of the fishermen he’d sworn to protect, in broad daylight, as though actively daring him to try to do anything about it… it was downright awful. And now, on top of all of that, his son was throwing a tantrum. It’s not Eamon’s fault, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth as she lifted the squirming, screaming boy into his father’s arms. Niall was trying to reason with him — but it was to no avail. Helen gasped as Eamon clenched his tiny fist — and struck his father hard in the side of the head.
“Eamon!” she gasped.
He glared down at her, unrepentant — and she saw something in Niall snap. His jaw tight, he half-handed, half-threw Eamon at Helen — she caught the armful of angry child — and then Niall turned and walked away, his shoulders hunched, every line of his body emphasizing the fury he was controlling. Unfortunately, the direction he chose to walk happened to be the direction that Eamon so desperately seemed to want to go — the direction of the shore of the Loch. She could tell that Niall hadn’t chosen that direction consciously, that he was just walking somewhere to blow off the steam that had built up inside him, so he didn’t scream at his son — but the effect it had was immediate and absolute. Eamon seized up, his whole body stiff as a board as he screamed his rage to the sky. He was drumming his fists against her torso, kicking his legs out, his whole body thrashing like a fish — and the sound of his shrieking was echoing out across the Loch, drawing sympathetic looks from the guards on the wall. She wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear him clear on the other side of the Loch. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d woken the Monster, wherever she was resting, her wounds healing.
She watched Niall stride across the beach with his head lowered, her heart sinking. Even from here, she could see how defeated he was, how broken. This was worse than she could have possibly imagined. And it had only been two days.
Chapter 49
One thing at a time, she told herself firmly. The first step was to calm Eamon down. And that was a much harder step than it sounded like. She’d seen Eamon’s tantrums before, but this one was breaking new ground — she’d never seen him so angry, so violent, so full of rage and fury. For a four-year-old child, he had a grown adult’s share of rage, and he was expelling it all, screaming and roaring, kicking at her, even lashing his head back and forth as though he was going to bite her if she gave him the chance. She didn’t — she simply hung on to him, holding him tight, not responding in any way to the violence, even though she suspected that some of his strikes were going to leave bruises. They’d have a conversation about the harm he was doing later — once he calmed down. Though a scared, angry part of her was worried that he’d never calm down… and a deeper part of her, a part of her she was anything but proud of, wanted to throw him off the edge of the dock and into the water.
Instead, she just walked up and down the docks, holding him close as he screamed and cried. Eventually he’ll run out of energy, she told herself, drawing on inner reserves of strength she hadn’t known she had.
This mood would break, the rage would fade, and he would settle down into the little boy she’d known. The little boy, she reminded herself with a pained smile, that she’d come to love over the last few weeks here. Because she did love him — she knew that the same way she knew the sky was blue. For all his trouble, he was a bright, wonderful child, and she wanted nothing more than for him to get through this rage and find a way forward. She had faith in him — she trusted him — she just needed to help him through this tantrum, this furious storm of emotion that had taken over him.
In the end, he screamed for about an hour. Niall came back to them ten minutes later, but he could barely look at his son — he gave her a look as he walked past, a desperate shake of his head, a vivid look of apology in his eyes.
“Don’t