Read Online Forever Mine: Callaghan Brothers, Book 9 by Abbie Zanders - Free Book Online
Authors: Abbie Zanders
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raw. He knew that, first-hand.
“Where is Kathleen now?”
“She moved back with her family. She comes round every week or so to check on the place, though. Keeps it nice, said she wanted it ready for you when you came back. Never gave up hope, that one,” the woman said. “She’s working at her da’s diner in Birch Falls. Does she know you’re home?”
Jack shook his head. When he’d been rescued, he’d been in bad shape, bad enough that he hadn’t wanted to get anyone’s hopes up. And after ... well, a phone call just wasn’t enough. Dreams of his homecoming hadn’t included a dead mother and an empty house, though. But maybe it was for the best.
“Did you say you have a key?”
The older woman looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. Kathleen gave it to me, in case of an emergency.”
Jack thanked her and stood, suddenly anxious to be out of this warm, familiar kitchen where ghostly echoes of a much happier time warred with sadness and grief. Maybe he’d come back another time, when he’d had time to reacclimate himself to this world, but at that moment, the woman’s compassion made his heart ache. He wasn’t the boy she had known anymore, and the man he’d become needed to deal with this in his own private way.
Mrs. Fitzsimmons shuffled over to her canister set and extracted a flour-dusted key. She placed it into his outstretched palm, covering his hand with hers. “She’ll be wanting to see you, Jack.”
Would she?
Jack thanked her and walked back to his house, using the key to let himself in. He removed his coat and gloves, hanging them on the free-standing coat rack there, then remembered to wipe his feet on the mat and remove his boots. There was a part of him that knew it no longer mattered, but he did it anyway.
The place was chilly, but not freezing, which meant the heat was still on, too. A brief check of the thermostat confirmed that it had been set for fifty-seven degrees, enough to keep the pipes from freezing. He clicked it up to seventy-two, then moved into the kitchen.
Everything looked exactly as he remembered it. The pine cabinets. The Formica countertops. The aging white appliances. The goddamned tea kettle with the painted roses. Even the smell, though faint, was the same. Jack closed his eyes and inhaled the scents of lemon and wood and freshly-baked cookies. For a moment, he could almost believe that nothing had changed.
But it had. Everything had changed. Him, most of all.
Would Kathleen still want him, damaged as he was? This—– coming home –—was all he had thought about for so long. It was what kept him sane, a pinpoint of focus through a vista of horrors.
Now that he was finally here, the doubts began to creep in. He was no longer the man Kathleen had fallen in love with, mentally or physically. What if he’d been kidding himself? What if this—– this empty house, this feeling of no longer belonging—– was all there was?
That’s when he saw it, the tented notecard on the table. Cream-colored, with a tiny rose in the bottom right corner. The same design that was on the stationery she’d used to write him letters all these years. He knew that if he lifted it to his nose, he’d catch the faint scent of flowers, just like her perfume.
His name was written in familiar, flowing cursive on the front. Dare he open it?
With trembling fingers, Jack reached for it. He lifted the top and read the words there, his vision growing blurrier with every word.
Dear Jack,
I knew you would come back to me. I love you, always, mo croie beloved .
Kathleen
Then Jack Callaghan did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He broke down and cried.
Chapter Eight
S eptember 2015
Pine Ridge
“Can’t you just leave me be?” Jack grumbled when yet another nurse came in to take his vitals.
“Your numbers spiked,” the nurse calmly explained as she checked the wires and tubes and machines. “How’s your pain level?”
“Hurts like
“Where is Kathleen now?”
“She moved back with her family. She comes round every week or so to check on the place, though. Keeps it nice, said she wanted it ready for you when you came back. Never gave up hope, that one,” the woman said. “She’s working at her da’s diner in Birch Falls. Does she know you’re home?”
Jack shook his head. When he’d been rescued, he’d been in bad shape, bad enough that he hadn’t wanted to get anyone’s hopes up. And after ... well, a phone call just wasn’t enough. Dreams of his homecoming hadn’t included a dead mother and an empty house, though. But maybe it was for the best.
“Did you say you have a key?”
The older woman looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Aye. Kathleen gave it to me, in case of an emergency.”
Jack thanked her and stood, suddenly anxious to be out of this warm, familiar kitchen where ghostly echoes of a much happier time warred with sadness and grief. Maybe he’d come back another time, when he’d had time to reacclimate himself to this world, but at that moment, the woman’s compassion made his heart ache. He wasn’t the boy she had known anymore, and the man he’d become needed to deal with this in his own private way.
Mrs. Fitzsimmons shuffled over to her canister set and extracted a flour-dusted key. She placed it into his outstretched palm, covering his hand with hers. “She’ll be wanting to see you, Jack.”
Would she?
Jack thanked her and walked back to his house, using the key to let himself in. He removed his coat and gloves, hanging them on the free-standing coat rack there, then remembered to wipe his feet on the mat and remove his boots. There was a part of him that knew it no longer mattered, but he did it anyway.
The place was chilly, but not freezing, which meant the heat was still on, too. A brief check of the thermostat confirmed that it had been set for fifty-seven degrees, enough to keep the pipes from freezing. He clicked it up to seventy-two, then moved into the kitchen.
Everything looked exactly as he remembered it. The pine cabinets. The Formica countertops. The aging white appliances. The goddamned tea kettle with the painted roses. Even the smell, though faint, was the same. Jack closed his eyes and inhaled the scents of lemon and wood and freshly-baked cookies. For a moment, he could almost believe that nothing had changed.
But it had. Everything had changed. Him, most of all.
Would Kathleen still want him, damaged as he was? This—– coming home –—was all he had thought about for so long. It was what kept him sane, a pinpoint of focus through a vista of horrors.
Now that he was finally here, the doubts began to creep in. He was no longer the man Kathleen had fallen in love with, mentally or physically. What if he’d been kidding himself? What if this—– this empty house, this feeling of no longer belonging—– was all there was?
That’s when he saw it, the tented notecard on the table. Cream-colored, with a tiny rose in the bottom right corner. The same design that was on the stationery she’d used to write him letters all these years. He knew that if he lifted it to his nose, he’d catch the faint scent of flowers, just like her perfume.
His name was written in familiar, flowing cursive on the front. Dare he open it?
With trembling fingers, Jack reached for it. He lifted the top and read the words there, his vision growing blurrier with every word.
Dear Jack,
I knew you would come back to me. I love you, always, mo croie beloved .
Kathleen
Then Jack Callaghan did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He broke down and cried.
Chapter Eight
S eptember 2015
Pine Ridge
“Can’t you just leave me be?” Jack grumbled when yet another nurse came in to take his vitals.
“Your numbers spiked,” the nurse calmly explained as she checked the wires and tubes and machines. “How’s your pain level?”
“Hurts like
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