Page 154 of Beneath the Quiet

“I’m not your enemy, Joe.”

His lips pull up in a smirk. “Never said you were.”

I keep my hands down, palms flat. “Then why did you shoot me? And why come to Cloonmara?”

He wets his lips, eyes roaming my body, and I have to work hard at keeping my face blank. I pray to all that’s holy that Franny isn’t hurt. That she’s hiding, and that she brought her phone with her to call for help.

“I needed to see you.” He keeps his gun raised high, but out to the side instead of aimed at me. “I had to come.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

He shakes his head, eyes now darting everywhere but at me, as if he’s looking for a way out. “I had to shoot, Maeve. I couldn’t let you take me down. I need to work.”

“And you couldn’t find something better to do with your life than dealing drugs?” I lean towards him, my body vibrating. “Drugs kill people! You destroy innocent lives! How can you live with yourself?”

He drags his hand across his unkempt beard, scratching it, then runs it behind his neck.

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

I take another step closer but stop when his face darts my way, catching me.

“Don’t come closer, Maeve.”

The wild current of adrenaline makes my body tremble, and I take a deep breath to clear my head.

“Why are you here, Joe?”

“I can’t be on the run like this forever. I…I just can’t do it. I need you to get the Gardai off my back. Tell them to leave me alone.”

I can hardly believe what he’s saying. Surely, he’s not that stupid?

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do that, Joe. You shot me. You aimed that gun straight at me, and you didn’t care whether I’d live or die.” The memory of lying on the cold asphalt, curled in on myself as the burning, sharp pain tore through my insides assaults my memory. “Do you know how much it hurts to get shot? It burns, Joe. You feel your blood, your life, slip away with each passing second. It paints the ground with your life force. And the fear is just as terrifying.”

His face crumbles in pain, and he raises both hands to close them around his ears.

“Stop! Stop talking, Maeve!”

I take a shaky breath through my stinging nose and keep quiet. I need him calm, not agitated.

“You have to get them to stop. You have to.”

“I think you owe me an apology,” I whisper. I cock my ear when a sound from outside hits my eardrums, all the while keeping my eyes locked with his.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “You have to believe me!”

“I do believe that you’re sorry, Joe, but you’re only making things worse for yourself. You have to make your wrongs right again. You must turn yourself in.”

The dull, blue gaze he aims my way is pitiful. Despite the full beard, he almost looks as if he’s that torn, sullen teenager he was when we first met. The one who would only grunt when spoken to.

“I’ll never get out if I do that,” he whispers in a tight rasp, his throat working on a long swallow. “You know it as well as I do.”

“I don’t. But I know that if you keep this up, the chances of you ever setting foot on green grass again gets slimmer.” I take another step closer and raise my hand. “Come on, now. Give me the gun. Let’s end this. Your mother’s worried about you.”

His mouth wobbles, the tears shining in his eyes.

I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.