Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
When I was a lad, I had a vicious temper that landed me in so much trouble, I damn near got expelled from St. Albert’s. Malachy took me under his wing, under his firm discipline, and eventually Keenan did the same. I respected both of them, and hated earning their disapproval even more so than I did the punishment they meted out when I lost my temper. Over time, I learned to master myself, especially under Keenan’s tutelage. He was firm and unyielding, but he believed in me, and I learned to school my temper. I still remember his admonition when I was still a lad.
“Any man can rail in anger or fury. It takes a much stronger man to know how or when to act.”
“Easy, now,” she says with a laugh that grates on my nerves. “You seem awfully uptight, don’t you?”
She reaches a hand out to my shoulder and begins to massage it. I school my fury with difficulty, and probably don’t do a very good job. She winces a bit when I remove her hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
She still isn’t put off. Even her mate in the background’s calling her name, and Tully looks as if he’s about to intervene at any moment.
She throws back the rest of her drink, steps even closer to me, and I fear I may have to physically remove her, when she trips, her empty glass falling to the floor and smashing. She falls straight into me, and I can’t let the fucking woman fall and smash her face, so on instinct, I grab her.
She planned this. She feigned the damn fall; I know she did. The second I touch her, she wraps her arms around me and bends in for a kiss. I damn near throw her off me when I feel someone behind me, pulling me away. There’s a tumult of confusion, arms and legs and voices and warnings, and the next thing I know, Tully’s holding me back and her mate’s glaring at me, taking her friend with her.
“Jesus, Lach,” Tully says. “Let’s get you home. That was way too fucking close.”
I’m still shaking with the effort of holding myself back.
“I could’ve hurt her,” I tell him. “I fucking wanted to.”
“Don’t blame you, son,” he says with a paternal nod that’s meant to placate. “I’d have wanted the same, but you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself come morning if you’d lost it on a woman.”
He’s right, I wouldn’t. I nod, and I’m turning toward the exit when I spot a flash of red across the room.
I freeze, and look harder.
Is it? God, it can’t be. I can hardly see from where I’m standing, and she’s wearing a mask—goddamn, fucking masks—but I know the graceful slope of those shoulders—Christ, those bare shoulders. I know the way she twists her hair between her fingers, the way she lifts her chin in defiance when she’s angry. She turns abruptly, then she’s gone.
It can’t be her. I swear to God, if Fiona steps foot into this place, I will haul her home, haul her straight over my lap, and redden her ass ’til she can’t sit for a fucking week. I’ve never touched her, certainly never disciplined her, but there’s no way I’d let that deed go unpunished. I’d want to make it very fucking clear that the Craic is off-fucking-limits.
And then I’d have a talk with Nolan and Sheena.
“Y’alright, lad?” Tully asks with concern.
“Thought I saw someone,” I mutter. She’s gone, whoever she is. I turn away and shake my head.
I’m getting out of here before I do something I fucking regret. I’m going straight to Keenan and telling him I’m not going to Boston.
Chapter 3
Fiona
Five years earlier
I stand at the gravesite of my mother, a bouquet of flowers in hand. I came here tonight because I thought I was supposed to. Aren’t girls supposed to love their mothers?
I told Nolan and Sheena I was going out with friends. I told my friend Aisling I wasn’t up for going out. I went to Maeve’s garden in front of the McCarthy house quietly, the guards at the gate letting me in without question. I did my best to be sure I didn’t damage her garden but cut a few of the flowers that were already wilting anyway. I looked at the bouquet in my hand, when a wind kicked up and I shivered with cold.
It looked almost macabre. The white of a mum had faded, tinged with brown, and even the greenery was a little wan and darkened. I looked at the gorgeous assortment of flowers behind me and shook my head.
No, I thought angrily. She doesn’t deserve nice flowers. And with that thought in mind, I stomped off toward the graveyard.
I don’t know why I’m here. Why I came at all. I never go out alone, and I never deceive Nolan and Sheena. But somehow, I need closure on this part of my past before I can step into my future. So, I march with purpose to the graveyard, not one month after we buried her in a plot behind Holy Family Church.