“I hope it wasn’t one of your toys—”
“It was my fault, Alice,” I say, putting one hand on James’ shoulder and saving him from having to lie. “Is that shortbread I smell?” I ask to change the subject.
Alice smiles proudly at me. “Recipe comes from my great-great-grandmother,” she says. “I’ve made some tea. Come on and have some.”
“Is Hawk here?” I ask.
“He went for a walk early,” James says.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. The sky’s going to open up any minute now,” Alice says. “Come have some tea.”
“You and James go ahead. I have to take care of something first.”
James is hesitant, but Alice takes him into the kitchen.
Once they’re gone, I walk to the front door where a glance out the window tells me the rental is still here.
There are two sets of keys on the table beside the door where I find the one for the SUV and I walk outside.
But what if I’m already too late?
No, I can’t think about that.
I start the engine and the clutch screeches as I put it into reverse, but I manage it. Glancing in the rear-view mirror when I’m on the bridge, I see James standing at the front door and Alice running out behind him. The look on his face is so defeated, it brings tears to my eyes.
32
Hawk
I’m walking back to the house from the cliffs beneath a heavy sky. The air is cool and damp. How I’d forgotten this. Vegas couldn’t be more different and every moment I pass here the farther my life there feels. The emptier.
At that, I think of Melissa.
She’s become important to me. A part of me. And it has nothing to do with our arrangement.
My brother signed all the papers last night.
I got everything I wanted.
The house is mine as it should always have been. But even the text from Axel telling me they’ve finally picked up Boyd doesn’t help.
I’m not in the mood for celebrating.
A sound breaks into the perfect silence. I stop, turn my face to the wind and listen. It’s coming from some distance, but it’s there. And I know where it’s coming from.
Without consciously deciding, I begin to walk toward the source of the noise.
The music grows louder and mixed in with it is the sound of a hammer pounding against wood.
As I near the peak of the hill, the broken-down mews comes into view. I haven’t seen it since the day I left. Growing up, this was a source of pride for my father. For my entire family.
Falconry has always been a part of our lives. It’s the reason for my name. My father’s name. His father’s name and so forth going back to the very beginning of our lineage.
Strange to think that I know every detail about every member of my family going back centuries and Melissa doesn’t even know who gave birth to her.
I give a shake of my head and look at the wooden structure. It’s smaller than I remember it being but maybe that’s because the roof’s caved in on the far end.
The music grows more distinct, and the hammering begins again.
I walk toward it, trying to place the song. AC/DC. I used to listen to them when I was growing up. I haven’t heard this music in years.
Declan walks out, oblivious to my presence, hammer in hand, two nails sticking out of his mouth. He heads to his toolbox which is resting on a boulder and swaps out the nails.
“You should turn down the music. Anyone can sneak up on you,” I say.
He turns his head like he wasn’t caught off guard at all. “What makes you think you snuck up on me, brother?”
Brother.
I look at him, at the man he’s become. Dark eyes, dark hair, built like me. A Scotsman. A Highlander. Nothing left of the friend I remember.
I think about James and what Declan said about the boy’s mother and wonder what his life’s been like.
“It’s early for this, isn’t it?” I ask, gesturing to the mews.
“Not too early.” He drops the hammer and nails into his toolbox and wipes his hands on his jeans. “We’ll be out of your house by the end of the day if that’s what you’re here for.”
Fuck.
“And if you’re just here to gloat, then you can go fuck yourself,” he adds on, hauling a plank of wood up over his shoulder and carrying it into the mews.
I follow him, take up the back half of it.
Declan glances at me, surprised, I guess.
“How long has it been like this?” I ask.
“Broken down?”
I nod.
We set the plank down and he crouches down to measure and mark the wood.
“More than ten years.”
I don’t speak, just watch him as he straightens, turns to me.
“He didn’t set foot in here but to release the hawks the day you left.”
My father loved the sport. He was a born falconer. And I was following in his footsteps. Another part of my legacy gone.