Between Here and the Horizon (22 page)

I got to work.
 

Thirty minutes later, I had a beef stew on the stove, biscuits in the oven, and a cup of coffee in my hand for Sully. He’d said no to tea, but a hot, strong cup of Joe might be a different story. When I walked through to the living room—so weird that there were no straight lines in the entire ground floor of the house—Sully was crashed out on the couch, head tipped back, both hands clasped over his stomach now, and he was sleeping.
 

“Well.
Shit
.”

Sully cracked one eyelid open, peering at me. “Mr. Von Trapp would not be impressed by the color of your language.”

“Mr. Von Trapp can kiss my ass.”

That made him snort. Carefully rolling his head forward, he sighed heavily. “Come on. Let’s have it then.” He held his hand out, eyeing the steaming cup I was still holding.
 

I surrendered it to him, thankful he wasn’t putting up a fight. “I didn’t know if you took sugar.”

“I don’t.”

“Let me guess. You’re sweet enough?” My voice dripped with sarcasm.
 

“No, Lang. I’m
not
sweet. Not even a little. And coffee isn’t supposed to be sweet, either. It’s meant to taste like battery acid. It’s meant to keep you awake, not put you into a sugar coma.”

“Duly noted. You’re quite blunt, aren’t you? Does it entertain you to make people feel uncomfortable all the time?”

Sully sipped his coffee, and then grimaced, clutching at his side. Once the pain had passed, he put down the mug on the small table beside his beaten up leather couch and directed his attention at me in that terrifying way he had perfected. “Does it entertain me to make people uncomfortable?” He thought for a second. “No, it doesn’t entertain me. Other people’s discomfort is an unfortunate by-product of my ‘no bullshit’ policy. It has nothing to do with me. It has everything to do with them. They only feel uncomfortable because they’re being dishonest, or they’re hiding something. I don’t like being untrue to myself, and that makes them feel bad because that’s all they
ever
are. Their lives are shambolic.”

“Shambolic?”

“Mmhmm.”

“That seems a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I think it’s a pretty fair assessment.”

“And me? You think my life’s a sham?”

He smiled, sharp and wicked, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what came out of his mouth next. “Lang, of all the people residing here on this tiny spit of land, your life is the biggest sham of all. You pretend to care about Connor and Amie, when really all you care about it the pay check. And you pretend you came here to be a Good Samaritan, when the truth is that you’re attracted to me, and you were worried about me.”

The door was only five feet away. Two seconds? Maybe even less. It would take me no time at all to storm out of Sully’s lighthouse, get in the Land Rover, drive back to the children and never see this man again. Though it wouldn’t be that simple, because on an island as tiny as the Causeway, I was bound to run into him again at some point. He was waiting for me to do it; he was waiting for me to get pissed and leave, I could see it in the hard, dark depths of his eyes.
 

It was better for me to stay and defy him than to do exactly what he expected me to, if only so I could flip him the bird and prove he didn’t know me as well as thought he did after all.
 

“I don’t like lying,” Sully said slowly. “I especially hate when people lie to themselves, Lang. It makes society a very dangerous place. If everyone’s walking around, choosing to believe they’re good people, they’re incapable of doing wrong, they don’t want things that are bad for them, and that their problems will simply vanish if they ignore them for long enough, then who’s going to fix things when they break? Who’s going to take responsibility when things go wrong? And who is going to tell the goddamn truth?”

“I don’t give a shit what you think, Sully. I always tell the truth.”

“Is that so.” It wasn’t a question. His voice dipped down at the end, telling me he didn’t believe me for one split second. “Then tell me. Why did you decide to stay on the island? Was it because Linneman told you there wouldn’t be a pay out at the end of your six-month contract if you left? Hmm? I know all about your parents’ restaurant back in Cali. How would you have saved the day if you didn’t come home with that nice fat check for a hundred grand sitting in your back pocket?”

“You’re right. Going home without that check would have been a disaster. But I would have found another job. I would have taken on three extra jobs if I’d had to. I’m not afraid of hard work. I would have figured it out, because that’s what I’m good at. Figuring out shitty situations.”

“Like the shitty situation with your ex-husband?”

Shock flared through me, sour and unpleasant. “How do you know about Will?”

“Well, you get to know everything about me, Lang. Mags’s journal’s giving you plenty of insight, I’m sure. So I figured I ought to even the playing field a little. I had a friend spend a couple of hours reviewing your online footprint. He sent me the basics—the details of your divorce. Your parents’ business. Your school being closed down. You losing your job. The works.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Sully sighed. “Do you really care if I know your ex-husband cheated on you?
Really
?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” He was so calm. So reasonable. So
infuriating
. As far as he was concerned, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. He was never going to believe I hadn’t read that cursed journal.
Never
. My outrage was bubbling over, difficult to tamp down. Sully’s smile spread even wider. “How about you quit acting all bent out of shape and admit to me why you’re really here right now?”

“I told you—”

“And I told
you
I hate liars. Are you denying you’re attracted to me? Even though you know you shouldn’t be? Even though you know it’s weird because I’m an asshole, and because of Ronan’s kids?” He seemed completely unaffected by the words coming out of his own mouth. He didn’t seem to care that they were bound to affect me either. He just sat there, watching me, waiting.
 

He wasn’t going to win. Not this time. Even if it meant embarrassing myself by owning something I’d been avoiding acknowledging even to myself. But the things he’d said earlier, about people ignoring their problems, or simply ignoring their feelings in this case…it never helped, and I knew it.
 

“Fine. You’re right. I am attracted to you. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. Not because of Ronan, or because of Amie and Connor, but because you’re a spiteful, garbage person who only sees the bad in everything, and caring about a person like you will probably make me a toxic, unhappy person, too. At least Ronan was—”

He heaved himself off the couch way faster than I would have thought him capable of, and stood over me, panting. “Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Before you even contemplate finishing that sentence, please do
not
compare me to my brother.”

“Why not?”

“When you’re a twin, when you look so utterly the same as someone else you grow up with, learn with, develop, become a man with, then all people want to do is find the differences between you. He was kinder. You were meaner. He was academic. You were destructive. He was the family man. You were the warmonger. It’s fucked. I don’t want to hear it. Especially from you—someone who knew Ronan for all of five fucking minutes, and who still doesn’t know me at all.”

“I would if you damn well let me!”

“I DON’T WANT—” The room erupted with a high-pitched, startling sound, cutting through our argument. Sully almost leapt out of his skin, spinning around, eyes wild and wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
 

“What the hell is that?” I yelled.
 

He still looked on edge, but a calmness settled over Sully all of a sudden. “Smoke detector,” he said, low, so I could hardly hear him over the racket. “You’re burning down my kitchen, Lang.”

“Oh, shit, the stew!” I dashed into the kitchen. The gas burner underneath the cast iron pot the food had been cooking in was charred, and smoke was curling up from underneath it, thin and black but enough to have set off the alarm. “Fuck.” I quickly turned off the burner and moved the pot, checking inside to survey the damage done to the stew. Thankfully it looked fine. It wasn’t even burned on the bottom. The base of the pot, however, was ruined. The alarm stopped, leaving my ears ringing.
 

“I didn’t think to ask if you were a decent cook before I let you loose in here,” Sully said behind me. “Here, let me see.”

I got out of the way, and he poked and prodded at the stovetop. “The element’s almost gone,” he said, pulling a face. “I’ve been meaning to replace it for a while. It catches light when the burner gets too hot sometimes.”

“So this wasn’t my fault?”

“No, this wasn’t your fault, Lang. Relax. Go sit down. I’ll bring the food through.”

I started to argue—he shouldn’t be picking up heavy pots, or doling out food. The whole point of me coming here to cook was so that he didn’t have to—but then I saw the look on his face and I backed out of the kitchen without another word. He brought in two bowls shortly after, then went back and collected the biscuits I’d made from the oven. We ate in silence, Sully only managing to finish half the bowl he’d served himself before he set it down, groaning.
 

“Go on. Tell me my food tastes disgusting. I dare you.”

“It was great, Lang. But you may have noticed that I’m a little under the weather right now. My appetite isn’t what it normally is.”

“You should get up to bed. Rest some,” I told him.
 

“Too many fucking flights of stairs in this place. I’m sleeping right here until I’ve healed up a bit.” Lying back, arms wrapped around his torso, he sprawled himself on the three-seater, lifting his legs up onto the cushions, and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Eating seemed to have taken it out of him.
Really
taken it out of him. His face was even paler than before, and that clammy sweat had returned, beading on his forehead.
 

“You’re looking pretty gray, Sully. Do you think you can be cordial for a couple of minutes while I check your temperature?”

“Sure. As long as you don’t try to stick a thermometer up my ass.”

“I promise, that’s the very last thing I plan on doing.” I had no idea where his first aid kit was, and I hadn’t brought the one from The Big House with me, so I went old school and used the back of my hand, pressing it against his forehead.
 

“I’m sure that’s really accurate,” Sully grumbled.
 

“Accurate enough to tell me that you’re burning up. Jesus, Sully, you should never have left the medical center. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I had a better chance of survival at home, where Gale couldn’t shoot me up with adrenalin instead of morphine by accident.”

“Yeah, well. I suppose that’s a good point.” Rushing back into the kitchen, I grabbed a clean dishcloth from one of the drawers and ran it under the cold tap before taking it back into the living room with me. Sully’s chest was rising up and down so fast, it looked as if he’d just run a full marathon. I held the cool, wet material to his forehead, keeping it in place when he tried to push it out of the way. His arms were made of rubber, though—easy to fend off. He didn’t seem to have any strength left in his body at all.
 

“Can you call Ronan, please? Tell him I need him to come get me? I’m sorry, Mags, I shouldn’t have drunk so much.” He was slurring like he
had
been drinking. Way more than two glasses of whiskey. More like he’d drunk the whole bottle.
 

“Sully? Hey, Sully, can you sit up for me?”

“Not really.” He tried, though, gave it a valiant attempt. He strained, flexing his abs, rocking forward, and then he howled in pain, eyes shooting open, what little color that was left in his face draining to leave him ghostly white. “Oh, shit,” he hissed. “That was dumb.” He seemed to have returned to himself, but when he looked up at me, pupils swallowing his irises in the darkening room, he looked like he was vanishing again just as quickly.
 

Frowning up at me, he reached up with one hand, fingers outstretched. “You…you’re not her, are you?”

“I’m Lang.” I shook my head, correcting myself. “I’m
Ophelia
. Remember?” He looked hazy, like he couldn’t really hear what I was saying properly.
 

I got my cell phone out of my bag and dialed Rose’s number as quickly as I could. She answered on the fourth ring. “Hey, O. Kids are fed and watered. Amie’s already passed out, and Connor’s reading his book in bed. You on your way back?

“No, actually, I’m still at Sully’s.”

“He’s not at the medical center?”

“No, he refused to stay there apparently. Long story. Listen, I’m not really sure what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was lucid when I got here but he’s burning up now, and he’s pretty confused. He asked me to call Ronan to come get him and take him home.”

“You should call the medical center. Have Collin come get him in the ambulance or something.”

“I was going to, but I was there earlier and there were posters everywhere saying out-of-hours treatment was only available Monday through Thursday until nine. And it’s Friday.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

“I can’t believe you guys don’t have a proper emergency room here, Rose. It’s so damned dangerous!”

“I know, I know, let me think.”

I’d been watching Sully the whole time I was speaking to Rose, but I turned away for a moment now, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and my index finger, so he couldn’t see how freaked out I was. He might not know which way was up, but he still didn’t need to see me panicking this hard. I was about to ask Rose if there was even a doctor on the Causeway I could drive Sully to, but then I heard a wet, retching sound behind me and I didn’t get the chance.