Page 60 of Wild Irish

I can’t process the emotions I feel when I see Cillian.

We’re far enough away that he’ll never see me in the masses, but close enough that I can see him clearly. My breath gets stuck in my throat when I take in his appearance.

The t-shirt he’s wearing is snug enough to curve over his chest and shoulders. I can recall what’s under it far too easily, all the glorious ink and chiseled muscles. His beard is cut short, but his hair is long, shading one side of his face.

Even from a distance, I catch the blue of his eyes.

He’s gorgeous.

More beautiful than I remember.

I know right away that I made the wrong choice coming here.

It’s too hard.

The small spark of hope that started in my chest when the backstage passes arrived in my mailbox yesterday is back. Kiersten freaked out when she saw them.

The result was a thirty-minute interrogation as to how I got them, and who sent them. I didn’t give her all the details, but I did tell her about meeting the band when I’d been in Ireland. She was angry at me for about five minutes for not telling her sooner. But when I said we could use the passes, she forgave me quickly.

Now we’re here and I have about two hours to decide whether I’m actually going to use the pass and see him.

My palms are sweating, and my heart is racing a million miles per minute. He wouldn’t have sent me the passes if he hadn’t wanted to see me. But there was no note. No explanation. No hint of whether he’s still angry at me, if Aiden ever told him the truth about Matt, or if he still believes I betrayed him.

I shouldn’t have come.

Kiersten is screaming along with the rest of the crowd. She doesn’t seem to notice my unease. I’m not sure I can do this – any of it.

When the band begins to play, and Cillian’s voice echoes through the building, my entire body begins to tremble.

“I see her face. Blurred by time. Arms outstretched, but never mine.Let the Irish rains wash away yer tears. Let me kiss away yer pain…”

A shiver races down my spine as memories flood through me. Cillian’s kisses. His lips on mine. His touch. His body. Him singing just to me as we sat on the beach and watched the sun set over the ocean.

“Come to me, my love. I’m waiting on the shore. It’s safe in yer harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.”

I did come to you, I want to scream. But you threw it away. Threw me away.Why?

And what do you want from me now?

I don’t know how I do it, but I manage to get through the whole concert without breaking down or running out of the building. If anything, my initial nerves have turned into something harder, almost bitter, as I watch the ease in which he takes each breath, as he sings each word.

It was so easy for him to let me go.

So easy for him to believe the worst in me.

Part of me wonders if he didn’t just use Matt as an excuse to end what we had. To make me look like the bad guy, so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for breaking my heart.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts and memories that I barely register when the concert ends.

My thumb strokes the word written across my wrist –happiness– and I wonder if Cillian found his. He seems like he has.

Fame.

Money.

Women.

They’re all his.

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