Page 2 of Stronger Than Love

Mum sat heavily in a seat at the table, her hands grasped together in her lap. “Are you ever going to tell me why you hate your birthday?” She suddenly looked her age and my chest hurt at her expression.

I didn’t hate my birthday, I merely avoided it because every year my brother’s best friend from childhood was there. He was the only man I’d ever loved, and he’d crushed me in a way that my heart would never recover from. So I tackled the problem like the adult I now was… I avoided him.

“It’s a twin thing,” I said with a shrug. “We shared everything as children, so birthdays weren’t really special or unique. You know that Christmas or Halloween is more my genre. I never miss them.” To try and disarm the minefield I’d accidentally wandered into, I gave her a reassuring smile.

Her eyes narrowed into slits that could fire laser beams. “Oonagh Skelly, you will be here for your birthday celebrations or you’re no daughter of mine.”

“Look on the bright side, sis. You haven’t seen Liam in years and he’s always asking after you. At least there’s one person at the party you’ll know!”

The fixed smile on my face threatened to falter and the cupcake turned to sawdust in my mouth. “Great! I can’t wait to catch up,” I chimed in a cheery voice filled with so much false sweetness that you would be able to pour it into your tea as a sugar substitute.

Fuuucck!

The gods had abandoned me and left me to the evil fate of my mother and her parties. Worse yet, fate had royally fucked up and I now faced my ultimate nightmare.

Once upon forever ago, Liam had been my biggest fantasy. Now, he was my nemesis, and the tremor in my hand showed how I was feeling more than a thousand words. The need to flee pulsed through me, only this time there was no escape.

The trap had been set and I was officially snared.

***

Chapter Two

Oonagh (Eighteen Years Ago)

“Truth or dare,” Niall asked.

“Truth,” I replied.

“Do you plan on marrying Liam?” My evil twin brother mocked me before turning to Liam. “She marries her dolls and names them Liam and Oonagh.”

Liam’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks growing red.

“Girls can’t play this game,” Niall sneered in my face, while Liam stood behind him with a horrified look on his face.

I glared at him, already plotting my revenge. “I’ve played this game with you every summer.”

“Girls are stupid,” Liam muttered, pretending to yawn.

“I hate you!” A tear escaped, and I dashed it away violently, annoyed with myself that I was crying in front of them.

“Good,” Liam crowed. “Go and play with your dollies.”

I watched as my twin brother and my ex best friend walked away, laughing.

Twelve years Niall and I had done everything together—learnt to ride our bikes, joined the school orchestra, played on the beaches near our holiday home in the small fishing village on the east coast of Ireland. Every summerwe visited here and envied Liam that he lived here all year round. Now our trio had morphed into a duo and a solo. Our days of adventure on our bikes on country lanes and swimming in the ocean vanished in one encounter.

At dinner that night, Niall boasted about everything he’d done that day while I pushed my food untouched around my plate. When Mum asked what I’d done with my day, I shrugged and gave a non-committal response.

The next day heralded the start of my bookworm era. The beach was a lonely place by yourself, the lanes no longer filled with laughter and adventure. The other girls in the village ignored me since I was only here at the summer holidays. All that was left were my beloved books, where I could escape on adventures.

Instead of playing in the garden or in the treehouse Dad built us, I watched from the window in the attic as Niall and Liam shouted and laughed in the garden below me. Every summer I looked forward to coming to my favourite place in the world because Liam was here with his stories of what he’d done all year. He was a rebellious pirate while we were forced to go to school and do our homework.

A few weeks into our holidays heralded Dad taking Niall out on his small fishing boat. It was their boys time they had every year. Liam rode up our driveway on his bike, his shaggy black hair blowing in the wind. He’d grown a lot in the past year, his voice deeper than it had been before.

“Is Niall about?” he shouted, his long legs straddling his bike.

I shook my head and returned to my book.

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