Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

shouldn't," said Jacob, his voice trembling. "I've never had many friends, nor anyone I could trust other than dad, but he's not the sort of person I could talk to about this. But I did have someone I could say anything to. Someone I…"

His sentence snapped, and he could no longer hold back the tears. His hands trembled. Abbie wanted to go to him but wasn't sure how the movement would be received. Besides, she'd probably trip on a pair of boxers and smash her face on the bed frame. She stayed where she was.

"Aurora?" she said.

There was a moment of shock, then Jacob nodded. His father must have told Abbie about his relationship. Or Alex. It didn't matter. Jacob was glad Abbie knew.

"She was the love of my life."

Abbie nodded. She didn't think now was an appropriate time to get into a discussion about whether a sixteen-year-old, from the prism of his first relationship, could truly understand love. Abbie was sure his feelings were powerful, amplified by the tail end of puberty. It was the kind of relationship that almost certainly would have burned out. There would have been heartbreak, but the couple would have gone their separate ways. All would have been well. They would have moved on, started again.

If the Ariana cave incident had shackled Jacob's ankles, Aurora's death was a suit of weights. How could one move on from adolescent love when the subject of that love died rather than walked or drifted away? Aurora's untimely demise ensured Jacob would be trapped with the impression of love in his heart for a long time to come, unable to move on. That was a heartbreaking thought.

"I know it hurts," said Abbie. She was thinking of Violet. Had Abbie ever experienced romantic love? She was almost sure she had not. That meant she'd never been hurt by love, but what was it they said? It’s better to have loved and lost...

"She was my world," said Jacob. "We were in love, and now she's gone. I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you can do," said Abbie. "Unfortunately, and I hate throwing out this saying, you have to take it one day at a time. It will get easier. Not quickly, but I promise it will."

"It won't get easier," said Jacob. "Not until I can make the person who's responsible pay."

There was fierce determination in Jacob's eyes. The teen's hatred for this responsible party was not like Tony's, who demanded justice for Aurora's killer. This hatred was focused, specific.

"Jacob," Abbie said. "Do you know who killed Aurora?"

Jacob shook his head. Anger was consuming him. "I wish I did. I'd find them and rip them apart. I'd destroy them. I'd take out all their—"

"Okay, I get the point,' said Abbie. "You don't know who the killer is, but you know who was responsible?"

Abbie had resisted throwing the word think in there.

"I know who’s to blame,” Jacob said. "Aurora's so-called best friend."

It took a second to click for Abbie. "Do you mean…"

"I mean her nephew,” said Jacob. "Aurora's dead because of Ollie."

Twenty

Abbie made her way downstairs and listened at the living room door. She could hear talking, soft, not argumentative. Maybe Louis had killed Alex and Tony and tied Alice up. Right now, he could be explaining to her in calm tones how he relished destroying her life and murdering three of her children before finally putting a bullet in her brain—all for what happened to Niall.

This all felt unlikely, but Abbie still felt a touch of nerves as she turned the handle and stepped into the living room. After all, she was unarmed.

Eyes turned as she entered. Tony and Alice still sat side by side on the longest sofa. Across from them, Alex had sat up since Abbie left. Louis had crossed from the armchair to sit beside her. She had her hand in his lap, and he was holding it. With needy, pleading eyes, they were looking at Alice, waiting for approval.

"You knew about this?" Alice said to Abbie, gesturing across the room.

"Yes," said Abbie. "And it's horrible, but I don't think it's our place to start commenting on other people's choice of wall paint. Maybe when Louis and Alex get married, but for now—"

"I feel this is becoming a catchphrase," Alice cut in, "but now isn’t the time for your jokes."

"Why do people always say that?" said Abbie. "In my experience, it's never true." She entered the room, took the armchair. “Damnit, this is a comfortable chair. What am I supposed to think about a man who can't choose wall paint to save his life but manages to find numerous chairs that are, let's face it, almost ludicrously comfortable? When you die, your boys won't fight over your financial assets; it'll all come down to who gets the chairs."

Abbie looked around for support. From the eyes that met hers, she knew exactly what they were thinking.

"Not time for my jokes? Okay, yes, I've known about Alex and Louis since this morning, but I didn't see you between finding out and now, so I can't be expected to have—"

"What do you think about it?" Alice cut in. "I'm not happy about my daughter dating a criminal."

"Hypocrite," said Alex. It was hard to disagree. Alice waved the comment away.

"I've been married three times," said Alice. “First to a mobster, then to a lawyer who specialised in keeping crooks out of jail, and finally to an arms dealer worth hundreds of millions of pounds. I have married the full spectrum of crooks. I've been involved with crime since I was a teenager, so guess what? I'm a hypocrite. But tell me, Louis, would you be happy for your sons to become involved in everything you do?"

Louis didn't answer; he looked at Alex's hand, folded in his own, in his lap.

"That's what I thought," said Alice. “I involved Adam and Angel in my business from when they were kids, but I kept my younger children insulated from that side of things. Besides, I’ve