Page 70 of Wild Irish

The bed iscold and empty when I roll over, and before I even open my eyes, I know Cillian is gone.

I want to be wrong. I pray I’m wrong as I roll out of bed and gather my pajama bottoms and top, then put them on. I check the bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen. But they’re all empty.

Fresh coffee brews in the machine. Which I take as a good sign. He must have left recently. Maybe he went to get muffins, or some other romantic gesture, like in the movies. Because he wouldn’t just leave. Not after last night.

It meant something.

It had to.

Then where the hell is he? And why didn’t he wake me up? Or leave me a note?

I sit down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and wait.

He’ll be back, my heart assures me. My brain isn’t as convinced.He’s gone.

My brain and heart battle against hope and despair, but as the hours go by, and morning turns to afternoon, I realize he’s not coming back.

God, I’m such an idiot, believing his words. Thinking he’d actually changed. All he wanted was sex. Or maybe revenge.

I throw my coffee cup against the wall and it shatters, sending fragments across the linoleum floor. Cursing, I open the cupboard and grab the dust pan and broom, then start to sweep up the tiny pieces.

My breath catches in my throat when I catch a glimpse of white under the counter, the familiar words etched in black ink.

Find your happiness.

I pick it up and blink back tears. The remaining section of Maeve’s list, discarded just like he’d done to me. He must have tossed it there before leaving.

I crumple it in my fist, then fling it across the room with a silent scream.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

I exhale slowly and rub my hands over my face, numbness settling in my chest. When I toss the broken mug in the trash can, I hear Kiersten’s door open.

Shit, I can’t deal with her right now.

“I feel like shit,” she moans, trudging her way across the kitchen and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “What time is it?”

“Noon.” I keep my back to her and take a few steadying breaths. I don’t want her to know what happened with me and Cillian. I’m already humiliated enough.

“Ugh. I barely remember getting home.”

“Cillian brought you.” His name tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Right.” She sits at the table with her coffee, and moans when she takes the first sip. “He kept asking questions about you on the ride over.” She winces. “Oh, God. I’m pretty sure I threw up in his limo.”

I hope she did.

Even hung over, Kiersten doesn’t stop talking. “When you said you knew the band, I didn’t realize youknewthem. He’s the guy, isn’t he? The big Irish love affair that had you all mopey for months.”

“I wasn’t mopey,” I say defensively. “And it was nothing…just…sex.”

“Was itnothingagain last night?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.

---