Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2) (25)
Without thinking, I crossed the room and took the armchair opposite him. “What really happened?”
North scrubbed a weary hand over his face. I didn’t think he was going to tell me, but when he dropped his hand, he spoke. “We were messing around one evening. It was just after dinnertime. We came across Gil in his sleeping bag behind an express supermarket. Darren taunted him, agitating him, and Gil shouted foul things back. So Darren started beating on him and screaming at the rest of us to get in there. The other lads … it was like he turned them into animals.” Anguish darkened North’s expression. His voice turned hoarse, his accent thickening, as he continued, “I tried. I yelled at them tae get off him. When that didnae work, I pulled Darren off him and we fought long enough for Gil tae run away. But the wee shits chased after him, and I chased after them. They chased him right intae traffic and he was killed.”
It was unimaginable to me he’d witnessed something like that as a child. Just a child. What an event to carry the weight of for so long. I’d never been angrier at the media for dragging it up and twisting the story. “God, North. I am so sorry you went through that.”
“Nothing compared to the terror that man must have felt running from a bunch of wee pricks.”
I heard it. The guilt. He still blamed himself, even though he’d tried to stop it. “What happened after?”
“Darren threatened us all tae stay quiet. I didnae. It didnae matter, anyway. Witnesses saw us chase him intae traffic. We were all arrested.”
“But you weren’t charged.” I knew that from the newspaper articles.
“There was CCTV behind the supermarket. They saw me trying tae stop it.”
“Oh my God.”
“The lads were done for manslaughter and sent tae Young Offenders. Our version of juvie. Which is in Falkirk. So those who had parents didnae have tae travel far tae see their boys.”
“Your accent slips when you talk about home,” I whispered.
North raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t home. My home was with my parents.”
“Right.” Heartache filled me.
“Don’t look at me like that. Things got better,” he promised, and I noted his accent had smoothed again now that he was aware of it. “It motivated me. What happened to Gil fired me up. Because I knew that if I stayed there, I’d end up in prison at some point. As it was, another boy killed Darren before he ever got out. One of the other lads got out and was put away a few years later for aggravated assault. The other two got jobs, seemed to settle down a bit. But they’re just scraping by like their parents did. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents. They’d be so fucking ashamed if I didn’t try to find the life I wanted.”
I stared at North, seeing him in a whole new light. There was a lot of depth to this man, and I was ashamed of assuming so much about him. More curious than I knew was good for me, I pressed, “What happened to you after they went to juvie?”
“In exchange for my witness statement at court, social services agreed to move me out of Falkirk for my protection. They placed me in a village near Edinburgh with a couple who only fostered three kids at a time. Emma and Nick were nice. Wary of me at first, I think, but then once I showed them I was willing to work hard, to improve, they were very generous with their time and money.” He smiled softly, and I felt another wild flutter in my belly that I attempted to ignore. “I tried to pay off their house for them when I got my first big check, but they were having none of it.”
“They sound like nice people.”
“They are. Don’t get me wrong, I’d stayed with nice foster parents before, but they just had too many kids under their roof. Emma and Nick could give us the attention we needed.” He went on to tell me about how he buckled down at school, earned excellent grades, and how his high school girlfriend got him into theater.
“And then you got accepted into RCS?” I was super impressed by that when I was researching him for membership because it’s such a prestigious school.
“Aye. And the rest, as they say, is history.” North sipped at his whisky and lounged back in his chair. “So now that I’ve spilled my guts, tell me the truth.”
I frowned, confused. “About what?”
“You obviously knew about some of my background before I came here. Did your research. Is that why you treated me like a foul smell from the moment we met? Because you thought I was scum?”
Indignation flooded me, and I was so agitated I stood up. “Is that what you think? That I think I’m better than you because I grew up with money and you didn’t?”
He shrugged lazily, and I wanted to throw my whisky in his face for his assumptions. Yes, I knew that was hypocritical, but this guy really got under my skin. “What else am I to think?”
“Not that.” I marched across the room and poured the Lagavulin into my glass.
“I’ll have some more, thanks.”
Grumbling under my breath, I strode over to him with the bottle and snarled, “You’re lucky I’m not pouring it over your head.”
Amusement glinted in North’s beautiful eyes as I filled his glass. “Then tell me why.”
Later, I’d blame it on the whisky and the fact that he’d lowered my defenses with his brutal honesty about his past. Settling back down, I locked eyes with him and admitted, “I don’t trust actors.”