Page 123 of Manacled Hearts

“Morality, Evelyn!” he shouts as he whips around, drawing his fingers through his hair, his gaze a stormy inner-battle. “You were—are too young, and I still have some fucking morals, you know!”

“Don’t give me that self-righteous crap again. I thought we passed it. No matter my age, I am the same person I was a month ago, or three, or bloody six. The same one who had to grow up two years ago and learn to both survive and raise a child. Do not dare insult my maturity again, or my ability to make a decision about a man, or my body for that matter.” Taking in a deep inhale, I continue, “There’s more to your push-back and you know it! Stop blaming it on our age difference.”

“Goddamn it, Evelyn, stop it! You don’t know anything.”

“I know about her.”

“You know nothing about Hanna. Nothing!” with clenched fists to the point his knuckles turn white, he storms off, out onto the terrace.

“Then tell me!” I follow him into the humid day, the sun far too cheerful for this conversation.

“What do you want from me? Are you so desperate for me to admit what a fuck up I am? What an utter failure?” The rage in his voice splinters and the pain in it scares me just a little.

“Finn, you’re not—”

“But I am! You don’t understand.” He whips around and startles me when his broken gaze finds mine. “She’s dead because of me!”

No, that can’t be right.

Annika already told me he’s blaming himself for Hanna’s death, but this is much more than that.

“That doesn’t sound right—”

“No, no, Evie darling, it sounds perfectly right. Because it’s true. You wanted to hear it all, so here it fucking is! If my stupid, naive, young ass wouldn’t have become infatuated with the older, enticing woman, she would have been far, far away, on the same island my brother and Annika live on. Alive and well even today. She fucking stayed because of me! Bartiste found her here in Queenscove because of me! When he did, I wanted to keep the girls with us, to keep them safe and in our sights, but I let myself be convinced by everyone, including them, that we should separate. Some bullshit about the girls not being a distraction while we went for Bartiste. God, what a fucking stupid mistake that was.” He’s pacing now, raking his fingers through his hair, his features marred with too much self-hate. “Bartiste was smarter than us back then, he got one of our guys, and found out exactly where the girls were. I had to sit, Evelyn, sit in the back of a car and listen to Hanna’s voice pleading with me to get to her in time, unable to do anything about it, as men pounded on her door to get to her. I could hear every single tear fall as shots were fired into that room, and with each word she spoke, I sat there listening to the slithers of hope leaving her. She was strong, but even she couldn’t hide the fear from her voice. And I listened to it all.”

He stops pacing, gripping the railing and bracing himself as he looks toward the rumbling sea. My heart is caught in my throat, heat simmering behind my eyes as I wrap my arms around my middle.

“I failed,” he continues. “Her, myself, Annika… We got there too late. They were gone, and all that was left was a sea of bodies who died because of the same failure. I should have been the one there, protecting her, not our men. So many souls ripped out of this world because I didn’t stand firm in front of Hanna, Annika… my brother. By the time we found them, when Bartiste was done with Hanna… she was an empty, bloody shell. They didn’t just break her, they fucking decimated her. So much damage, so much blood, cuts and burns… Bartiste used her to punish Annika. Made her watch her best friend get raped and broken, because he was creative in his torture. He knew emotional pain, guilt, can inflict just as much damage. Annika said she begged and begged to take her instead, even as she was pregnant… I can’t imagine being restrained and forced to watch a loved one like that.”

Finnigan takes a deep staggering breath, as silent tears slide over my cheeks, adding to the ones that have been flowing since he said his men died because of him too.

“She took her last breath seconds before I found them,” he continues. “I didn’t even get to say I’m sorry. All I could do was carry her empty body out of there.”

So much blame… so much sorrow… he can’t see past his guilt, and my tears aren’t for Hanna, but for him. He didn’t fail, he tried so hard, but—

“You couldn’t control everything that happened, Finnigan.” My voice is soft as I step toward him. “We blame ourselves for things out of our reach, but there are too many battles to fight, and we can’t take them all on. She didn’t die because of your decision, because you didn’t protect her. She died because of a bastard with no soul.”

I stop when he shakes his head.

“That’s not even my only shame.” He takes a deep inhale and breathes it out like fire, “I don’t remember what she looks like anymore.”

His hands flex around the railing, the confession heavy. He pauses for a long time, but I don’t dare interrupt his process.

“I couldn’t bear to look at any photos of her, of us, in the last few years. I thought what I did, or failed to do, would keep her imprinted in my mind, but it didn’t. The color of her eyes, her general shape, those are still there, but there are no details… only a blur and shadows. She wasn’t the love of my life, but I couldn’t even give her the courtesy of my memories. How fucked up is that?”

His head drops and I just want to scream. This is exactly what happens when you refuse to talk about how you feel. You hold onto guilt, pain, and turn it into something so deeply ugly.

“Finn… I’m forgetting too.”

His shoulders stiffen, head straightening.

“I have nothing of my mother. No photos, no videos, there’s nothing left. It’s only been two years and yet… I already forgot the shape of her nose, the sweep of her brows. You’ve kept it all in, and there was no one here to tell you that what you feel, as valid as it is, is normal. Your guilt…” I shake my head, pushing back the rest of the tears. “Your guilt can be healed.”

I don’t miss the slight sag in his shoulders now. Did I take a weight off of them with my own guilt? Memories are fickle… and they’re just another one of those things out of our control.

He looks over his shoulder for a brief moment, the sunshine behind him turning him into a tragic god with his features marred with sorrow. “If I couldn’t protect her, how can I protect you? How can I keep you safe if I couldn’t before?”

Oh God, this is what he was afraid of?

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