Blind Love

  Copyright © 2018 by Shannon Heighton Hicks

  Coordinated by: Hot Tree Self-Publishing

  Editor: Hot Tree Editing

  Interior Design: RMGraphX

  Cover Designer: RMGraphX

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  For Tony, whose love has kept me afloat

  and allowed me to continue to dream.

  The best defense against evil

  men is good men skilled at violence.

  —SGT Rory Miller

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Baron

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Declan

  Twenty years ago

  Declan Andrew Murphy wasn’t sure if he had the strength for what was happening. He was gone for two years fighting in Iraq while his mother battled cancer. He wasn’t there when she passed a year after he joined the service, but he came home in time to experience his father’s grief and rage.

  The man had been inconsolable. Devastated. After witnessing his father’s pain, Declan swore he would never get that close to anyone.

  Then he met Nina. They’d taken classes together at the Illinois Institute of Technology, and their relationship changed to more than just friendship. Declan found his heart and soul. Marriage and a business together were just part of what they’d shared. She was the love of his life.

  Ten years ago

  Sitting in the hospital room at Duke University Hospital, Declan looked at the doctor. The man was speaking, snapping him out of his memories of meeting Nina. Words like “resistant to antibiotics” and “hours left pending a miracle” bounced in his mind. Miracles? He didn’t believe in them. He and his brother, Killian, lost their dad last year and their mother years before. He sat there wondering what would happen next. Oh. Right. Your thirty-eight-year-old wife is dying.

  A last-minute trip to New York for Christmas and New Year left Nina with a horrible case of the flu that morphed into pneumonia; it took less than two days to overwhelm her. He hadn’t even caught a sniffle. Fuck this shit. When he realized the doctor stopped talking, in fear he looked at Nina whose hand he held. The fever that had been fighting the infection in her body was long gone. Every breath she took was now aided by a machine. A broken sob tore from him. He put a hand over his mouth to stop the onset of hysteria. A hand came gently down on his shoulder, gripping it. Killian looked at him with tears in his eyes. Declan leaned into his brother and quietly fell apart.

  “I’m sorry, brother,” he heard him say just after the machine’s constant beep went into one long sound, sealing Declan’s heart into a tomb of pain.

  Five days later they laid Nina to rest. Declan sat numb as her parents wept next to him. The large spray of white lilies on her casket seemed fitting on that cold, rainy January day. The equally large wreath of colorful flowers from his firm as well as other arrangements were all things she would have loved. He no longer cared.

  When the family pastor had asked for input regarding the funeral, Declan had just shaken his head. Her parents interceded as he was incapable of making decisions. Later that night, before the finality of the next day, he’d walked to the casket, placing three items with her and left without a word. Those items were his wedding ring, a photo taken of them at their first job site, and a letter he wrote, telling her all the things he had never said out loud.

  Killian crouched in front of Declan. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Declan gazed at him, confused. Leave now? He looked up and realized it was just the two of them. How long had he been sitting there? Did it really matter? He looked behind Killian and saw his wife, Sasha. God, he hated that bitch. She was a terrible spouse to his brother, more club girl than queen. She was there though. It counted. Killian’s fifteen-year-old son, Baron, stood off to the side. His hands were in his pockets and he looked down at the ground. “Aunt Nina is really gone, isn’t she?” Baron asked Killian, who looked at him sadly and nodded. Declan didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be in Charlotte any longer. All he would associate the city with was Nina. Nina happy, vibrant, and alive, then Nina cold, lifeless. Closing his eyes against the casket already in the ground, Declan swore he would leave this city.

  It took him over a year before he finally got out.

  Claire

  Thirty years ago

  “I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Steve Stewart. You may kiss your bride.”

  Claire Anne Bonham Stewart’s dream was simple. She and her new husband both wanted to work hard and have a home and family—only the timing of those things didn’t match. Steve wanted them right away. Claire felt family could wait. At only twenty, she wanted to live a life of adventure and travel before beginning their family.

  Steve smiled and leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on Claire’s lips. Claire sighed, smiling back at her new husband. She’d been battling morning sickness all morning and was grateful the little ones were playing nice for the ceremony.

  “We have everything we ever wanted. Just you and me, and soon, these guys,” Steve murmured to her as they greeted friends and family in the reception line.

  “Yeah. Guess so,” Claire mumbled, looking at the line of people. She had to pee in the worst way. Shifting from foot to foot, she smiled, thanked, and accepted well wishes, all while feeling like her eyeballs were floating.

  “You okay?” Steve asked, concern lacing his tone.

  “I really have to go!” Claire hissed and then giggled at the look on his face. She did love the man after all. “I have two little ones doing a happy dance on my bladder.”

  “Oh shit! I am so sorry. I should have asked about that,” Steve exclaimed, halting the progression of the line to escort her to the bathroom.

  “I need help,” she said, looking at the stall.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  This man, she thought, love in her eyes.

  “If you can just help me get the dress up so I can see where the toilet is. You know… someone else can come in to do this,” she offered.

  “Not happening. I got you. Always,” he added, smiling at her and winking. “You know, we may not have the honeymoon of your dreams, and I’m sorry about that. But I promise to give you a vacation of your dreams for the rest of our lives, if you will have me?”

  “Kinda late to ask me that, don’t you think?” she teased with a smirk.

  “Just my luck, you said yes so quickly, no time to think about it.”

  “I didn’t have to think about it. It has always been you. Only you,” Claire said and sighed again. “Oh, thank goodness!” She finally managed to sit down.

  “You are my dream held in my hands, Claire,” Steve told her, not caring where they were or what she was doing.

  Life was funny in a way. Sometimes dreams came true. Only the ending changed.

  Five years ago

  While memories of her wedding day went through her mind, Claire sat staring blankly out the hospital window. After twenty-five years of him being in her life, a doctor whose face and name she could not remember said Steve was gone. The damage to his body caused by the truck that hit him head on—the driver asleep at t
he wheel after an eighteen-hour shift in the truck—had finally taken him. Finally? Minutes, probably less for the crash to take place, then hours to get him out of the wreckage, transport him to the hospital, and then attempt to give her a miracle.

  The police were back, holding their hats in their hands. She was sure they were saying something, but they sounded like angry bees, their buzzing making every attempt to enter her thoughts. Why are my hands wet? She looked down, wiping at the back of them. More drops landed. She touched her face to find she was crying. Of course. This was real. Oh God. Our kids. Our grandkids. She would have to tell them. Why aren’t I getting up? She was the one who always handled things. Yet she didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to be the one to handle this. Jesus Christ, can these two get a clue? She hadn’t heard anything the police said. Do they even care? She looked back at the window and sighed. It was sunny. How can that be? Does everything go on like nothing happened? She already knew how death worked. Losing her parents had taught her that.

  Declan

  Nine years ago

  Declan survived the year after Nina’s death by drinking from the time he got home from work until he passed out. He remained sober at work, only out of respect for his partners. Soon though, he was coming in later and later, and there were days he didn’t make it in at all. He wasn’t surprised when his partners at the architecture firm he and his wife helped build came into his office. They made idle conversation; Declan wanted to grind his teeth.

  “What are you really here for?” he asked quietly.

  Jason stopped midsentence and looked at him. He wasn’t angry, just sad. Declan would have preferred anger.

  Conrad looked up and sighed. “We want to buy you out, Declan,” he stated, tone quiet.

  Declan looked at both of them, feeling something akin to relief. He nodded. “Have the offer drawn up. I won’t fight you on it.”

  Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit,” he murmured, then got up and left.

  Conrad stood as well, but before leaving, he added, “We miss her too.”

  Declan sat stunned. What do they know? They lost a partner. He lost his other half.

  He left the office and never looked back. Calling his landlord, he gave notice he would be moving out. They stated they were sorry to see him go and asked if there was anything they could do. He thought about that question. What could be done? Nothing, but go home, back to Myrtle Beach, where he felt he belonged. There was nothing to keep him here any longer.

  He made a second call. That one was to Killian.

  “Brother, I’m coming home,” he told Killian, and disconnected.

  He packed a single bag, leaving the rest—clothes, furniture, everything—and left Charlotte, hoping to never look back.

  Within hours he was pulling in to Killian’s driveway. He braced himself for questions that never came.

  Killian simply embraced him and said, “Welcome home, brother.”

  Declan nodded, feeling numb and yet a little lighter. Could it be? After all this time, was he home?

  Killian grabbed his bag and led him to a guest room upstairs. Declan nodded as the door closed, stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, not waking until the next morning.

  Declan awoke when he heard thumping. Lying there listening, he heard the drone of voices downstairs followed by more thumping and realized it must have been Baron on the stairs heading off to school. Groaning, he sat up on the side of the bed, wearily pulling clothes out of his bag along with toiletries, then made his way across the hall to shower.

  Blinking at the changes to the bathroom since he had last stayed, he let the water warm and stepped into the tub. Bowing his head, he allowed the water to wet his scalp and run down his neck and back. Lathering the shampoo, he scrubbed his hair without much more thought. The motion was rote by now, nothing more than a necessity. He was surprised though, at the lack of tension he felt in his neck and shoulders. It was there but not nearly what it normally was. He stopped rinsing and realized, mystified, that for the first time in a year he’d gone to sleep without the aid of drink.

  Seven years ago

  Declan had gone through many changes after he joined his brother’s club. Not since his father had moved them all from England when he was fifteen had he gone through so many changes. He was a prospect for the Iron Back Warriors. Their chapter was located in Myrtle Beach, SC, and was the Mother Chapter of the three clubs. The other chapters were in North Carolina and Tennessee. Declan drifted through his days, unsure of who he was now that his business and Nina were gone. During the hours he wasn’t working at the club as a prospect, he spent his time sketching—any place where there were people he didn’t have to interact with.

  On one of the days he was sketching at the boardwalk, a stranger sat down beside him to observe. Declan didn’t pay him any mind, yet out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man had full sleeves of ink on both arms, hands, and up his neck.

  “Are you the type of artist who doesn’t want people to see his work or one who shares?” the man asked him.

  Declan considered the question and what the man was really saying. He had never been shy about his work. He actually took great pride in it.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I see you around, sketching, watching people. Do you work any other mediums?”

  “I’ve dabbled in almost everything.”

  “Mmhmm” was all he said, then left.

  Declan didn’t give any more thought to it.

  ***

  Declan stood behind the bar later that night, shooting the shit with a couple of hang-arounds. Several of the club girls sat with them, laughing and having a few drinks. The club officers were in Church, so the clubhouse was fairly quiet. Some of the guys were playing pool, while others were watching TV.

  Declan looked to the door of the meeting room as it swung open. Mercury, or Merc as they called him, came storming out, heading straight for him. Merc had been VP of the club since his father had been president.

  Well shit. What did I do now?

  “Prospect. Come with me,” Merc grunted.

  Declan gritted his teeth. He hated being called “prospect” even though, technically, he was.

  The club officers didn’t look at him as he walked in the room. He stopped short and looked up at King, who gave him a chin lift.

  “Come here, brother.”

  Declan walked over to him, apprehension tightening his chest.

  “Brother, I need that vest.”

  Looking at the president of the club, Declan lifted his chin, took off the vest, and handed it to him.

  “Now put this on,” he directed, holding out a new cut.

  Declan swallowed and looked at his brother.

  “Shit. Really?” he added, seeing everyone around the room grinning.

  “I believe you already met this old man,” King said, pointing to a man sitting against the wall.

  Declan looked over, shocked to see the same guy who’d been sitting beside him earlier in the day.

  “Well, I’ll be fucked. Who are you really?” Declan asked him.

  Laughing, the man stood up and held out his hand. “My name is Malcolm. I own the tattoo studio that handles most of the ink for the club.”

  Clasping his hand, Declan responded, “Never knew that.”

  “So, when do you want to begin?” Malcolm asked him. The shop owner looked around the room, as if to challenge anyone who wanted to argue with the offer.

  “Begin?” Declan was confused.

  “Your club ink,” King mumbled.

  “Oh. Shit. That’s right. Usually done out there, right?” Declan asked, pointing to the common room. He felt clueless.

  Why didn’t I pay more attention to this shit?

  I am way too old for this shit!

  This is awesome!

  “Let’s do this!” someone yelled.

  Beating and banging was heard all over. It was almost tribal, and Declan felt more than a little wary. His heartbeat and adrenaline pumped through him. These were his brothers, right?

  Everything after that was a blur. Declan had his shirt ripped off over his head and was slammed back into a chair. He looked to his left to see Malcolm getting his ink ready.