The stark white tablecloth is gently lit by the candle in the middle of the table, and a basket of bread wrapped in a white cloth napkin to keep it warm separates us.
It’s quiet back here and the waiter is more than aware that we need time to discuss business so I doubt we’ll see him again until Cill calls for him. With the location so close to The Ruin, Nello’s is used to this. They’re paid well, even if we don’t order a damn thing to eat.
I could confess everything to Cill in this room. Spill every detail and I don’t know what will happen after. I dread what will come. But it has to be done.
“What the hell happened to the club?”
“Things changed when your uncle took over.”
“You keep saying that.” Cill looks me dead in the eye. He’s wary of me now and I don’t blame him. I would be too if he fucked the love of my life without me knowing. “Tell me the truth, Reed. You owe me that.”
It’s not always best to tell the truth. Anyone who grew up at the Cavanaugh Crest knew that. Sometimes it’s best to keep your damn mouth shut. Everybody loves to talk about how honesty is the best policy, but it’s bullshit. Not saying anything is the best policy. Keeping your head down and doing what you’re told is what we’re expected to do. I wish I hadn’t, though. I wish I knew what was really going on so I could have stopped it all.
“I think your uncle …” I say and swallow thickly, knowing how this is going to sound and praying he’ll believe me, “set it up. All of it.”
“What do you mean ‘all of it?’” His eyes narrow and Kat’s gaze moves to her clasped hands on the table.
“Can we eat?” Kat pipes up between us, her nervousness not at all disguised by her sweet, feminine tone. I’ve always thought she was beautiful, but more than that, careful and intelligent. She has intention behind every move.
Cill peers down at her. “I’m not hungry.” The way his eyes search hers is telling. He still loves her deeply, even if there’s pain there.
I’m thankful for that. I would never forgive myself if he stopped loving her. How could he, though? The two of them need each other.
My throat is tight as I swallow and watch her tell him, “I think we should get some food first.” Kat puts her hand over his. “I think we would all feel better if we had a bite to eat. A lot happened tonight.”
While they share a hushed discussion and then call the waiter who silently brings silverware and menus, I think about how it got this bad. I remember every day that led to this hell.
The only thing worse than losing Cill and watching everything turn to shit, was figuring out that his uncle had been behind it all. For a while, I couldn’t even admit it to myself. If I thought it was true, I’d have no choice but to tell Cill.
That would tear him up. When I finally decided it was real, a few months after his father passed, though I didn’t have any proof, I found reasons not to tell him. If I told him while he was locked up, he’d go crazy. Cill could never sit around and let shit happen to him. He had to take action. At least he had to find out why something had happened, and maybe solve the problem. Going to him with vague rumors while he was in jail would cause havoc and put him in jeopardy.
I couldn’t tell anyone. I did what we were told to do all our lives, keep our heads down and do what we were told.
All the while, I watched and caught on to the shit Eamon was doing and now I know too much.
When the waiter finally comes around, with a paper pad in his hand, I can barely find my words. It’s like I’ve been slowly unraveling the last year, when all of this started after Cill’s father died, and now there’s nothing left of me.
As another waitress quietly comes into the room to refill Kat’s goblet of ice water with the silver decanter, neither Cill or I have touched ours, our waiter asks what I’d like to order.
I peer across the table to ask what Kat and Cill ordered, a glass of red and two fingers of whiskey. Yeah, I’m probably going to need alcohol too.
Clearing my throat, I ask for the same as Cill. When the waiter’s gone Kat speaks up again, her fingers slipping down the stem of her goblet.
“I think we each have one drink to calm our nerves, we eat to settle our stomachs and then we can talk,” she states softly but in a matter-of-fact way, only lifting her gaze to reach each of ours once she’s finished.