Page 26 of Tempting Irish
A heaviness settles over me, doubting her words. Because if she really cared, she would have tried to contact me at least once in the past ten years. More than just the generic Christmas and birthday cards that her mom sent on occasions when I wasyounger.
“My life’s pretty boring compared toyours.”
She chuckles and rubs her belly. “Trust me, I’m looking forward to boring. I’m glad to finally behome.”
“The tour’s done now?” I ask, more to make conversation, since I already know itis.
She nods. “Ye’ve been following WildIrish?”
“A little bit,” I lie. My obsession, mostly with Owen, would rival any fan girl. But hell, if I’ll admitit.
Emer beams at me, pride in her eyes. “Do ye remember them practicing in my father’s shed? I used to take ye to watchthem.”
“I remember.”Everything.
“Owen used to let ye play that old keyboard of his. Ye were good. Do ye stillplay?”
“No.” I try to hide the emotion that tightens my throat, but there’s still a small catch to the word. I flex my hand, the one that still aches, even now, with the damage that was done toit.
“Too bad. Ma always said ye had more talent in your pinky finger than all four of the boys combined. And I won’t even repeat what she said about me. It pretty well broke her heart that I never learned how to play even oneinstrument.”
“How is your mom?” I ask, wanting to change the topic, not wanting to think about what could have been. WhatIcould havebeen.
“She’s good. She’ll be happy to see ye, that’s for sure. When she heard about yer mom-” She stops, her face draining of color. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentionedit.”
“It’sfine.”
“She was a nicewoman.”
Keeping my expression stoic, I reply crisply. “Shewas.”
But, she was also gullible. And weak. And more concerned about pleasing the asshole she married than she was about protecting herself, or protectingme.
I see the look of pity that passes between Emer and Delaney as we continue to walk through the restaurant, and in that moment, I resent them for it. Them, with their perfect lives. Their perfect families. No understanding of what it feels like to have everything you love rippedaway.
My feet falter slightly when I see the large table that’s been reserved at the back of the restaurant, and the three men that sitthere.
Aiden Callahan with his life-couldn’t-be-any-better grin. Cillian Gallagher with his dark, brooding look like he’s trying to place me, but can’t quite remember how he tortured me for an entire summer when we were kids. My cousin, Shane, and his usual lazy smile and roaming eyes that he’s often photographed with, seeming troubled, but not troubled enough not to grow wide and be genuinely interested when he seesme.
“Who do we have here?” Shane asks, drawing out the words as he stands and gives me a dimpledsmile.
“You remember Beatrice,” Emer says, smacking his arm when he doesn’t stop ogling me. “Yercousin.”
“Oh shit.” He blinks for a few long seconds, then lets out a hoot of laughter. “Baby Bee. Damn, ye gothot.”
“Smooth,” Aiden snorts, rolling hiseyes.
“What? She is.” Shane slings a heavy arm around my shoulder and grins down at me. “And to think I used to tease ye for looking like aboy.”
“You weren’t the only one,” I say, my jab directed at Cillian, who at least has the decency to wince as color creeps into hischeeks.
“Ye hit like one, too, if I remember correctly.” Shane continues, pulling out a chair for me to sit down. “Gave Cillian a beauty of ashiner.”
The entire table starts to laugh; everyone but Cillian, who mutters, “It was nothing compared to the beating Owen gave me later for teasingye.”
“Pretty sure ye deserved it,” Aidensays.
The banter around the table continues, most of the teasing directed at Cillian, who takes it with a few grunts and shakes of hishead.
