Page 12 of Unraveling Fate

More clanging on the stairs and muffled yells.

She shrieked, diving for the phone. Her fingers trembled with adrenaline, and she stabbed at the call button three times before connecting.

“Hello?” Drostan’s voice came over the line, sleepy and muffled.

“Drostan! There’s some strange guy here in the garage. I think he’s drunk. He’s on my stairs?—”

“What?” A thump and a curse crashed through the phone.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but you’re closer than the police…” She babbled, afraid to get off the call.

A pounding sounded over the phone, like knocking on a door, and Drostan called to Canon to get up.

“And I swear, I thought I shut the garage, but I think he—or I don’t know, maybe there’s someone else with him? I’m so sorry, Drostan,” she said. The bizarre night broke over her—all those fancy people, the music disappearing, the kiss on her cheek, and now the Berlinetta gone and a probably-drunk—and possibly violent?—intruder about to knock down her door. Hot tears spilled over and she tasted salt.

“Sorry?” Drostan’s breath came in puffs. Cadenza ran back to the sliding glass door where she could see him charging up the hill, a crowbar in his hand. “Sorry for what?”

“The Ferrari is gone.”

Silence.

“What did you say?”

She peeked out the glass door again. Drostan stood frozen in the middle of the road, crowbar lowered, mouth agape. She cringed.

“The Ferrari, I’ve been trying to fix it for you. It was supposed to be a surprise, to say thank you for everything, and I got it running, but now it’s gone! It was there when I got home with Canon, and I swear I locked the door—I don’t understand. Should I call the police?”

“No!” Drostan called in a strangled voice. He started running again. “No police. I’m almost there.” He hung up.

When he reached the garage, he slid to a stop and called out, eyes pleading. The banging on her stairs quieted. Cadenza frowned. It sounded like Drostan was speaking Gaelic.

Why would he confront the intruder withGaelic?

He dashed into the garage and Cadenza hurried to the overlook window.

He was hugging him.

Drostan was hugging the probably-drunk-possibly-violent stranger, tears running into his beard. Stymied, Cadenza unlocked her door and ventured onto the landing.

“Caddie, forgive me.” Drostan unwrapped one arm from the stranger to beckon her down the stairs. “He’s no stranger, my dear. This is my son.”

She blinked. Drostan had two sons. She’d met them both. This was not one of them.

He engulfed the stranger in another hug, tears still flowing. “My boy, my boy…”

The man spoke through the curtain of ratty hair over his face, his voice all unoiled hinges and rusty pistons. “Athair, bha cuideigin a ’seinn.”

Cadenza’s Gaelic was limited to the memorized sounds of the tunes Drostan had taught her as a child. She looked to him for a translation, but his attention was riveted on the stranger. Canon jogged up the hill, a 2X4 clutched in one hand, but stopped just outside the garage at the sight of Drostan hugging the man.

“I guess I don’t need this?” He leaned the wood against the wall and went to Cadenza. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, but her teeth began to chatter and her legs trembled.

“Here.” Canon wrapped his jacket around her shoulders.

Drostan started out of the garage, arm around the man.

“Norroway?” Canon asked.