Page 46 of Beer & Broomsticks

He paused but didn’t turn.

“I don’t want to be reminded because the past doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the future that’s important because we can’t change what was, what happened. No matter how much we want to.”

“Sure, and I’ll leave you alone, Bridget. I understand what you’re sayin’.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

She rose to her feet and crossed to where he stood. As much as she wanted to hug him, to convince the lonely boy inside him he was worthy, she resisted. Her desire to help and heal always overruled her good sense. Not this time. “I need you to promise, no more lies. Not a one. Not as a trick, not to make me view you in a better light, not for my own good, as the case may be. Not a one.”

He faced her, wariness and hope plainly displayed. “I can do that.”

“I’m not ready to begin anew, but I don’t want to be angry anymore. Can you understand that?”

“I can.” His light of hope went out. He gave her a sad half smile. “Then I suppose friendship is all we’ll have moving forward, yeah?”

She opened her mouth to reply that she would like for it to be more, but a shout from downstairs caught their attention.

CHAPTER19

“Stay here!” Ruairí commanded as he ran for the door.

Of course Bridget wasn’t one to listen to a man’s dictate when it was unreasonable. If one of her family was in trouble, she’d do what she needed. Grabbing the sword from the dresser, she charged after Ruairí.

When they got to the bottom of the steps, the laughter stopped them short. They shared a confused look and cautiously peered into the sitting room. Alexander was center stage, mid-story with Sabrina Dethridge and Aeden staring in rapt attention, huge grins on their adorable faces. Leaning against the far wall, Damian Dethridge was in a deep discussion with Alastair Thorne, Cian, and Carrick.

The Aether had to be the most fit man on earth. His nose was straight and perfect—not too long, not too short, and without a bump on the bridge to speak of. Every feature on his face was symmetrical, from his almond-shaped eyes to his full lips to his chiseled cheekbones and jaw. He stood with a casual elegance, but deep down, Bridget assumed he always had to be at the ready. There was undeniable power there, and his radiance eclipsed everyone’s in the the room.

Alastair was the opposite in coloring, blond to Damian’s dark, but he too was a throwback to the Old Hollywood heroes. Bridget had only ever seen him wearing a suit and tie. His gracefulness belied his lethal abilities.

“What the devil?” Ronan muttered from behind them. He jumped back as Bridget swung the sword. “Watch where you’re aimin’, woman! You almost cut off me prized possession.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, struggling not to laugh at his indignation. “Then don’t be sneaking up on me, ya eejit.”

“You’re getting as bad as Ruairí, with hisstrike first and ask questions laterattitude, you are.”

Bridget did laugh then. “Don’t be such aween. It’s a wonder anyone fears you at all.”

“Now you’re just out to wound me pride, you are.”

“Stop flirting with her,” Ruairí growled. “She’s not for you.”

“She’s not for any O’Connor,” Ronan countered. “She has no sense of the absurd.”

“How about you both stop determining who I am or who I’m not for, and let me decide that for myself, yeah?”

“If you children are done squabbling, there are things to discuss,” a droll voice said from the entrance to the sitting room.

As one, they turned to see Alastair Thorne tug at his cuffs.

Bridget smiled at the telling sign he was readying for battle. “It’s grand to see you again, Alastair.”

“And you, too, Bridget. You’re more lovely every time we meet, child.” His gaze traveled over Ruairí and stopped on Ronan. Displeasure caused him to grimace. “Although the company you keep is questionable.”

“They grow on you,” she deadpanned.

An amused smile curled Alastair’s lips, and a twinkle lit his sapphire-blue eyes. “I suppose it’s the influence of the pub? Do these two look like savory characters compared to most of your patrons?”

His teasing made her grin. “I have a soft spot for ne’er-do-wells.”

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