Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,2
damage that’s been done. “We do miss Conor, but we don’t love ye less. Ye have to know that.”
“Don’t worry about it, Da. I’ll see ye around. Okay?”
He leans in and pulls me into a tight hug, patting me on the back. “Ye can always come to me. Ye Ma, she’s a stubborn woman, depressed right now, but ye have me. I love ye. I can’t lose ye too. Alright?”
Emotion clogs my throat, and right as I clear it, thunder booms above so Da doesn’t hear it. I want to believe it’s Conor having my back, but I don’t believe in that sort of thing. Once someone is dead, they are dead, and if people want to believe their loved ones stay around in the afterlife and it brings them comfort, then that’s great.
I want to believe the dead are dead; no spirits, no nothing—just peace.
It isn’t death that is hard. It’s living because finding peace in life seems nearly impossible.
“Ye, Da. I got it. I love ye. Go tend to Ma. She needs ye right now. I’ll be fine.”
“Where ye gonna go? It’s raining pools, son.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’ll figure it out.” I sit on Conor’s headstone and cross my arms. Da gives me one last hug and lets go, leaving me alone with Conor’s memory. That’s all graves are, just memories being relived on repeat until the loved one, like me, finds light in the darkness somewhere.
The engine of the car purrs as it comes to life. Conor just bought them a new Mercedes Benz two weeks ago, and they treat that car, well, better than did me right now. I watch the red taillights fade as they drive away, and I stand here, drenched. “Well, Conor. That proves it, ye were always the golden boy. I love ye anyway.” Lightning cracks, sending veins along the clouds. “Where the hell do I go now, Conor? Ma seems like she hates me. I can’t go to yer place.” I know I have to, though. My stuff is there, and I have a right to take some of Conor’s stuff with me to the States. I have no idea where I’ll go when I go back to America, but I’m not staying here in Scotland.
I push off the headstone and cross my arms over my chest. It takes everything in me not to turn around and sit on the mound of dirt again, but no amount of missing him will bring him back. Death isn’t that kind, and love has its limits.
My kilt is heavy from the rain, and I can’t wait to take it off. I don’t know how Conor wore it during a fight, even if it is kind of freeing in all the right places.
No, I still hate it.
Or… I could wear one every day in Conor’s memory. Let go of the jeans and see what the fuss is about. Maybe I’ll learn to love the kilt. “Ye’ve lost yer mind, Rohan,” I snort at myself and shiver as the cold starts to sink in. I’m losing it if I’m actually thinking about wearing a kilt. Conor is just on my mind, that’s all.
It’s a long walk back to Conor’s cottage. I pass the cliffs that overlook the ocean, and the low-hanging Scots Pine trees and the willow branches sway violently from the wind. The waves crash against the shore, the sea livid with strength and force. I can’t smell the salt like usual since the rain is drowning it out. I miss it.
My socks squelch when I come to a stop under an oak tree as I stare at the cozy white cottage nestled against the forest. I can see why Conor loved it here. It’s quaint and quiet. My teeth are chattering, but at least the canopy of the tree provides me some cover. I stare into the window into the kitchen where Ma is crying as she holds Conor’s coffee mug against her chest, and Da is holding her tight. He turns her away from the kitchen, turning off the light, only to turn on another in the hallway.
They are going to bed.
I slide down against the tree, waiting until the light is off so I can climb through my brother’s window. Ma falls asleep quick, so when the light is off, I get up and take a deep breath before running into the rain again.
Shite, little bullets of water hurt when it’s coming down this hard. When I get to