It broke something inside of me.
I got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. I stepped out softly into the hallway, straining to listen.
Nothing. All quiet.
I walked into the living room, checked the kitchen, and took a deep breath. He was gone and I was alone. Probably went to get me breakfast or something like that.
I had one chance to get away.
It wasn’t that I wanted to leave him. Really, it was the opposite: I wanted to be with him so badly that it scared me. I needed distance, just for a little while, some space to think. I snuck outside, down to the sidewalk, and hurried away from the house, picking a direction at random. I walked fast, heart hammering, afraid I was going to run into him at any moment.
But after a few blocks, I finally slowed down and got out my phone.
I had Shannon’s number from a while back. We weren’t really friends—we hung out a little when we were younger, but aside from that, we barely knew each other. But I saw the way she looked at Donal that night and I knew what he meant to her.
And now he was gone.
She answered on the third ring. Her voice was husky, emotional. “Fiona?”
“Hey, Shannon.”
“I guess you heard about what happened.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Yeah, I heard.”
“They don’t know who did it yet, but Uncle Cormac said he’s going to rip the city up from its roots until they figure it out.”
I seriously doubted that. Donal wasn’t nearly important enough.
“If anyone can figure it out, it’s Cormac.” I hurried on again, cutting down a side alley. “I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay.”
And maybe to beg her forgiveness.
“I’m just numb. We all know it can happen, you know, considering what they do, but Donal? We hooked up that night, did you know that? First time we kissed and like… you know, did stuff together.”
I grimaced and couldn’t imagine how that felt. One night you’re exploring a new relationship, and the next day he’s dead.
“I’m so sorry, Shannon. Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe call his mom? She’s a nice lady. Did you know he was adopted? He talked about it the other day, I think it really fucked him up, you know? And now he’s gone.” She sucked in a breath like she was about to start crying.
“I’ll call her and check in. Really, Shannon, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Everyone keeps saying that. It’s really nice, but I don’t know what to say. We just hooked up that one time.”
“I don’t think you have to say anything. Just feel the way you feel, you know?”
“Yeah, right. Thanks for calling, Fi.”
I hung up the phone and stood leaning against a tree for a few deep breaths. The sun felt strong on my skin and sweat prickled down my spine.
That was the truth of death that I didn’t think Mack ever experienced.
Each soldier he killed left a wake of sadness behind the body, stretching out through families and relationships and friendships. Donal wasn’t the most popular guy in the world, didn’t have a whole lot going on, but there were people that cared about him, and now they’d all sit around and wonder how this could happen, how a boy like Donal could end up dead.
I knew, of course. They decided to attack a man way out of their league, and Donal paid for it.
That was the street, the family. That was the reason I wanted to get the hell away from it all.
I drifted toward my apartment. I had to think, had to get some space. Every time Mack was near me, I felt like my head might split in half from the smell of him and the ghostly remembered touch of his fingertips on my skin.
I couldn’t be objective with him around.
Not that I was ever really objective, but still. I had to try anyway.
Donal was dead. Shannon was heartbroken.
I had a hand in all that.
If I hadn’t gone to hang out with them— If I hadn’t been with Mack—
I reached my place and went inside. My apartment door was open a crack, which I didn’t remember doing. Maybe we left it that way after the fight with Peter. Mack had the place cleaned and the body removed but it still felt strange, being back here. I pushed it the rest of the way and stepped into the familiar mess—though there were some overturned piles of clothes, some broken glass, the cabinets left open, like someone had gone through it all.
I paused, frozen. I heard him before I saw him. That familiar cough.
I stepped into the living room and stared at my father.
He sat on the couch, legs crossed, looking at his phone. He was older than I remembered: hair graying, skin wrinkled and sagging. He gained some weight, a little paunch on his stomach, a little flab around his neck. His eyes moved from his phone up to my face, and he didn’t smile, barely reacted.