Twenty-six – 05

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

Matt shook his head. “I guess I thought it might be painful to talk about them.”

“Sometimes it is. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to. They were some of the closest friends I ever had, y’know. They were family, too.” Phelan smiled. “And like I said, some of the stunts that Cíar pulled make some of my shit looked like nothing by comparison. Then again, I never got kidnapped and got my brain scrambled, either.”

“That’s one way to put it, isn’t it?” Matt sighed. “I still—there are parts of that I can remember pretty clearly, but there are things that are all tangled up.”

“It was like that for him, too,” Phelan said. Their pace had slowed slightly, even as they drew closer to the edge of the tents and the cookfires beyond, as if neither of them were quite willing to end their conversation just yet—or perhaps they were both reluctant to go and begin the planning that awaited them once they rejoined the others. “Of course, he always kind of wondered out loud if he really wanted to remember or if it would be more than he could stand.” The ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Clearly, he remembered more than he let on, though.”

Matt heaved a sigh. “There were reasons for that.”

“Good ones,” Phelan said. “Damn good ones.” He reached over and grasped Matt’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Your hearts are your own, Matt. It was the same with Cíar. It is what it is and will be what it will be. Never apologize for any of that.”

He took a breath. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Phelan smiled crookedly. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

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