The O’Connells Books 10 - 12

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Why was Raymond there now with Brady, anyway? That was the one question that had continued to plague her. He’d walked away all those years ago, so why had he come back?

Now he was in her living room, sleeping on the sofa, even though there were two single beds in the room where Brady slept. Evidently, Raymond staying with his son hadn’t even been a consideration.

Their worlds had been completely turned upside down. When Raymond had told Luke, Marcus, and Brady that he was staying, the reaction hadn’t been what she’d expected—because he was still there. How was this possible?

Now Iris was lying awake. It was just after two a.m., and she didn’t hear a sound in the house, but she was staring into the dark, her mind going to the kinds of places she hadn’t been in years, likely because the love of her life, who’d killed her hopes and dreams and brought her to her knees, was under her roof now. Maybe that was why sleep was eluding her.

“Damn you, Raymond, why?” she whispered.

She thought of Brady, who was looking to her for…what, exactly? She didn’t have a clue.

She sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp, then tossed back the covers and put her feet on the cold floor, running her fingers through her short dark hair, tousled from sleep. She stood and reached for her silky housecoat on the back of her bathroom door, then pulled it on and pulled the tie at her waist to cover her short nightgown.

She pulled open the bedroom door, taking only a second to see the closed doors to the other rooms, Luke’s and the one Brady was in. She strode down the darkened hall, the only light filtering out from her bedroom behind her.

She could hear the creak in the floorboards and continued into the kitchen just as a light flicked on above the stove. Her hand went to her chest as she jumped, and she took in Raymond standing there in his black jeans and T-shirt. She wondered whether he’d slept. As she took in his bare feet, she had to remind herself to breathe.

“What are you doing up?” he said in a way that reminded her of those last few nights, when he’d been up late, doing the kinds of things she still didn’t understand. After that, she hadn’t seen him again, not until now, over eighteen years later.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep”—she gestured to the cupboard—“so I thought a glass of water would help.”

He pulled open the cupboard and reached for a glass, then held it out to her. He waited and then gestured. “Well, do you want it, or should we just stand here? Or is this about something else entirely, and you wanted an excuse to come out here?”

She forced herself to take a step and then another, then reached for the glass he was holding, wondering when he’d become such an asshole. “You seem to forget, Raymond, that you’re the intruder. You shouldn’t even be here. I don’t get you. Why are you even here?”

He gestured to the sink when she just stood there. “So this isn’t about a glass of water, then? Just say so, Iris. I’m not in the mood to play detective about why you’re out here when you should be sleeping.”

Just looking at him, she could see such arrogance. All she could do was make a rude noise and lift the tap to fill a glass of water that she didn’t really want. She lifted it to her lips and took a swallow, seeing his image reflected in the kitchen window, and she thought he stifled a smile.

“Well, that’s one way to handle it,” he said. “But it seems you have something on your mind, Iris, so just ask already.”

Had he always been like this, so abrupt and dismissive? Maybe, if she thought only about how he had been at the end, and maybe that was why she couldn’t figure out why he’d come back.

“I don’t understand why you’re here in Livingston, Raymond. You were here before the charges against me, and yes, you fixed the situation, sort of, but you were responsible for it all, anyway. You were living here before. I don’t understand why. Why come back here? Then there’s Brady. You played with fire, and my granddaughter and Brady are the ones getting burned. You had to know something like this could happen.” She rested the still full glass on the counter and turned to him, hearing how quiet the house was with everyone asleep. Morning was still a long way off.

“So you want to fight,” he said, and it took everything in her not to fist her hands. Just being around him was stirring feelings she didn’t want to feel.

“No, Raymond, I don’t want to fight with you, but here you are, standing in the kitchen of my house, not answering my questions…”

“You mean our house, the house I bought.”

She angled her head. How could she have forgotten how quick he was? She’d never been able to win a verbal sparring match with him. Raymond just had the ability to think fast on his feet in a way she never had.

“Wow, really, so this is suddenly your house?” she said sharply, then turned to the hallway, wondering whether anyone had heard. She forced herself to pull in a breath as she reminded herself he had no rights there. Then she lifted her gaze to him, again refusing to look away.

He kept looking out the window, then strode away, back into the living room, barefoot, appearing too much at home. How could this be so easy for him?

It was pure instinct to just follow him, mainly because she could feel the possibility of him steamrolling right over her, and that wasn’t happening. How could she have forgotten how strong minded he was, how he would pick and choose what to answer?

“I won’t be ignored or dismissed, Raymond,” she said. “You seem to not want to answer, but I’m going to ask you again: Why did you show up here and then move into a house so close to me? I need to know. You’re suddenly in our lives when you were the one who walked out on us. You had so many years when you could’ve reached out, but here you are now.”

He was at the living room window now, staring out. Only a trickle of streetlight filled the room, and she took in the sofa, on which sat the blanket, still folded, and pillow Luke had tossed him. He let the sheers fall back and stepped away, over to her.

“You want the truth?”

“Please,” she said, feeling the sarcasm and wondering if he’d answer.

“To see the kids, our kids, for myself, in person. Yes, Iris, I may have left, but I’ve watched all of you from a distance for years—you, the kids and the trouble they got in. I saw that you never dated again. Leaving and watching was the only way I could be sure nothing bad touched you, but just because I walked away, that didn’t mean I wasn’t responsible for you. You’re right that I knew I was playing with fire, coming back here, but I did it anyway. You did a great job with the kids.”

Was she supposed to take that as a compliment? She pulled her arms across her chest, feeling the carpet beneath her feet. Raymond didn’t look away. It was unnerving, and she was already anticipating the moment he’d be gone with Brady and she’d never see him again.

“I did all I could do,” she said. “You expect me to say thank you? Because I won’t. Raising six kids alone was the hardest thing I did, but I did it, yet here you are, saying you’ve been watching the kids. I don’t get you. I don’t get any of this.”

He said nothing, as if the silence wasn’t awkward to him at all.

“I don’t understand what you said to Marcus and Luke, either,” she said. “Why are they suddenly okay with you staying here?”

She had expected Luke to toss his dad out, but he hadn’t, and Marcus had simply asked her if she would be okay before he left. Like, what the hell was that?

“It’s not a big deal, Iris. The only one who seems to have an issue with it is you. Yes, we should’ve been gone, but that decision was taken from my hands because my son has suddenly discovered his voice and doesn’t want to leave. We stayed too long. The reasons I left you years ago still apply, Iris. We can’t stay. We have to keep moving…”

“Now hang on a second, here,” she said, stepping closer to him, mindful to keep her voice low. “I thought you left years ago because you’re not really Raymond O’Connell, and those men who showed up, looking for you, were putting us all in danger. Look at what happened, what you put me through and set in motion. Even though you left eighteen years ago—well, nineteen, actually, this coming November—here we are, with the same issues affecting young Brady. He’s eighteen, or almost, so who was Brady’s mother, the woman you left me for? Why don’t we just put it all out on the table, Raymond, or whatever your name is, all the lies and more lies…”

She hadn’t meant to ask, but the danger that seemed to follow Raymond was morphing into something far more complex. He had another family. Then there was the one question she’d never really asked: Who was Raymond O’Connell, really? Right now, she realized that although she’d told herself for years that knowing wouldn’t matter, she wanted to know. No, she needed to know.

“I never left you for Nancy,” he said.

Okay, maybe she hadn’t wanted to know her name. Him just saying another woman’s name brought an ache to her gut. It shouldn’t have bothered her the way it did.

“Really? Yet you left me and were with someone else, Brady’s mother. You sure didn’t wait long, now, did you?”

He pulled in a breath, looked away, and shook his head. “I don’t know what you expect me to say, Iris. Leaving you and the kids wasn’t something I wanted, but it was something that had to happen because of the danger I brought to the doorstep. Nancy wasn’t who you think she was.”

Had he always talked in riddles?

She made a face. “Really? Then tell me who she was,” she said, though she wondered whether he’d say anything, considering how tight-lipped he’d become.

He stared long and hard down at her and took a step closer, so close that she could feel his heat. She could feel all of him and had to fight the urge to step away. “You really want to know?” he said. “Nancy was with the CIA here, in the States. I slept with her so she wouldn’t see other things that could get me caught after I left you, considering questions had been raised, and no one had any idea who I was working for. In truth, Mossad had me working for the CIA so that I could report to them exactly what was going on in this government. Then you know what happened. Things got complicated because I fell in love with you, and you’d gone from just a cover to something more. Then there were our kids. The minute Mossad figured out I was no longer a team player and had likely switched sides, they showed up, looking for me. Those are the kinds of people who would’ve hurt you and the kids. So yes, I had left you, but Nancy wasn’t the love of my life. That was you. Having Brady was never the plan, either, but she was killed in an accident, and that forced me to make some hard choices. I left the CIA and Mossad, but once you’re an agency man, even after you leave, you always end up looking over your shoulder because the things you did could still come back on you. There are some bad people out there, Iris, and me being here now could bring them back again. Is that what you want?”

When he stepped away, back to the window, looking out, she realized what he was doing. “So that’s why you keep doing that,” she said, gesturing.

He let the curtain fall and strode back to her. “You mean watching, keeping an eye out? Yeah, Iris, it is, because someone needs to. Anything else?”

She nodded. “As a matter of fact, I think I have a right to know who you really are, your real name. Is it David?”

He just shook his head. “I go by Ray now. I know what you’re talking about, but David ceased to exist the day he met you, Iris. I have no plans to ever be him again. You should go to bed.”

Just the way he said it was so familiar, as was the way he took another step, closer. It was too much like she remembered. As he slid his hand under her chin, her heart kicked up a beat. His was a touch she’d never expected to feel again.

She stepped back and turned her head, feeling the cool air, and heard him sigh. “Goodnight, Raymond,” she whispered, then stepped away, back to the kitchen. At first, all he did was incline his head.

“Iris,” he called out.

She rested her hand in the kitchen archway as she turned back to him, but she didn’t say anything.

“Hurting you is the biggest regret of my life,” he said.

What could she say to that?

“Is this where I’m supposed to say it’s okay?”

He didn’t look away. “No, it’s not okay.”

She tapped the door frame. “Goodnight,” she said again, but this time, she made herself turn from him. She flicked off the light in the kitchen. When she turned back, he was looking out the window again.