Page 97 of Tortured Eyes

“I’ll be right back. Go on through. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. Lush fabrics frame the windows and match the upholstery that’s perfectly placed around the rooms, but as I look closer, it looks tired and aged, dated even. It’s not fussy, but it tells me that Samuel Cleary’s family had money. At one time, at least. The house is testament to that, although not what I had expected. The gates should have given me a clue.

Samuel is right. The view is breathtaking, and it makes me feel a million miles away from everything in my life right now. I’m so lost in my head that I don’t hear him return until the tall glass of water lands on the table beside me.

“It’s quite something, right?”

“It’s stunning. I can see why you live here.”

“I don't. Not past regularly visiting, at least. It was my parents’. They died a while back now." He sighs and stares at the view, hands relaxed in his pockets. "But after being in the city, I still find this a refuge both physically and emotionally. It gives me some space to breathe and reflect.”

Words and questions roll through my mind like the clouds that pass us outside. It turns out finding my voice to speak openly to Samuel is harder when he isn’t dressed as a priest. It doesn’t seem to make a difference to him, of course. He'll probably answer or give guidance regardless of the clothes on his back. But for me, there's something far more personal to confessing to him now.

“Detective–”

“Bryce. Please.”

He smiles openly. No arrogance or distrust anymore, and for a moment, I see the man that Logan must see. Kind, optimistic. Honest. It's like it’s at the centre of him and he radiates those qualities somehow.

“You came here looking for guidance?” he says, eventually sitting on the other end of the couch.

I turn away from him and stare out at the world. “All I know is how to be a cop. That’s gone now because I don’t know how to do that anymore. Everything is different. I can’t go back to seeing the world the way I used to because it doesn’t exist. It's changed, and I can’t undo what I now know or how I feel.”

“So, you’re questioning your profession?”

“My profession, my integrity, and my own sanity. I don’t know what to do next.”

“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.”

“I'm sorry, but I don’t believe that to be true.” I’ve never been overly religious. I’m not going to turn to God now.

“Then what is holding you back from making the choices you need to make?”

“Logan.” It’s the truth, and he’s at the centre of this.

“Ah, I wondered when he would come into this.” Samuel shifts beside me, joining me in facing out of the window, his head relaxed against the back of the couch.

“How could he not? He set all of this in motion. It’s all his fault.”

“You don’t see yourself as responsible in any way?”

His comment stops me for a moment, but I know that’s not it. I don’t blame him for everything. “I blame him for putting me in this position. If he hadn’t started this, I could go back to being oblivious.”

“You’d rather that?”

“Maybe? At least the memories I have of my father would still be seen through the rose tint of my youth.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who wants to be kept in the dark.”

“No.” And that’s the problem. “If I’m truthful, I hate it. That’s part of the frustration. And I hate that I can’t hate him for it. That’s partly why I’m always so angry at him.” I don’t make a full confession, but know I have to. Maybe being honest about everything will help me.

“And?”

Deep breath. “I’m ashamed of how I feel about Logan. It makes me sick. He’s a constant reminder of my failure, yet he’s someone I want in my life. The way he makes me feel when we’re together cancels out so much, but then I’m left feeling like I’ve betrayed myself.”

“You’re conflicted. He's good at making that happen.”

“Understatement of the fucking century, Samuel, but yeah.”