Welcome back to the final chapter of Emergency exit and thanks all of you, readers and reviewers.
I've many stories on the stocks, but my insecurities about language block me actually. That's why I care about your opinion very much, I have to know if it's worth to keep on writing. I've on my laptop a story I started writing for Queer as Folk, I called 'Sunshine in the sunset', but I thought to fit it to Hollyoks, because now I'm addicted to this fandom. And many other stories, including another happy ending for our Stendan.
Finally I'd like to thank all people who reviewed, giving me the strength and the pleasure to go on.
hollie-x, runningshoes39, PatriciaJessic, she-mammoth, carolynsil, kabr
and all the guests who increased visits beyond a thousand. I'd be happy to be able to thank every single one of them.
I tried to correct the chapter at my best. Sorry for my grammatical horrors.
About Ste, clearly, he's very different from the one we're gonna see on tv, but I wanted to write something less distressing.
Reviews and constructive criticisms are always welcome and appreciated.
Rating M for this chap, nothing exaggerated, but I needed to warn you.
Part 5
.
.
.
Right from the start
You were a thief
You stole my heart
And I your willing victim
I let you see the parts of me
That weren't all that pretty
And with every touch you fixed them
It's in the stars
It's been written in the scars on our hearts
That we're not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
[Pink –Just Give Me A Reason]
.
.
.
"Are you hungry?"
"Not really. Do you have nothing else to ask? Steven?"
Steven shrugs and closes the front door of the flat he's sharing with Douglas.
"It's dinner time, so I thought you might be starved. That's all. Once you were all the time, right? I wonder what the hell you used to eat in... there."
He seems to struggle with that word and heads straight to the fridge, where he starts contemplating its content, or the lack of it, for arranging a meal at his best.
You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh in frustration at the view of his underlip slipping between his teeth, despite the memory of what happened an hour ago still makes you shiver. His anger. His tears. It's all gone.
Have you really thought that Steven would have taken control of his life back within a week at the most, after you left him?
Was your confidence so low in his power of loving you as much as you loved him, and still unconditionally you love him?
You've never been so scared to have been wrong. Hope is killing you.
"Oookay" he chirps, taking some eggs and bacon from the fridge and putting them on the kitchen counter, then turns towards you. "Carbonara?"
"Good!" you answer with half a smile, even if, at this moment, you would like to eat something else not involving the use of a fork and spoon.
After the clash at the hospital, he asked you to go with him and you did. You two had traveled by taxi, in silence, in direction of the village. And, now, you find yourself in a familiar frame that would have been, a few hours ago, farfetched even into your wildest dreams.
You are standing behind him, a beer in your hands - the first drink after almost two years - while the delicious smell of sizzling smoked bacon invades the kitchen, dragging you in another place, in another time. This scent also tickles your taste buds, insomuch that everything starts spinning into your head. You put the beer on the kitchen counter, thinking you've fallen out of the habit to hold even light beverages.
A few inches separate you from him, and only one step would be enough to wrap your arms around his chest, with the need to hold him as tight as you did before, but less desperately.
You don't, though, and keep on watching Steven, cooking and blithering, moving so sudden and fast that looks like a spinning top. This is the way he reacts to uncomfortable situations, and you say to yourself it's fine, because you missed hearing his voice as hell, and every time he turns back and looks at you for a while, raising a smile, a sudden feeling burns inside of you in the thought that you would have been missing all of him for the rest of your life.
"You know? You look fine without the mustache... much younger, "he says suddenly.
You instinctively scratch your chin. You had a beard so long that you can still feel the itch. "A James' idea, my lawyer," you tell him. "It was supposed to impress the court, you know, looking like a good guy."
You sneered. Steven gazes at you seriously.
"You are a good guy!" he says heartfelt.
"There's a long list of people, injured or killed by yours truly, who wouldn't agree" you reply wryly.
Steven shrugs and looks away, then drops a generous amount of fusilli in the boiling water.
In a few minutes, you understood three basic things: First off, Steven denies you've just got out of prison; second, that you are a multiple murderer and, finally, that his life was a mess, until a few weeks ago at least.
You have to work on it. After fulfilling your belly, maybe.
"You've always had a magic touch, Steven." You undo the top button of your trousers as you let out a satisfied sigh. "I haven't eaten so well since I've been arrested."
The glass of wine falls from Steven's hands straight onto the tablecloth.
He tries to remove as much of the red wine stain that he can with paper towels. You try to help him, but he doesn't allow you to, or rather his agitation doesn't, plus the fact that he's looking at anywhere but in your direction. You belatedly realize his hands that are trembling.
You've never seen them tremble this way. Actually, you don't remember they have ever trembled in the past.
Steven pours some of the wine left and drinks it in a gulp. Then he takes in a deep breath.
"Since when do you drink so much?" You ask, pulling the bottle away when he tries to grap it again, determined to finish it off.
"It's just a glass of wine," he replies with defensiveness .
"It's the fifth" you say firmly.
You have kept the count.
"That's a bit rich, coming from you, Mr. 'good stuff from Ireland'."
You completely ignore his sarcastic comment. You need to know if all that Douglas told you corresponds to reality.
You grab his hands, holding so tightly to prevent him from reaching the bottle.
"How much do you drink, then?"
"Not enough".
Steven seems to give up on his intent, but his gaze in yours seems the same as when he punched you, calling you cockhead, out of the hospital.
"Do you use... other stuff? "
"Sometimes I get a beer" he mocks.
"I didn't mean that"
"What, then?"
"You know very well what, Steven."
You look at him intently. He looks at you back brazenly. It's like a duel.
"Doug told you everything, didn't he?" he asks with a sneer.
"Are you surprised?"
He look down. "Can you ... please?"
He points out your hands, now livid. You release his instantly. You didn't noticed to have them held so tight.
"Sorry."
"It's okay" he says, without taking his hands away from yours. "Anyway, it happened a couple of times, maybe three. I'm not addicted to drugs. "
You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head down slightly for not breaking eye contact. One of the worst feeling in the world is knowing he would lie to you and you could never find out.
"Steven" you begin, you're terrified to ask him, "you... you were about to die, weren't you? What can you say about that?"
"It was an accident ... never mixing drugs and booze together," he lets out a nervous laugh, as the mere thought of losing him tears you up inside. "I've never been a big drinker, me ... you know that."
"Steven" you say impatiently.
"I don't drink whiskey since then and no drugs as well. I swear," he says fervently. "Trust me."
You decide to trust him, but this doesn't make you sure about his mental and physical condition. You've also noticed he lost weight, but you set aside this problem to not sound as apprehensive as a parent, instead as the man who would rather rip his clothes off and poke him on the couch. It hurts you to admit it, but most likely this will remain only a fancy. You aren't even really sure if he's still interested in you or he's just attacked to the memory about the man you were or what was between you two.
"About Douglas ... he and you... are... "
Steven shakes his head vehemently. "NO!" he squeaks in horror, almost as if you had asked if he used to eat poop as a snack. "He's like a brother to me. Plus ... he's got a boyfriend anyway. "
You snort. "Douglas? A boyfriend? "
"Yeah ... why are you so surprised? " he asks in suspicious tone.
"I know him?"
"I'd say you do, and much more than I like to admit it. He's John Paul" he concludes, lifting his chin and wrinkling his celestial nose. "Professor McQueen-I-eat-biological-food-and-crap out-flowers. Yuk! "
"Are you jealous of him or Douglas?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.
"Neither. John Paul... lives here with us, " he replies glumly.
"Wow! A gay flat. Crazy nights?" you snigger, but a very small pang in the middle of your chest warns you about your discomfort. Yet there's nothing wrong, after all, right?
"If for crazy nights you meant they making out on the couch as I'm trying to watch a movie, you're goddamn right."
Steven started stroking your fingers at least five minutes ago, and this makes you smile because he seems so spontaneous and chaste, even sweet, you'd dare to say. But you don't feel that way, and the more his fingers play with yours, the more you feel the desire to bring them closer to your lips, kiss every single fingertip of them, and then switch to every inch of his skin, crashing on his sassy mouth, even only for a minute.
"He... I mean John Paul and I... barely tolerate each other. We decided to get a grip just for Doug's sake, but he's right to be angry with me actually. I've really been a pain in the arse in the latest time."
You find yourself to caress his hands more energetically. This is the only contact that you allow to yourself, but your heart is beating fast as if you were in a kind of foreplay.
You need him to kiss so badly.
All of a sudden you feel your throat dry. You're about to grab the bottle of wine, but then opt for the more healthy dear old water.
You drink greedily, then put your hands again on Steven's ones. "Tell me," you exhort him.
"About what?"
"About what happened."
Steven shakes his head, then sadly looks down as if he was absorbed in the crumbs on the tablecloth.
You lift his chin with your index finger, forcing him to look at you.
Hey," you say softly, "whatever you did will never be worse than what I did."
He frowns. "Like what?"
You puff a little laugh. You don't understand if Steven is taking the piss out of you, or not.
"You know what I mean... Danny Huston... "
"He'd have killed me"
"Walker ..."
"Totally insane"
"My nan... the only time I hurt a woman."
Memories still torments you.
"She knew... you know... and did nothing, right? "
You nod, but his understanding doesn't help you .
"Michael Cornish ..."
"Who the fuck was Michael Cornish?"
"Joel's step dad" you answer, "It was an accident, actually, but it was my fault. And do you know what I did to prevent the police found it out? I chop up his corpse. Piece after piece, hand after hand, foot after foot, I- "
Now it's you to look down. You rub your forehead, still with the limpid image of blood and flesh burning in the fire. There will be no deep enough place in your head where you can try to hide those memories, and your remorse. The all of them deserve to die, but you weren't the one who had to decide. You're not God.
When you look up at Steven again, he doesn't show the slightest perturbation.
"Did you understand what I've just told you, Steven?"
"Yeah," he nods, looking back at you impassively. "I did. You've always made the weirdest things when you were under pressure... as... "
You shake your head in disbelief.
"When you fessed up to the police, you were nearly killed or locked up for life, " he adds resentfully.
That seems to disturb him more than anything else.
"But now you're here... you know... nothing has changed. "
"Really, Steven?"
He nods and tightens more strongly your hands. "I never stopped loving you."
Those words give you goosebumps all over your body. You don't dare to believe it.
"Nothing has changed to me, too" you say firmly.
"Why haven't you kissed me yet, then?"
These words are enough to make your face on fire.
"You think I don't want that, Steven?"
"What's stopping you now?
You both find yourselves standing in a twinkling, staring into each other's eyes.
Steven is the first to move, but as soon as he touches your lips, everything starts spinning in your head again. The touch of his tongue with yours is enough to hammer your heart against your ribs ten times stronger than how you remember, and you're afraid to be on the edge of a infarction.
He notices it and looks at you worriedly. "You're okay?"
You swallow and take in some deep breaths to calm down, but it doesn't work properly.
"It's just..."
"It's the same for me ..." he continues, leaning his forehead to yours and stroking your neck. "I'm afraid I might pass out before we-"
It's amazing the way you two manage to be in tune without saying practically anything.
"You've nothing, have you? I mean... no disease-"
Immediately you shake your head to reassure him. "Fit as a fiddle."
"Thank God" he sighs.
Breathing gets harder and harder.
Now he kisses you less gently, and your tongues crash together, impatient, for some eternal instant.
"Fuck me, then!" he cries in you ear, "I want you, Brendan! I want you inside of me! "
Three. Five. Seven seconds. Eight to take your clothes off each other . Ten, and you're lying on top of him on the couch, your erections and your mouths in a fair fight.
You barely hear a sound and think correctly because of the tum tum in your ears.
"There should be a condom somewhere" says Steven in the midst of such a chaotic vortex of mouths and groans.
"Fuck the condom!" he exclaims and wraps your lips.
Fuck the condom, you repeat in your head.
You grab Steven's ankles and put his soles against your chest, his agility helps out and turn on your senses even more. You have to do nothing but keeping his buttocks open, and you are so wet that you will slip inside him without problems.
"Are you ready?"
Steven nods frantically. Urgency written with red ink on his cheeks.
You can't correctly breathe in that view and you wonder if you will be able to survive the storm of feelings unleashing inside your body.
"I love ye" you say, while you crouch slightly and slip inside him in one fluid motion.
My God!
But there is no god.
Although you are in heaven, all that you see is Steven's sweaty forehead, his glowing eyes, his effort to get you deeper. Harder. More.
And you want it all of him.
And reading into each other's eyes is enough. Steven spreads his legs and tangles his ankles behind your back, giving you the possibility to lie down on top of him and take his lips back for not leaving them anymore. Steven gasps your name in your mouth; you do the same with his name, so many times that you would loose the count, like when you used to whisper it in the silence of your cell.
You are on the edge, Steven too. You can see it from the way he presses his heels against your arse, for pushing you into coming with him, because he's one step away... only one step away from your personal wonderful heaven.
.
.
.
You're exhausted. Having sex all night long was no longer in your daily practice, but it was worth, even if you managed to sleep just one hour. Eventually Steven fell asleep with his back against your chest, and your cock still buried inside of him. One of the best feeling you remember so far.
You got up early, without waking him. You took his keys and went straight James' home to pick up your stuff he had taken away from the prison. He also gave you a credit card, motherfucker. He was sure, from the start, you would have been released, confiding in his ability to enchant people. He could give you some lessons.
Now you're sitting on the couch, where you can still feel the wild smell of last night.
You're wearing the suit you wore during the trial, a travel bag is close to your feet. You're waiting for Steven awakes, for talking to him, telling him that even if you want to be with him, you can't stand the thought of moving back in Hollyoaks, not when the worst memories have now surpassed the happiest ones.
You turn around suddenly in the sound of steps down the stairs. But it's only Douglas and his boyfriend. You draw in a long breath and let it out in a grunt. Seeing half naked Douglas while John Paul is touching his arse is not exactly the romance that you would expect at that moment of the morning.
Douglas notices at you and seems annoyed.
"Hey, mate. Has Ste kicked you from his bed yet?"
You have the sneaking suspicion that he hasn't recognized. Without facial hair, you look a completely different person.
The fact that Steven hasn't considered his one-offs any differently from what they were gives you a little comfort.
Douglas hands you a cup of coffee and you grins at him, pleased. Then he recognizes you.
"Brendan?"
You hear John Paul mutter a faint "Oh my-"
"What the hell are you doing here?" asks Douglas.
"What do you think?"
Then he looks at you up and down, noticing in the end your bag on the floor.
"You're leaving?" he asks. Then he looks over your head. "Ohi, Ste!"
You turn around and see a half asleep Steven coming down the stairs, his huge yawn before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bury his face in the crook of your neck.
"Er... we... then-" John Paul begins, giving a nudge in Douglas' hip and then motioning to follow him upstairs.
Steven grabs your cup and takes a sip of coffee, then plops down on the couch at your side and stretches out his legs on yours, closing his eyes, happy and laid back .
This makes what you have to say much harder.
You're waiting for Douglas and John Paul to be ready to exit. When you see the door closing behind them, you brush Steven's cheek, lightly asleep. His satisfied smile squeezes your heart; blinking of his eyes, in the effort to keep them open, makes it all worse.
"Morning" he finally croaks, his voice still slurred with sleep, too much wine and a plenty of sex.
This new languid version of Steven turns on your senses again, but in a totally different way. You feel so fucking lost now.
You look away and stare at the bag at your feet. Steven taps your arm with the tip of his foot.
"Hey! What are we doing today? "he asks, smiling and flicking his eyebrows mischievously in an explicit invitation to locking you two in the bedroom till the end of the day.
"Steven" you begin.
He rotates his legs and sits, stretching out his arms above your shoulders, nuzzling the stubble growing under your chin.
Steven purring is the last thing you need.
"I'm happy," he whispers before bite a bit of your skin.
"Happy" he repeats.
You let out a groan, then push him away gently.
"Steven, listen to me, please."
"Mmm"
"I can't stay here. "
His face shifts from dreaming-alarming- and, finally, 'narrow escape' mood in a split second.
"Okay," he says. "I don't want to stay with Doug and ... John Paul, too. I'd say that would be beyond awkwardness, right? I mean ... three gays in a flat are too many, four is a crowd. And if you consider that at least each one of us slept with the other... "
He lets out a laugh of his, capable of killing brain cells of anyone, if it weren't the fact that you love it.
He loops around your neck with his hands and plants a tender kiss on your lips, then looks at you with a bright smile. "We could ask for our old flat back, if it's still empty. What do you think? Or we can looking for one to your taste... you know... without mold on the walls. "
You have never told him, but you loved that council apartment just because he lived there.
You grab his wrists gently, pushing his hands away from your face and holding onto your knees.
"It's not about the flat, Steven. I can't live... in the village".
"But-
"Wait, Steven" you stop him, before losing the courage to go on. "I'm not back for staying here, too many bad memories and too many people who know. I'd feel as a guinea pig. You... you're made for this place, you've got your friends, your business. I've nothing that ties me to these places, instead. "
You stop as soon as notice the painful gleam in Steven's eyes. Every time you promise not to hurt him anymore, you break instead every your promise.
"And I? I belong to that nothing, don't I? "
"No. .. don't get me wrong. You're the only reason, but I can't stay, Steven."
"NO!"
Steven jumps up, shoving you against the seatback.
You get up, too. "Steven, please ..." you try.
"NO! Listen to me, now!" He shouts, pointing a threatening finger on your face. "You piece of shit! For fuck's sake... and I thought you had changed. "
"I'm not the man before, indeed. I-"
"NO! You are! " he screams on the top of his lungs." You're still the same manipolative individual who wants to control over everything and everyone! YOU decided to get out of prison since YOU knew how miserable my life was because of you. YOU planned to get killed, not caring about me and what I felt for you. YOU chose to be locked up and cut me out of your life and I'll never forgive you for that. And now YOU are leaving again because YOU don't have enough balls to make a fresh start with me. You're a... a selfish bastard... just a-"
Steven breaks down in tears.
You try to touch him, but he shoves you again.
"You know that's not true. You know how much I love you. I'd do anything for you, Steven, but-"
"But you can't stay with me."
"I want to stay with you."
"Say it, then!"
" Sorry, Steven. I can't. I-"
"Ask me to leave with you. Ask me that! "
"What? You don't know-"
"I know very well what I want, Brendan. Trust me... it's not spending the rest of my life without you."
"But you've got your life, your whole world is here. I can't ask to you such a sacrifice. "
"I HAVE NOTHING HERE, BRENDAN! Do I need to drum it into your head? YOU are my world, my life. Everything! " he sobs, before turning away and putting his palms on the counter.
"Your kids, Steven. You've got your kids. "
"I didn't see them for months. And if Amy will change her mind... one day... as good a place as any for her. Unless you don't want to leave for the moon. See? You're the only thing I've got left. And I want you back!"
"Are you sure?"
"Never sure about something so much in my life" he replies without looking back . "So, Brendan... all you have to do is ask... otherwise... you know where the door is... and don't come back! "
Silence is so dense that you can cut it into thick slices.
You're such a selfish. Whatever your decision.
You walk up to him slowly, and gently lay your hands on his shoulders, your forehead against the back of his head.
"Steven Hay" you begin, "Would you like to come with me... to Dublin or anywhere, leaving everything and everyone behind; fall asleep with me every night, wake up with me every morning, see nothing else but my amazing face every second, minute, hour or day for the rest of your life? "
The silence fell again. Two, four, ten seconds of absolute panic.
Finally, Steven turns around in your arms; his eyes are red-rimmed for tears, and the big smile he 's wearing on his face is bright enough to make the sun pale.
He cups your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your lips. "Yeah," he replies finally, his voice still broken with tears. "I do" he repeats .
"I didn't ask to marry me, Steven," you say, diluting such a mushy atmosphere, but you couldn't care less, actually.
"YESSSS!" he screams loudly on your face. "YESSS!"
Kisses everywhere. Your mouths crashing together.
It's like a storm of laughter and tears. Never so happy and crazy since you met him for the first time.
And you couldn't be happier. You would like to shout out and cry because the greatest ambition of your life is being realised right before your eyes. It was enough to believe it.
"Would you like to celebrate?" You ask, pointing at the stairs with a motion of your head.
Steven nods enthusiastically, his smile like permanently etched on his lips.
Necessary stage: bedroom.
Then Cheryl and, finally, Dublin.
.
.
Your clothes are a heap on the floor, again, and your mouths enclose each other's cocks.
Neither of the two would like to come away from this dream that you want to savor for as long as possible.
You budge and lick his hole, hot, sticky, reddened because of the passion of latest hours. You are like a cat that wants to bring ease to a wound. Steven groans around your hard-on, taking and pumping it deeper into his throat, increasing the rhythm while you are trying to move your tongue in sync with the deep throbs of your cock hitting against Steven's palate.
You gasp.
Steven's rhythm further speeds up and you stop caring about your mouth job. It's too hard trying to concentrate as Steven is trying to rip the soul out of your body. His butt cheeks, swaying white and indecent before your eyes, as a call to come inside him again, but you aren't sure if he could hold the pain. You give it a try, slipping your thumb through his ring. This inflames his ardour the more and Steven starts to fuck your finger the way you're fucking his mouth. That means only one thing: he wants you exactly as you want him.
He lets go your cock out of his mouth and turns his head back to you, a quick look of understanding and he already moves forward on your legs, without breaking contact with your eyes. So you can see his mouth open wide, his tongue twisting between his theet as he slowly descends on your cock, taking it so deep that you wonder how he can not splitting off.
Rhythm is fierce, interspersed with gasping cries. Steven tosses back his head, lying on your chest and you bit wildly his shoulder, gripping his hip with the right hand and his cock with the left one. And finally everything turns white for a moment and then explodes in a million little golden particles.
"You all right?" you pant, gentle fingers along his spine.
"Yeah" he answers lazily. "Never better".
Silence.
"Brendan?"
You replay with a deep grunt.
"Whatever I did or said before... I didn't mean it".
"What?"
"I wasn't thinking what I said about you, me. I was upset".
"I know".
"Sorry"
"You don't have to excuse you for anything. You're right."
You lie your cheek on his back , a soft kiss between his shoulder blades.
"Steven?"
"Mmm"
"I'll make your life better than you can imagine. I promise".
He rolls over to face you and start stroking your lips. "You don't have to promise me anything. You've never been perfect, and neither have I, but I want you exactly the way you are. Just..."
"Just... what?"
"Don't dare to leave me again. Whatever happens... if you still care about me... don't leave me out of your life. I've no intention to waste another moment of mine without you in it. This is our second chance... well... one of many... and I'm damned if I'm gonna let you go away again without fighting."
You nod, kissing softly his fingers, then claim his lips, red and swollen from the latest kisses and bites.
"I promise" you whisper, breathing into his hair, "I promise you if you promise me that you stop taking shit that pulps your brain, that- "
"I promise" he rushes to answer.
You pull away from him a bit and tap lightly his chest with your fingers, marking time with your words. "And you need to learn loving yourself the same way I love ye, and-"
A sudden lump in your throat steals your breath as your fingers still tap Steven's chest.
Never mind, an embrace means much more than all that you bottle in the depths of your heart.
.
.
.
You're wearing different clothes from the ones you wore in the early morning. Steven gave you blue jeans and a grey shirt.
After your arrest, you had sent James to take all your clothes away from home and give them away for charity. Clearly, Steven had held something.
You also put on a black cap and a Steven's old jacket. you look in the mirror and, then, turn back to face him, standing in silence next to you.
"Well?" you ask when he continues to say nothing.
"You're the sexiest man in the world" he answers finally.
"Shut up!" you growl as it's getting too warm around your neck.
"Don't worry," he adds, with a smile that makes his eyes more blue and bright. "They'll notice just your hotness".
"Cut it out!" you grunt, slapping his bum.
"Okay" you say under your breath to your reflex in the mirror. "Let's go!"
After a few seconds you both are outside. You don't even cast a glance at the door of your old apartment, the same you do with the club, because that matters for you is by your side. Later, you stop just outside the deli and Steven asks you with a glance if you want to enter with him, so you follow him.
The only one customer is leaving and, Douglas welcomes you with a weird smile on his face, he seems to have swallowed a mix between a bitter lemon and sour milk.
Steven's smile, instead... Your boy looks like if he had just swallowed sun, moon and every fucking star of the fucking universe.
You stay aside as Steven moves closer to Douglas and tells him about everything he's going to do. Douglas doesn't seem so happy. It's no wonder when you are in Steven's plans, too.
"Are you sure?" he asks him.
Steven's happiness, as he nods, hits you as a shock wave. You wonder if your face is as bright as his own, because you feel incandescent inside, in view of the new life that awaits you. And since this is very likely your last chance (one of many), you don't want to fuck it all up again. Whatever it takes. Vows, blood sacrifices, even counseling again. You have a lifetime to catch up.
And you didn't ever forget your boys and a little girl you want to make proud of you. There will be a lot of work to do, but Steven will stay with you. This is your new greatest power.
At a certain point, Steven and Douglas hug each other and, at the same moment, you realize you've been grinding the bottom of the pockets with your fists all the time. You should face reality. You would lock Steven in a trunk for avoiding that someone else could take him away from you. You have to work on this problem as well.
"Bye-bye Douggie boy!" you say on the doorway. "And thank ye for everything" you conclude heartfelt as Douglas stares at you, gaping. You're more than sure that, in half an hour, John Paul will find him who is wiping his own pee from the floor.
You put your arm on Steven's shoulders, sneering in that thought, and walk out along with him.
The sun shines bright and heats your face and even all your thoughts. Your steps take you more and more distant.
"Brendan!"
Both flinch as one man. "Nobody should recognize me, right Steven?"
As you turn back, Nancy is in front of you.
"I'd like to talk to you".
You scowl. "About what?"
"About the trial" she answers and, at the same moment, your lips raise in an annoyed grimace.
"I'm sorry, Nancy. I've got a plane taking off. I can't issue any interviews."
"I didn't mean that. You know... I wrote the piece, last night, but I haven't yet sent to press. I'd want ask you if that was all the truth, Brendan."
You look at Steven and his face is all 'You don't need to do anything you don't want"
You turn at her again. "I spared the worst for not shocking the court, Nancy"-
"Oh my-" she covers her mouth with her hand. "Listen, Brendan. If you like I don't do it"
"Get the point, Nancy" you say impatiently. "Please" you add at the end less roughly.
"Well... I won't send the article to press".
You sneer. "Why not? It's your job. Just a favour. Please, can you use one of my old hairy photos? That's the story of the old Brendan Brady, not mine".
She nods.
"Brendan?" she call you again as you are about to turn away. "About the pub. I need to tell you. Darren found the receipt of Seamus' winning. The dog in the pond belongs to you and Cheryl, actually. I wasn't agreed, trust me".
"You let out a frustrated sigh, in part for memories you haven't ever either asked for or wanted, in part for the time you're wasting in useless chat.
"Very nice of you, Nancy, but I don't care. Like I said, that story doesn't concern me anymore."
You realize right now that Steven has grasped your hand in his own.
You repress a hint of protest from Nancy with a vague gesture.
"Sorry, sweetheart. As you can see ..." and you raise your arm, dragging Steven's hand, tightly tangled with yours. "I'm making an honest person of this man. Enjoy the pub!"
And leaving Nancy gaping, you turn and, finally, walk away along with Steven.
Actually, you care about all that will come pressed on the newspaper, today or tomorrow. Maybe people will forget in a hurry or aren't interested at all, but you think of your family, and can just hope that Nancy has a second thought and replaces her article with another not exactly conforming to the truth. A truth would cast a shadow of misery and shame - the same shame that has plagued you for years - over your family, over Cheryl who, instead, could have continued to live in her daydream forever.
But as you stare Steven, into deep of his beautiful eyes, you think you need to dream, too, from this moment on. Steven can teach you. And Nancy ... Nancy will sit in front of his laptop and start her piece with something like:
Dear reader, finally, justice is done!