Page 23 of Hustle

“Seamus, we didn’t disagree. You told me that my plans were ridiculous, and that I shouldn’t waste my life.”

“I didn’t say that,” he sounds a little less sure, and looks a lot more horrified.

My hand briefly reaches out to touch his again, our fingers brushing as sparks explode. My voice is whisper soft as I say, “I promise you did.”

“Fuck, Evi. I’m sorry. I lacked….control, I guess.” What I want to tell him is that he didn’t lack control. He had been purely and unapologetically Seamus. It wasn’t the fight that pissed me off, it was the ice-cold professionalism he’d treated me with – like I was a casual acquaintance and not—family? I wasn’t sure what I was ready to admit to myself tonight.

Taking a much bigger swallow of my drink, I say. “Water under the bridge, right?”

Right?

He doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t know what to even say. It is, and it isn’t, and that complexity is just real. Maybe it’s too real for the man Seamus has become. Honestly, I don’t really know.

But I hope not.

“My turn. Are you happy?”

His eyes flash a challenge. “Are you?”

“Before this bullshit with Stacy? Yes. Mostly, anyways. I’ve had to work hard for what I’ve got, but I got where I wanted to go.”

If I’m not mistaken, that’s admiration sparkling in his eyes.

“I always knew you would.”

“The fuck you did.” I hate that my voice lilts up, like a question. I don’t need his approval. But damned if I don’t want it. That familiar feeling, something reaching up from deep inside, like a flower seeking the sun.

“Evelyn McCallum, you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. I knew when you were eight years old that you’d get whatever you set your mind to, and you have.” He’s back to the confident Seamus, but he seems warmer.

Well, then. It explains his determination that I could transfer to Harvard or whatever, but doesn’t change the fact that he didn’t seem to understand that I wanted something different.

His grin turns a little roguish. “I don’t necessarily agree with the way you accomplish everything, strictly speaking…”

I start to bristle, but he puts up a hand. “But I admire the hell out of your guts and your go-getting and your results.”

My heart is pounding a little harder, and my body temperature spikes again. But I’m going to put the warm sense of whatever that is away for now and revisit it later, when I’m alone. In case I fucking cry, which I probably will, Hank’s judgment of hyper-emotional humans notwithstanding.

“You’re dodging my question, Doyle.”

A moment of silence, then a slight nod. “I think it’s because I honestly don’t know how to answer you.”

His honesty stuns me. Seamus always has an answer at the ready, knows what to say, what people want to hear.

“Six months ago, yes. Happy enough anyways.” He shoves a hand through his hair again, and for just a second, I imagine tangling my fingers through it. I’m trying to ignore how my clit is sparking to life.

“Now? My dad, my brothers, the business. My practice. It’s a lot. I went from being Boston’s hottest corporate lawyer at a huge practice to having my own practice with a few token clients. Most of the time I’m wading through the legal and financial mess of Doyle Enterprises. There’s a lot of money, but there are a lot of complications. Especially now, because I thought I’d have more time to get everything sorted out. ”

It is a lot. But still.

“Seamus, you always do so much for other people. Life is always going to throw a lot your way. It’s how you are. It’swhoyou are.”

The intensity of his gaze could burn through me, and I’m vaguely aware of a song about ships sailing off to sea coming to a close.

“But you can’t let that steal all your joy. You have to keep something for yourself.”

I learned a long time ago that the world will deal you rough hands, ignore what you want, and test everything you’ve got. But it’s still your life, your one life, that’s passing by. You have to be you, and you have to grab joy when you get the chance. That’s the part that Seamus always seems to miss.

Seamus leans a little closer, his eyes boring into mine. His tongue runs over his lips and my stomach flips. “Maybe I have forgotten how to do that, Evi…”

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