Wild with all regrets, p.2
Wild with All Regrets, page 2
In ten years, Angela had furthered her career, made the world a better place, and now she was about to start a family with the man she loved. In ten years, Jamie had rotted away to bones in the earth, and Lucas had done nothing.
He and Jamie had never been lovers, had never even kissed. Hell, Jamie probably had no idea how much Lucas had obsessed and agonized over their relationship or . . . whatever the hell it was. Lucas sometimes wondered what the hell was wrong with him; he could probably move on if he would only allow himself to.
Angie finished her beer just as a man who could easily be mistaken for Jamie entered the pub. Lucas shut his eyes, turned away, and finished his beer. Was he seeing things? Jamie’s stupid twins wandering around the city like they had nothing better to do than drive Lucas mad.
“How’s Jamie?” Angie asked, an expert at catching Lucas in his moments of over-reflection. “Still as talkative as ever?”
“He’s fine, thank you.” Lucas set his glass down with a firm, definitive clunk. “Government isn’t paying enough for the upkeep; I had to clear off the leaves again.”
“They should pay you to do it! You’re there often enough. Hell, you could probably give tours out, if you wanted to.”
Lucas knew she was holding back. He’d been known to be quite sensitive over the matter of Jamie’s grave, and neither of them wanted this to turn into a heated argument.
Angie took off her glasses and polished them, her warm brown eyes shining beneath her thick eyelashes. “Have you been able to work?”
It didn’t matter, really. Jamie had made Lucas the beneficiary of his pension. He’d trade every last penny for the man who’d left it to him.
“Have you tried speaking to anyone real this week?” Angie followed.
He was silent, and Angela sighed.
“It’s not healthy, Lucas. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you that it’s not healthy to have a dead person be the most prominent figure in your life.”
“What about priests?”
She frowned. “What about priests?”
“Well, they devote their entire lives to a dead person. In fact, they get paid a living wage to do so.”
“Technically, our Lord and Savior isn’t dead, he’s resurrected and immortal, ass. If you end up taking up the cloth, I’ll eat my shoe. And technically, some pretty boy you had a hard-on for in the trenches isn’t on the same level as our Lord and Savior, either. Checkmate.”
“That all you’ve got?” he smirked, finishing his beer.
She reached over and grabbed his hand, placing it in her mouth and nibbling on it harmlessly.
“Honestly, Ange, I can’t believe it took Tom this long to propose. I mean, you are the epitome of womanhood and class.” He rolled his eyes but smiled, watching a little drop of condensation descend down the side of his glass.
Angie chewed on him a little longer and released his hand, seemingly sated. She passed him a kerchief for the saliva, and Lucas frowned at her.
“Lucas? I know this time of year is hard for you. I’m only trying to help.”
“I know that, Angie. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that I cause you so much grief. I know it’s not easy being my friend.”
“No, but you make me laugh, and that’s worth something. Why don’t you try something for me then, boyo? Just for one month, don’t visit the grave. Get up in the morning, eat your breakfast, go to work, and then at the end of the day, you go home. I bet you’ll find that the world keeps spinning, eh? You might even find you get rid of that little wrinkle between your eyebrows.” She pressed on it with her index finger and laughed. “What do you say?”
He considered it. Finding a job, a lover, and never visiting Jamie again. It might be a nice wee life actually, where he could be a man instead of a tattered wandering spirit. Let Jamie go, just . . . live? But that beautiful smile came unbidden to his mind, melting away seamlessly into blood, screams, and terror. His heart sped up as he relived Jamie’s last moments anew, and he imagined Jamie’s spirit waiting for him at the graves. He seemed cold; he seemed frightened. No. I can’t leave him like that. He deserves better. And Lucas certainly didn’t.
“Angie, please let me have this.” Visiting Jamie is one of the only things that brings me any peace, it’s one of the only things that makes me feel like my soul isn’t dying. “You think I don’t know how odd it is? How unhealthy it is? I need this. I need him.” And he needs me. His voice cracked, and Angela took his hand. “If I forget about him, if I move on, it’s like he never even—I don’t want to lose him all over again. He’s all I have.”
Angie frowned a little, perhaps hurt by his words. She’d been his friend for a long time, and seemingly, it still didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”
“You know I love you, right, Lucas?” Her soft hand moved to cover his, her eyes were warm and gentle. “That I only want what’s best for you?”
He swallowed, snatching his hand away as he angrily avoided her gaze. “I know what’s best for me.” And he’s dead and buried.
1904
It was freezing. Then again, it was always bloody freezing. There was no fucking escaping from it. His mother couldn’t afford to keep the stove going all the time, nor keep her children in warm clothes all winter.
Lucas did his best to build up a fire in their house with any scraps he could find. In his efforts, he’d inadvertently incinerated one of his father’s betting slips, a fact which was not particularly well received.
Lucas could see the white of Mick’s eyes as he staggered forward, grabbing at his son with one hand. “You cocksuckin’ piece o’ shite!” He punctuated his anger with a swig of liquor, the brown glass of the bottle shimmering in the warm light of the fire. “I paid good money on that bloody horse!”
He drained his alcohol and smashed the bottle on the nearest wall, leaving a sharp and jagged threat that he brandished at his son. Through his swelling eye, Lucas made out the deadly shards that stank of whiskey.
“Mick!” Lucas’s mother, Molly, tried to get between them. “It was an accident only! He’s tryn’a help the other children!”
Da’ Connolly dropped his son and swatted his wife to the floor, looking down his nose at her. “He cost us a fortune!”
Lucas swallowed, heart beating frantically in his chest. Stay away from her. Leave her alone! He shifted nearer to the door, maybe he could get his father’s focus away from his mother. “Y-your stupid horses never win!” He cursed his voice for trembling. “At least one of us can keep the family warm!” You bloody fucking useless coward.
“You miserable shit,” Mick hissed. “The family’s gonna starve because of you. We’re all gonna freeze because you lost my winning ticket. C’mere boyo, I want you to watch while your fuckin’ sister dies.”
Mick lunged at Lucas, his whole body nearly quivering with rage as he lashed out. Lucas didn’t want to stick around and squeezed through the door to get away from his father. He had no shoes on, but it didn’t seem to matter. Lucas ran. He ran, and he ran, and he kept running until he didn’t know where he was anymore.
“You’ve murdered your family, Lucas.”
He imagined his mother crying, trying to get the baby to feed. Mick’d be screaming his damned head off, hopefully taking his anger out on the furniture rather than his family. Damn it. Lucas’s lip was split, his eye was throbbing, he was lost and cold, but anything was better than facing the wrath of his Da’ again tonight. He was a coward, right? He’d left his mother alone with that monster.
“It’s your fault. You ruined us.”
Shit. Why did people even have children, if they knew their whole lives were going to be terrible like this? It was his own fault, really. His Da’ loved to remind him of the night he messed around with the lovely Molly O’Leary, with her sweet little bum and her bright little eyes—oh her hips, Lucas, her legs went so long, her body was so lush . . .
A spark formed between them that culminated months later, when Molly’s father dragged old Mick Connolly out of the tavern and into a church to make an honest woman of his steadily broadening daughter. What followed were four months of drunken abuse, and a somewhat premature Lucas. His mother tried her best, she did, but money was scarce, food scarcer, and her milk wasn’t great. Lucas struggled, survived, and one year later, Jim was born. The story played out once more, and—just as well, really, Jim died of the crib death before he could learn the words “fuck,” “you,” and “whore.”
Every year another wee Connolly was expelled to the dirty floor and given a swaddling cloth and a swollen breast, with the best of luck from Da’. Mick wasn’t always horrible, really—it was just when he was drinking, which was more often than not these days. Sometimes, Lucas and his father would spend time together. Mick would try and teach him about life or work, he’d put his son on his knee and tell him about football. Lucas liked it when it was like that. He liked his shiny silver eyes, he liked the soft rumble of his voice, how strong and warm his hands were. But the more time passed, the more Mick’s back ached, the less he could work, the more he drank. It was getting harder and harder to remember a time when they had been happy together as a family. Lucas, being the oldest, was proud to take the brunt of his father’s anger. His siblings didn’t know any better, and hell—it was Lucas’s fault two incompatible people had had to get married in the first place.
Mick blamed Lucas for everything, and loved to put his uppity near bastard of a son in his place when required. A swift hand across his face, swiping food off his plate, or locking him out for days at a time. It was a harsh fucking world out there, but sometimes Lucas liked to take his bloody chances. He pulled his collar up against his neck and pretended the icy rain wasn’t bothering him. Shit. Might actually freeze to death at this rate.
They’d find his frozen little corpse wrapped in wet newspapers in the middle of some piss-reeking back alley in the middle of Dublin. Maybe they’d dig him a nice grave—more likely they’d ignore him ’til he started to rot. Little beggar boys were hardly worth a second glance, after all.
Lucas’s lips were a bit blue, and he shivered, trying to stay awake as long as he could to stave off death just a little longer. After a time, his eyes slipped closed, his mind grew light, and the cold stopped bothering him as much.
A hand on his shoulder; a small hand, a boy? His eyes flickered open and, kneeling above him, illuminated by the glow of the streetlight, was an angel.
“Are you all right? Oh heavens, you’re freezing!” The angel pulled off his own jacket and wrapped it around Lucas’s shoulders, his silky blond hair kissed with raindrops. “My papa’s only nearby, you wait here—okay? I’ll be back in a tick.”
No, he couldn’t have been an angel. Angels didn’t run in the puddles with their knees slicked with mud. Just a boy, then? Maybe a few years older than he was. Ech, how boring. You idiot. Why would a fucking angel come to rescue you? Still, the coat was nice and warm, and he liked the way it smelled. Lucas buried his head into the fabric and shut his eyes, wondering if he would die tonight after all.
“He’s just here, Papa!” The lad ran back toward him, his fancy button-down shirt nearly soaked through from just that short amount of time in the rain. An older man was with him. He had the same blond hair, a short beard, and eyeglasses. Christ on the cross, what now? The man who he presumed to be his angel’s father knelt down and looked Lucas over from top to bottom, gently wiping some blood away from his face.
“Oh, son,” he said softly, his brows pinched together. “Where are your parents?”
What could Lucas say to that? ‘My Da’ beats me ’til he’s too drunk to care, and my Ma’s too scared to get him to stop?’ He avoided the man’s calm blue eyes and sniffled a little.
“Why don’t you stay with us tonight? I’m in town on business. We’re staying at my parents’ house and there’s plenty of room. What do you think?”
Lucas looked away. He didn’t need these fuckers’ charity.
The boy smiled at him. “Please? It’s so boring while my dad is working. Plus, we can play together while we’re waiting for the weather to clear up! My gran’s got some nice dinner on the stove, too, I bet it’ll be really lovely.” He grinned. “I’m James, by the way. Most people call me Jamie, though. You’re really brave being out here all on your own. I’d be so frightened.”
Jamie had pretty hair, nice clothes, and a laugh that cut through the cold. It was hard to say no to him, and Lucas found himself nodding and following the strangers toward Jamie’s granny’s house. He hoped they weren’t planning on selling him into servitude or something, but it might even be a step up from his current home life. Jamie put an arm around Lucas’s shoulders and chatted to him about this and that, like they’d been friends their whole lives and were just catching up.
“My papa’s real nice. He’s a barrister! I mostly stay in our house down south, but sometimes I come up here to do business with him! We’re getting books for our library at home! Do you like to read?”
Lucas wasn’t sure what to make of Jamie’s seemingly endless energy, and merely nodded and bit his lip, trying to figure him out. Jamie didn’t seem to want to hurt him at all. He seemed incapable of it. “You talk a lot,” Lucas said eventually. “It’s annoying.”
Jamie laughed at that. “I’m sure some people find it endearing. Ah, we’re here!”
Jamie’s father—who eventually introduced himself as John Murray—escorted the boys up to Jamie’s room and let Lucas get settled. “Jamie, why don’t you run your wee friend a bath, and I’ll let you both know when dinner is ready.”
Jamie smiled and nodded. “Righto, Papa! What’s your name, anyway?” He smiled, offering to take Lucas’s wet garments away so he could hang them up near the fire.
“Lucas,” he muttered, glancing down at his raggedy clothes as they came off layer by layer.
“I like that name.” Jamie clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll draw you a bath and get you nice and warmed up. You can borrow some of my old clothes while yours dry out, okay?” He went to the kitchen and heated up some water to put in the tub. Lucas had never seen a water pump in a house before and was fascinated by it. He watched Jamie work and obediently stepped into the warm water once it was ready.
“Atta boy, Lucas! I’ll leave out a towel and some soaps, you come out when you’re ready, pal.” He went back up to his bedroom, leaving Lucas bewildered and blushing from his nose to his ears. The hell was wrong with this kid? Fucking nutter.
The bath was absolutely heavenly. He’d always been a fastidious child, likely a result of living in squalor his whole life, but he’d never had the chance to have a nice, warm bath like this. On Henrietta Street, the cold sank into his bones and was impossible to shake. Lucas was accustomed to his fingers being so cold he couldn’t feel them, to falling asleep to the sound of his teeth chattering. The water warmed him all the way to his core, and he felt himself relaxing in the gentle heat of it. Still, it would hardly do if he drowned in the tub before supper, really.
Lucas scrubbed himself clean, toweled himself off, and pulled on some of Jamie’s too-large clothes. He realized with mild surprise that the home itself was warm too, that he didn’t need to worry about the chill setting back in now that he’d gotten out of the water. He went searching for Jamie, still feeling ill at ease in this beautifully gentle space. His new companion greeted him with a smile and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Come on, my gran’ll want to meet you!” He grinned again, and Lucas made a mental note about how white and straight his teeth were.
He followed Jamie through the halls, pausing at the threshold of the living room. Lucas wasn’t really sure where to place himself—he didn’t want to get in the way. He was used to making himself small and staying out of range of projectiles.
“He was just out in the rain by himself, poor thing. Jamie was so worried, and I couldn’t in good conscience leave him, I— ah.” John looked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. “Lucas, I take it you enjoyed your bath, then?”
God, Lucas hated it when people fucking pitied him. He knew he looked like a washed-up piece of shit, he didn’t need some plump little grandma praying for him every night.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart?” Granny Murray asked. “You’re all skin and bones, love.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to make eye contact despite the little granny’s best efforts. His stomach ultimately betrayed him, however, as the whole house had the beautiful aroma of lamb, vegetables, and potatoes wafting through the air. The growling of his innards shook the floorboards, and Granny Murray smiled and guided him to the dining room.
Why was hunger so damned painful? John put a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away, shaking his arm free from the gentle grip. John seemed to hesitate as he drew his hand back, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Come on, Lucas, let’s all sit down for some dinner, hmm?”
Lucas was finding it hard to stay angry with the whole family for their stupid pity. John said grace, and Lucas waited for permission before he started eating. It was difficult. He wanted to dig in and gorge with abandon, but his dignity wouldn’t allow it.
“Go on, it’s okay.”
Lucas peered over at Jamie, who had already begun to eat. Lucas cleared his plate much more quickly than he meant to, eating so fast and so much more than he was used to that his stomach began to cramp up. He put down his fork and hunched over a little in his chair, trying to hide the pain.
“Are you okay?” Jamie asked. “Do you want some tea or something? I get a tummy ache too, when I eat too fast.”
Lucas scoffed. Like this spoiled little brat knew what it was like to be starving, like he knew how it felt not to have had hot food for over a week, like he’d experienced the agony of your body digesting itself. He knew Jamie didn’t mean anything by it, he knew his heart was in the right place, but goddamn, this was humiliating.
