“Sweetheart, I’ve nae idea my son’s actions,” Big Brody calls out. Mam places a hand on Da’s shoulder. With a dogged, sincere purse of her lips, she steps down the cobblestone pathway.
“Sweetie, how aboutye and I make a pot of tea?”
“Nan, I love you, but . . .” Chevelle’s tear-stained eyes track across us all, first to me. What I’d not give to hold her. Her gaze shifts to my clan. She fists the handle downward in momentary defeat. The tip of the sword pokes into the grass. “Nan, I want my life back. To not believe in Leith.”
“I’m so sorry.” I exhale, yearning for her touch.
“Let’s leave the lads here, love,” Mam coos. “Tell me more about it.”
“Mam, Ifeckedup. Hen,” I stare at her, unable to find the words. “Ifeckedup bloody bad. Mia—”
The sword is out of the ground, and Chevelle places the blade against my chest. “Mia’s not a viable excuse, Leith.”
“Honey,” Mam whispers.
I lift a hand, stalling Mam’s attempts. The tip pierces me, making a shallow cut. Save for the warm trickle of blood, I feel nothing. “Hen, ye’ve gotta listen to me.”
“Chevelle, please,” Mam gasps.
Clearing the lump in my throat, I say, “I deserve for my wife to place that right through my heart, I do. But before we get to that part, ye’ll want to sit down. I must tell ye something.”
“Och,brathair.” Brody grabs harshly at his beard.
Mam pats Chevelle’s shoulder. “Chevelle, I’ve seen the love the two of ye have for each other. I’ll not believe it has come to this.”
In Gaelic, Brody refers to my wife assister. In a not-so-subtle warning, the blade cuts through the air, silencing him. He places his fists at his side, mouth molded into a frown.
“Right here is where ye should stab me, Chevelle.” I thump my fingers against my heart. “My actions warrant it, hen. First, I’ve gotta be a man, tell ya what happened.”
While lifting my eyes to the sky, I punch a hand at my chest. The time has come to tell my wife the horror that became our sweet bairn. Everyone’s waiting for the news from thisbampot, Leith MacKenzie. I abandoned my clan, gave my wife happiness, and snatched it away. Just as I set my mouth to speak, a sleek black Lexus skids to a stop at the end of the driveway.
Camdyn jumps out of the two-door sports car. He looks exhausted. He runs his tattooed forearm across his jaw, regarding our parents. “Mom, please don’t fucking kill me.”
Taken aback by the change in events, Mam stares at him.
“Ye’re . . .” I run a shaky hand over my hair. “Ye’re alive!”
But nobody acknowledges my shocked exchange except Brody. Camdyn considers Mam’s lack of response as a means to grovel.
His tattooed arms fly around her. “I drove sixty-five, even in a seventy zone. I promise. If anyone says this ride is stolen, it’s not. Some bitch stole it from a friend of mine. Punish me, if you must, just don’t kill me, Mom . . . Mom?”
While Camdyn runs his hands over Mam’s plump cheeks, Brody claps Camdyn’s. He pulls Camdyn away from Mam, eyes widened. “Bawbag. Ye’re alive!”
He kisses our weebrathair’sforehead, praising God. As the family glances and talks amongst themselves, I sour.
“And Mia?” I ask him. “Where thefeckis mynighean!”God, dinna let her have been home alone!
Camdyn forks a hand through his blond hair. The sun shines down, accenting the reddish highlights similar to mine. He chews his lip. “Well, I was gonna say she’s home, but I just drove by. That shit’s no longer there, bro! Don’t kill the messenger.”
“Did she—”
“Mia’s asleep—in the backseat. My phone was stolen. At the McDonald’s, we had to grab and go. It’s been a shitty night, but again, I didn’t speed. Mom, you have my word.” Rubbing his arm, Camdyn asks, his faint accent appearing, “So, Leith, what thefeckhappened to ya house?”
“Cam, ye’re in a whole heap of trouble once I figure this out.” Mam gestures between us all.
“What are you talking about?” Chevelle’s head tilts. “You had my daughter in a stolen car. Cam, I thought better of you.”
“I’m sor—”