know,” I tell her. “Even I went on dates when I was a dumb teenager. I was pretty awful on them, but I like to think that if you love the girl you’re taking out, you might get things right.”
“I don’t care what we do,” she says with a genuinely happy smile on her face, “this is the best thing I’ve heard in ages.”
“If you’re lucky, I might even ask you to dance,” I laugh.
“Dance?!” she gasps in horror. “I don’t know how to.”
“Wanna hear a secret?” I ask theatrically, crooking my finger to get her to lean in closer. “Neither do I, but when you’re as big as I am, no one dares to tell you so.”
To my relief, she laughs, and what a beautiful and rare sound it is. I hope to make her laugh more; she deserves to after everything. She continues laughing up until the point I pull the truck into a restaurant parking lot, at which point she almost seems to stop breathing. She’s statue still as she stares outside the windscreen at the pouring rain, taking in the building before us.
“Do you know, they never changed the car,” she whispers, so I look to where she’s staring and see a family-sized Toyota sitting in the parking space opposite. “It was sitting there, motionless, when Robert refused to unlock the doors and let me jump out. I used to imagine I had been inside that car instead of being trapped inside the Mercedes that took us. How different everything would have been.”
“Perhaps they didn’t want to change it, in the hopes that you would come back,” I suggest. “Perhaps they thought by keeping it, they would still have need of a family car; perhaps they thought things should stay the same for when you came back so it would still feel like home to you.”
“It didn’t work,” she says sadly, now looking down to her feet. “Nothing felt the same when I got back.”
“Niamh—" I begin but she cuts me off by opening the door. I choose to let her lead for fear of her backing out if I don’t.
“Let’s get this over with,” she mutters before getting out into the rain.
We might have only spent less than twenty seconds out in the rain, but it was enough to have us looking soaked through once we step inside the restaurant. It’s little wonder that nearly everyone’s heads turn to face us, especially when we’re dressed in jeans and leathers and they’re all in their Sunday best. We must have brought the average age down to about sixty and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with tattoos.
Niamh moves in closer to me, as if seeking shelter from the dozens of eyes now on us. This is her idea of pure torture, but at least she knows I’m right here with her. After the initial shock of seeing a sea of faces looking us up and down with judgment, we spot her parents sitting in the window seat, appearing sheepish and unsure as to whether they want to be here or not. I can see how they haven’t managed to instill any sort of confidence in their daughter, they seem to be just as shy and uncomfortable in a public place.
“Come on, baby,” I try to reassure her, “you’re ok, I’m here with you.”