“I want to, though. I owe you for that first time.” It was important to Lucas to do this, to not be in debt to Jamie. He still felt awful about trying to rob him, and a large part of him couldn’t believe that a friendship had managed to grow out of that initial introduction.

  “You don’t, Lucas. You put me up for the night and you made sure I got home alive. I’m not going to hold that over you.”

  “Please? It would mean a lot to me.” Lucas wondered if he looked too earnest, too desperate. He’d been saving up for this for a long time.

  “ . . . All right, boyo. What do you fancy?”

  “You pick. That’s part of the fun of being taken out, I thought.”

  “Well, there is a new fish and chips shop I’ve been wanting to try near the campus,” Jamie said after a moment’s consideration.

  Of course he’d pick that. This sweet, sentimental bastard. Lucas smiled and imagined them growing old together, sitting on a porch in the country drinking beer, Jamie’s hand on his knee . . . Stop it. Idiot.

  Lucas followed Jamie’s lead and they approached the shop. It smelled delicious— salty and fresh and warm, and Lucas could feel himself salivating from the moment they walked across the shop’s threshold. He ordered them each a one and one and carefully counted out his coins. He wasn’t good at math, and he had to dig around in his pockets to even produce the correct amount. The cook was not impressed, and neither were the people who had lined up behind Lucas.

  “James!” one of them called out, roughly grabbing Jamie’s sturdy shoulder. Lucas was focusing very intently on making correct change and didn’t react to his intrusion. “Lad, you should have said you were going out for supper tonight! You could treat us! Just our luck to be stuck behind this shifty bastard, eh?”

  Lucas’s shoulders sank. He pulled his cap down and hid his eyes, hot embarrassment pricking his ears and making the bile rise up in his throat. Christ, why did this have to happen in front of Jamie, of all people? It was so fucking humiliating. It wasn’t like he could get into an honor brawl over some snide remark in a chippy, could he?

  He felt a heavy arm fall across his shoulders and looked up to Jamie in shock.

  “Take that back,” Jamie said. “This is my best pal, and I won’t let you talk about him like that.”

  The boy held his hands up in surrender and exchanged a knowing look with his companion before addressing Jamie. “Sorry, Murray, I didn’t know.”

  A pause.

  “Why are you—I mean how do you know this . . . person?”

  Lucas was obviously not from the part of Dublin where the university students spent their time. His clothes were old, tattered, and out of style. His hair was overlong, he was quite thin; muscles ropy from his years of working and fighting to survive.

  “We met last year, he showed me around Dublin and made sure I settled in okay. He’s a wonderful guy.” The smile was missing from Jamie’s eyes, and Lucas just wanted to leave.

  “O-okay James,” the boy said incredulously, as his friends were either hiding snickers or gawking at Lucas. “I guess we’ll see you around. Unless you want to . . . grab food together as a group?”

  “No. Lucas and I have plans already,” Jamie spat.

  Lucas snatched up the food as soon as it was ready and held it close to his chest. He grabbed Jamie’s wrist and marched him out of the shop. Jesus Christ, that was awful. He never wanted to see those boys again. Jamie’d risked his stupid social status for him, Jamie had stood up for him . . . Lucas was furious and in love, and ugh, it was supposed to be fucking battered cod and greasy spuds, not fucking fodder for the greatest romance in the history of the world.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, pushing Jamie’s share toward him. “Those guys are gonna hate you on Monday.”

  “No one talks to you like that when I’m around. They don’t know you; they don’t know anything. They think they’re kings of uni, they think they can do whatever the hell they want. Bunch of rich fucking nobs who never worked a day in their lives.” He frowned. “You think poorly enough of yourself as it is without strangers making assumptions about you.”

  “Still, you’re supposed to be making connections for your career and everything, right? You don’t need to risk your reputation because of me.” He met Jamie’s gaze . . . Christ, what a man.

  “Maybe some things are more important than reputation. Maybe some friends aren’t worth having. Maybe I don’t like hanging out with a bunch of stuck-up pricks who try to trick me into buying them shit and who only want to spend time with me when they need something. I won’t associate with anyone who thinks I’m too good for you, or anyone who treats you with disrespect. My father taught me that I should only do things that I can live with. You’re ten times the man those guys are. They make me sick.”

  Lucas swallowed and impulsively hugged Jamie tightly to his chest. “No one has ever, ever stood up for me like that. I don’t think you know how much that meant to me.”

  “Oi, oi, you’ll squash the food.” Jamie chuckled, patting Lucas on the back. “Do you want to go back to your place and eat this? The wee ones will be dead cross if they find out we got fish and chips and didn’t share.”

  “Yeah. That’s a nice idea.” Jamie was full of those, it seemed. “I’ll walk you back to the dorms after we finish. I don’t want you getting stuck in the wrong part of Dublin by yourself if I can help it.”

  “Nah . . . I don’t want to go back tonight.” He paused expectantly, and then when Lucas said nothing, added, “I’d rather stay with you again, truth be told.”

  Lucas cocked an eyebrow at him, as always scanning the man for sexual intent, finding none. “You stay over often enough and I’m gonna start charging you rent, pal.”

  “I’ll get us all breakfast then, is that fair?”

  “Not really, staying at my house is horrid.” Lucas understood the appeal, though. His siblings loved Jamie, so he’d get coddled and cuddled and spoiled like he did at home. If Lucas had his way, they’d spend every night together.

  “I hate the student halls. My room is drafty and lonesome, and I don’t sleep well there. When I’m with you, Lucas, I feel like I’m home, somehow. Please? I’ll share the blanket better this time, I swear.”

  “Okay,” Lucas whispered, a small smile creeping to his face.

  He was finding out very quickly that he couldn’t deny Jamie Murray anything.

  They went to Lucas’s flat and doled out the food, which made Lucas very happy because they’d all sleep so much better with full stomachs. They all climbed into bed after the sun had set, and Lucas thanked his lucky stars that a weirdo like Jamie Murray had come into his life. He woke up in the middle of the night and noticed Jamie was seated at the only window in the flat, his expressive eyebrows knitted together as he thought long and hard. Jamie noticed Lucas’s presence all of a sudden and offered him a warm smile.

  “Welcome back,” Lucas quipped, leaning on the wall and peeking out the window as well.

  “You hush.” Jamie chuckled quietly; neither of them wanted to disturb the rest of the Connollys. Lucas loved making Jamie smile for real, loved how close they’d become. He fucking lived for moments like this.

  “You’ll catch your death out here,” Lucas mused, hugging himself with his thin arms. “Can’t sleep?”

  “I was just thinking about something my father said. About the kind of man I want to grow up to be, the kind of life I want to live. He always said a man is judged equally for his actions and inactions. What do you think he meant by that, Lucas?”

  Lucas was struck by the sincerity of the question, the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. As though Lucas was worth asking, like his answers were worth listening to. As though Lucas could ever come up with something Jamie hadn’t already gone over and discarded in his head a hundred times over. “Tch. Don’t ask me, you’re the one in university learning how to weave words into money.” He felt his cheeks flush red, and worried that Jamie would see the limits of his mind.

  “No, really, Lucas,” Jamie encouraged, touching his shoulder. “I trust your opinions. I want to hear. What do you think he meant?”

  “I guess . . . that . . . you can spend your whole life avoiding shit, and that kinda cowardice or laziness can make you look as bad as if . . . as if you did bad things all your life, or something. Someone who watches evil unfold carries some of the burden of guilt because . . . he could have made the world better and didn’t?” He felt like an idiot.

  “I think so, too.” Jamie’s breath ran out in a steady white stream of condensation against the window in the chilly air of the flat. “I want to be a man of action. I want to be able to sleep at night.”

  “And yet here you are, awake,” Lucas teased.

  “You know what I mean. Like with those guys today— I’m glad I spoke up. I’m glad I didn’t just let that slide because I don’t want you to think I don’t hold you in high regard.” He smiled. “I want to live my whole life like I lived today. Making the world better in my own way, like you do.”

  Lucas leaned against Jamie’s shoulder and said nothing, enjoying the comfortable silence that settled between them.

  “Jamie?” he said softly, after a pause. “I’m really happy. I like being with you. I like this.” It was perhaps the most emotive he had ever been in this house. His heart was racing as he awaited Jamie’s reply. There was a very good reason Lucas didn’t express himself well. Getting rejected by Jamie at this stage would probably kill him.

  But Jamie was merciful. He met Lucas’s eyes before casting his gaze out over the misty cityscape just visible out the window. Without a second thought, he smiled and squeezed Lucas’s hand.

  “I love this.”

  1928

  It didn’t take long for Lucas to dig up the letter that Mrs. Murray had sent him all those years ago; he’d barely accrued any possessions in the last decade. Objects with no connection to Jamie had little value to him, and he cast most of them aside. He put the letter down on the table so Jamie could read it, wondering how he would react to seeing his mother’s hand, the way her tears had smudged the ink . . . if he would be angry that Lucas had rebuked her so coldly . . . that they’d left things so badly last time.

  “God, I’d know her handwriting anywhere.” Jamie seemed relieved. “Let’s go visit her!” he beamed, and Lucas prayed that she hadn’t passed away in the last five years. He hated to disappoint Jamie, he hated when the world was anything but kind to him.

  “I don’t know. When I saw her last, we didn’t part on good terms. I want to write her first. I think that would be the best way to do it,” Lucas requested, and luckily Jamie agreed.

  Lucas wrote a hasty letter with his apologies and sent it off to Mrs. Murray. After a few weeks it was back in his hands, a large “return to sender” stamped on the front of it.

  Jamie swallowed, obviously worried. “You don’t think . . . you don’t think anything happened to her, do you?”

  “I doubt it, maybe she just sold the house and is living with Fiona now.” Lucas thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up. “Fiona! Jamie, your mother told me she was living at the old flat! I’m sure we’ll be able to find her, then we can see your mum as well.”

  Jamie smiled.

  “And you know that the best part is?” Lucas asked, reaching out toward Jamie’s shimmering form.

  “Tell me.”

  “Fiona has a little boy named after you. Maybe the five of us can meet up in the city center and, I dunno, make things right. I think getting back in touch with your family is a really good idea, I know it’ll help you figure out why you’re here.”

  Lucas headed down to their old neighborhood that very day, not wanting to make Jamie wait to see his loved ones. He owed him that much. Jamie was very well behaved on the journey, seemingly lost in thought as they made their way down the familiar streets. Lucas just watched him, love in his eyes. He’d missed this, he’d missed doing things to make Jamie happy. Nothing else made him feel as fulfilled or alive.

  Lucas had tried to make himself look presentable for Fiona. He was wearing Jamie’s old jacket and had combed his hair, shaved his face . . . he cleaned up all right, he supposed. At least people weren’t giving him funny looks on the street anymore. Maybe that was the confidence, the happiness, the sense of purpose of having Jamie back. He felt like he had a place in the world again, felt like a normal human being again, just taking solace in Jamie being physically closer. Of course, if Jamie left again, then . . .

  Gradually, they arrived at their old building, and Lucas took a deep breath to ground himself. Christ in heaven, what was he doing here? Fiona was going to think him mad. But he’d come this far, right? He couldn’t turn back now. What the hell was he going to say to her?

  Hello ma’am, you might not remember me since we’ve never met, but I used to share a flat with your brother who died ten years ago? He’s a ghost now; we need some closure.

  “Lucas, it’s okay, my sister is really sweet and gentle. I’m sure she’ll know who you are, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.” Jamie rested a glowing hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m with you.”

  Lucas nodded and knocked on the door, smoothing out his hair and praying she wasn’t home.

  A stunning young woman answered his knock, looking irritated at the unwelcome disturbance. Her hair was the same shimmering gold as her brother’s. Her eyes had the same brilliance but none of the warmth.

  Jamie didn’t seem to mind; his spirit was practically littering her apartment with sparkles of delight.

  “Holy hell.” He grinned at his sister, looking her up and down. “She hasn’t changed a bit, look at her! I—I’m so glad we came.” She was beautiful, she looked so healthy—and better still, she was pregnant.

  “Well? What do you want?” She looked down at Lucas, seemingly having inherited some of the favorable height genes in the Murray family from John.

  “Ah . . . my name is Lucas Connolly. I was Jamie Murray’s friend before—before he—before the war.” Lucas swallowed. “I . . . um, your mother might have mentioned me— I’m sure Jamie did, when he was alive. . . ”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. I assumed never contacting you was a reasonable course of action considering I have no interest in meeting you.”

  This was going great.

  “Ah, well, my apologies for disturbing you. But I was hoping you could give me your mother’s contact information? I miss her terribly, and I’d really like to see her.”

  “No.” Fiona crossed her arms, her eyes suddenly a bit shinier and redder than they had been a moment ago.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Jamie asked, letting out a frustrated noise when Fiona predictably ignored him. “Damn it! What does she mean, ‘no?’”

  “Why not?” Lucas asked.

  “Because she died six months ago, you insensitive prick.”

  Oh God, he was too late. What the hell was he going to do for Jamie now? How could . . . he’d just ignored her and neglected her for five fucking years when she needed . . . God, no. No! He stole a glance up at Jamie, who looked distraught, completely unraveled. “How—I . . . I just . . . ” He was stuttering, despondent, deflated. A shell of the ghost that he normally was, which was in and of itself a shell of the man had been ten years ago.

  Lucas wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but how could he without seeming to be a madman? He reached out a hand, then hesitated. No, he had to remedy the Fiona situation first.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss. I didn’t know,” Lucas offered. “I’d like to pay my respects then, if that’s okay.”

  “What in the world are you telling me that for? Do whatever you want.” She turned and started to close the door.

  “Hey,” Lucas started, putting his foot in the doorframe to keep her there a little longer. He wasn’t happy, he didn’t like to be so pushy with women, but Jamie needed this. “I’m glad to have met you. Jamie only ever said good things about you. I feel so close to you—I’ve always wanted to meet you, that sweet little sister from Jamie’s stories.”

  She looked away. “And you’re the Lucas. The one who dragged Jamie off to war and got him killed.” She glared at him.

  “I didn’t—I never!” His face was bright red; astonished at her bluntness. She couldn’t know, could she? You did get him killed. She knows. She knows and she’ll tell Jamie, you fucking idiot. He shook his head, it wasn’t possible. “Jamie wanted to go to war on his own, even Mr. Murray couldn’t stop him! I did—I did everything I could to protect him.”

  Lucas’s voice was small. Jamie stood beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

  Fiona hesitated a little. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m still really angry.” She looked at him and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Can I make you a cup of tea? It can’t have been easy for you to come see me like this.”

  Lucas’s shoulders sagged with relief. Good. Maybe she knew her anger was misdirected. Maybe she actually could provide a little closure for Jamie. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Careful though, the wee one’s running around causing trouble. He’s too much like Jamie,” she grumbled affectionately.

  Jamie’s facial expression was mixed . . . pained, delighted, remorseful, exuberant. His mother was dead, but his wee nephew was a comfort, surely.

  Lucas smiled at him, trying not to make it obvious that he was interacting with a figure that no one else could see.

  “Little James, right? Mrs. Murray loved him so much.”

  “We mostly just call him Jamie now, to be honest,” she said, smiling. “Jamie! We have company, sweetheart!”

  A beautiful blond boy came scampering out of Lucas’s old bedroom, apple-cheeked and beaming. He was near enough identical to the photograph of Jamie when he was a boy, and it made Lucas’s heart melt when he saw him.

  “Jamie? This is Mr. Connolly. He was friends with your uncle before he passed away.”

  Little Jamie clutched his mother’s skirt with one hand and peered at him, shyness seeping into his confidence. “Uncle Jamie’s friend?”

 

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